Chapter Forty Three: Nyctophobia - Part One

The Arcana is the means by which all is revealed.

The Magician… Futaba Sakura

The High Priestess… Haru Okumura

The Empress… Sae Niijima

The Emperor… Yusuke Kitagawa

No man is an island. No soul exists beyond the reach of another.

The Hierophant… Sojiro Sakura

The Lovers… Eiko Takao

The Chariot… Ryuji Sakamoto

The Justice… The Memory of Akihiko Niijima

This is the fundamental greatness and mirth of human existence.

The Hermit… Tae Takemi

The Wheel of Fortune… Yasunori Kujo

The Strength… Yuuki Mishima

The Hanged Man… Kyosuke Satake

Within and without time, profound bonds may make reality out of the impossible.

The Death… Edward

The Temperance… Ann Takamaki

The Devil… Dr. Isao Shinoda

The Tower… The Memory of Goro Akechi

Strangeness leads to understanding. Disaster leads to renewal. Amidst uncertainty, guidance achieved.

The Star… Morgana

The Moon… Izumi Sasahara

The Sun… Hifumi Togo

The Judgement…. Lavenza

Birth. Maturing. Death. The cycle continues untouched. Beyond good and evil, order and chaos. There is a beginning, the first step on the Path… forever.

The Fool… Akira Kurusu

Makoto Niijima was soon to embark on her greatest challenge yet. In the process of strengthening her Personas, the Velvet Room attendants imparted one final lesson, on the source of her power. Though she acquired the ability of the Wild Card through different means, it shared the same logic as Akira Kurusu. And despite her own attributes, only one thing could truly measure her potential.

The bonds she cultivated throughout the years. Respected peers. Loyal friends. An intense, deep affection. Beloved relatives. Each soul that ever cherished Makoto Niijima was now reflected on the effigies of her arsenal. Whatever happened in the hours to come, they would fight alongside her, including the one she was out to rescue. Akira had been her strength in the past, when their fate was grimmest. Today, Queen shall be Joker's, despite the lord of chaos that rendered him vulnerable.

She stepped out of the Velvet Room and into the void in-between. This non-place was dark, but she was getting used to it. The fleeting shapes harassing the corner of her eye could not shake her focus. Queen walked on, undeterred and fixed on a single point in the distance, where the eternal nothing-black gave way to red. Soon, the gate was within view - a mundane sight turned loathsome. A deep anger guided her further into the passageway of red curtains, until crimson was all she could see. If only for a fleeting moment, she wished to see this gate just like Akira did. She wanted to see its true, despicable form, which she would break and tear asunder.

One quick breath, and Queen was on the other side.

The world ahead was vast and sprawling with life – of the strangest, most hideous kind.

Far away… West, from where she stood, Nyarlathotep's living fortress slouched over the land. Makoto avoided looking at it directly, feeling its very sight could drive her insane. Gazing East, a rocky gate stood quiet and unassuming in the midst of chaos. But this stillness inspired no calm, as Akira had roamed in that direction, with a purpose she could not know.

Even from such great distance, the path inward looked ominous.

Queen pushed her dread below, revving Johanna's engine as if to silence all of her doubts. The steel-clad Wild Card charged forward, with a vengeance.

[ ]

Akira Kurusu once felt the chill wrap around him like a zealous lover. This was only minutes since walking into the dark. Now the chill was inside of him, biting and clawing at his inner constitution. And nonetheless, Joker kept on walking a distance that seemed to go nowhere. But he knew all too well – that 'it' lay waiting at the end of the long road.

The black roots that plagued his vision, even in the outside world, all lead to this place.

The darkness drowned out all notion of north or south. So deep and thick he could no longer see Nyarlathotep's fingers contaminating everything on sight. No sense could signal whether he was any closer to his objective, but Joker knew precisely how to tell. It was as esoteric as unmistakeable, and he felt it within, like a foul memory clawing its way through willed forgetfulness.

He dared a bitter smile, as the feeling came over him. Loathed, wretched familiarity. It was nearby. And he barely needed to catch the spectral light hanging over the underground sky to know this place.

A Kawasaki submerged in eternal gloom. A Kawasaki that did not exist outside in the physical world. But it was real in its very own, twisted way. Beneath the serpenting roots and the bulbous growths, this looked much like his own hometown…

… On the night of the blackout, a year ago.

Nyarlathotep's relentless haunting proved an unlikely boon. The connection added to the things he has learned, and it has helped him understand. This is the pocket world Nyarlathotep crafted out of Akira's psyche, facilitated by Susumu Kamiyama. And somewhere, in the heart of these streets, is the other Joker's cradle. The objective is simple and clear: to sever the connection between himself and Nyarlathotep's knight; in doing so, he would cripple the Crawling Chaos and prevent Joker's counterpart from harming his friends. While Joker could not deny the Phantom Thieves have grown significantly more powerful, the true extent of 'Joker's' might was still a terrible incognita. It bore the both the potential of the Wild Card, and Nyarlathotep's blessing. But those were not the only elements yielding to its power.

They were not entirely what Akira truly dreaded. That lay elsewhere, and it surely would not be far away, in this little realm of madness. His very presence guaranteed it. Since the moment this saga began, wherever he was, they would be there as well, only barely out of sight. And it never got any easier, no matter how many times he dared to look.

A cluster of impossible memories. Akira recognised they were false, by simple common sense. But the pain they caused was very much real. The urgency of toppling Shido and dethroning a God were a useful means to keep those images buried. More so, the company of the people he loved would seal them away, until Nyarlathotep and Kamiyama dug them out.

Everything else was simple logic. Had those spurious memories been real, Akira Kurusu would be no different from his doppelgänger. He would have become a defiled Wild Card, unsalvageable and corrupted far beyond anything up Yaldabaoth's hand. Within and without the mask of the Trickster, Akira Kurusu would be a creature of anger and hatred. Therein lies a strange, but unshakeable bond between Akira and his double.

His story was spared from such terrible outcome. But the other Joker had been born believing those memories were the truth. With such a strong conviction in something so heinous, the only liberation was a mercy kill.

And such was Akira's mission in this place. Clear and unmoveable. But there was no telling what would happen once he succeeded. Would this world cease to be, like a Palace? Would he find himself stranded again in Nyarlathotep's realm, or somewhere unknown? By killing his double, would he follow a similar end himself?

He knew nothing, and he felt no hopes for his own future. But the cold uncertainty was better than the horrifying thought he could not shake off. The Joker coming face to face with his friends, proving a far greater force than they expected.

And turning the false memories that held him together into a terrible, inescapable reality.

Then, as expected, Akira felt his corrupted counterpart. The might inside its frame, the aching snarl of his breathing. Here, in its baleful abode, the connection felt glaringly clear. The Joker was formidable, and entirely unlike any foe.

He was outside this Kawasaki, but not too far away either.

As for the memories given flesh, they crawled silently in Akira's shadow, inching closer.

Anticipation alone compelled him to turn his head, ever so slowly.

[ ]

Queen and Johanna stood at the threshold of the cavern. Behind them, the monstrosity of Nyarlathotep's world continued to grow and mutate. Ahead, a deep uncertainty cloaked in darkness, and no light to signal the way. Makoto's eyes registered the darkness well enough. With it, she felt the yoke of a fear she never quite grew past. Her whole body felt stiff, and her breathing trembled at the magnitude of nothingness in front of her. Makoto's mind was flooded instantly with images from restless infancy nights, when a certain corner in her room looked like the maw of a sea monster about to devour her.

Back then, her little Buchimaru-kun lamp could not penetrate the darkness of that corner. Now, Johanna's light was similarly outmatched. At full intensity, it was still impossible to see more than a metre ahead. There was no feasible way to explore this alien constant in Nyarlathotep's world. Always tactically-minded, Queen shuddered at the more likely outcome. Sooner or later, she would become lost in the dark. Failure would lead to despair. And she may never see the light of day again. Her friends would then have no remedy but to fight Nyarlathotep and his Joker on their own. Makoto did not even want to entertain what would happen next…

But that was her fear talking.

Akira had gone in this direction – that was all she truly needed to know to make her decision.

She expunged the physical hold of fear from her muscles through sheer will. In face of the menace looming over Sae and Akira, she already faced this fear in her sister's Palace. Penetrating this darkness, alone, to save her boyfriend was the next logical step in the progression. Once again, she stood to lose so much. But defeat was not an option.

"Charge, Johanna!" Queen commanded.

And so, like a speck of silver light, the Wild Card braved into the cavern. Her muscles quivered hot, burning the layer of cold sweat off her. She began tearing through the veil of fear to analyse her surroundings – or at least what her limited perception allowed.

There was woeful little for Queen's senses to grasp, but the terrain beneath Johanna yielded a peculiar impression. The ground was suitably rough and uneven for such a geographical site, but every now and then, Johanna rode over some other strange surface. The further she went in, the more often she experienced this. It was like travelling on the roots of a large tree.

Though unable to efficiently manoeuvre around these inconsistencies, she noticed that they ran somewhat parallel to Johanna's path. This alone may be an indication that she rode true into the tunnel. But something else caught her attention: they were not as solid as roots, or as the hideous root-like growths that populated this world. As they covered more of the path's width, Queen got a better grasp on the surface. The 'roots' were solid but somewhat rubbery and even flexible. She had no way of confirming it, but sometimes it felt as if they swelled and deflated ever so slightly. And soon, they covered the terrain entirely.

It was then that Makoto changed her mental image of these 'roots'. Actually, they felt more like unnaturally large sinew. Or veins.

The unknown place Akira had gone to, was it alive somehow?

Queen noted that as a possible similarity with the rest of Nyarlathotep's world, where life sprouted in unchecked, horrendous ways. But the notion that this tunnel remained unchanged throughout made her wonder if there was a design they were unable to see until now.

Some tangible, steady connection between this place and the outside.

A measure to the chaos.

It was not unreasonable to think so. Nyarlathotep's power was apparently diminished by his exile. This was the reason he needed Susumu Kamiyama to execute his scheme. If he could not design his world entirely at his whim, this cave as a second, hidden constant of his world could be a necessity. A vulnerability the Phantom Thieves could exploit.

Akira must have come to the same conclusion. After all, he's become connected to Nyarlathotep in some strange way. But if that's so… why didn't he tell us?

Why didn't he tell me?

A mixture of unwelcome emotions bubbled inside of her. Anxiety, frustration, and a hefty deal of sadness. There was more than a year behind them, and much was changed. But once again, her boyfriend took on the brunt of adversity, all on his own. Meanwhile, the people who loved him were left wanting for an explanation, for some room to shoulder the burden with him. From a logical point of view, this was extremely impractical. But when it came to the mutterings of her heart, it just hurt.

It hurt back then. It hurt now. Tears of anger and sorrow fought through unwilling eyelids.

Akira… you fool, you damn fool.

Suddenly, an unexpected shimmer sliced through the dark. Her vision was dim from the heartache, but still she could perceive something visually akin to a celestial body. Like the moon, or a distant star – things she knew non-existing in this world. Whatever it truly was, it heralded the end of the tunnel.

The air felt lighter. And the complete darkness receded into dense gloom, like nocturnal mist.

Makoto Niijima started making out shapes across this strange landscape.

[ ]

Something was coming apart. No, not just something – but many things, unravelling. Lives unmade into threads of causality and coincidence. These were roads that could, that should have led somewhere marvellous, into a future filled with love and justice. This was all that he ever wanted – when the world around him taught him to distrust and resent, he wished to believe otherwise.

And he was not alone. The misfortune that fractured life as he knew it yielded something beautiful. The kindred spirits that proved life could be as how one dared to dream it.

He loved them so, deep and fiercely.

But in the end, the world committed the ultimate betrayal. Everything that ever could have gone wrong, did just so. The threads and causality and coincidence were tampered with, leaving his friends to suffer the cruellest fate, contorted and unforgiven.

It was no incident that orchestrated this downfall…

… but the intent of a world that was inherently evil and unjust…

… whichever purpose lay behind the power of the Wild Card no longer mattered…

The Joker would make the world bleed.

He moved through the physical world and the spaces-in-between like a vagabond. Even now, his drive could not keep him occupied forever. Despite his Maker's craft, the chaos in both worlds never felt that different to him. Pain and despair were a constant in comparable measures, but this was something he knew first-hand. There were calls of misery wherever he went, but also cries of joy, both in endlessly-varied fashion. And somewhere in the middle, the Joker found mementos of his past life. Or something that sounded like it.

Ryuji, Morgana, Ann – The budding purpose to reform an unjust paradigm.

Yusuke, Futaba, Haru – The maturity and nuance to see their goal through to its end.

Makoto – The match to his purpose.

How could such wondrous sum lead to a ruinous end?

But as time went by, he began to doubt. Were those sounds truly a barely buried memory?

Was the world taunting him with ghostly voices?

Or could they still be…?

Time ago, perhaps weeks or days, he sensed her. It felt so unmistakeably like her, but such a thing was impossible. Makoto was gone, just like the rest of the people he loved. The Dark One himself spoke the truth into his ear, dismembering all doubts on the fate that befell the Phantom Thieves of Hearts. He called it 'an inevitable waking nightmare', a scar of the heinous crimes the world committed against he and his friends.

Nonetheless, he had to make sure. Confirm it, and dispel the sorrowful myth with his own hands.

Or maybe, simply see her again, whether an echo from a happier past or otherwise.

She was not far away.

The Joker made for Kawasaki.

[ ]

Queen decided to continue on foot. The terrain seemed ever the more treacherous as the 'moon' shed further light on whatever alien shapes came out of the pitch black. Conserving her energy also seemed the more sensible option. But she opted for a careful approach out of sheer caution. So little time had passed since she came out into the open, but this place felt even stranger than the tunnel behind.

Everything was so still and silent, apparently lifeless. All the same, she did not feel safe in the slightest. There was still too much of Nyarlathotep's handiwork in sight.

"Akira!" She called out loud, obtaining no response – not even an echo.

Despite her initial reservations, Queen called out his name again. Predictably, there was only silence after, yet this failed to discourage her. Every step she took filled her with conviction. For although she had no visible proof to her perspective, she knew her other half was somewhere in this place. She felt it in her bones.

"Akira! I know you're here! Please, answer me!"

Something odd caught her eye as she roamed. Beneath stony, spiralling growths, there was an unlikely hint of mundaneness. From up close, it looked like a signpost, not unlike the ones seen outside of temples or in rural areas. Then it occurred to her…

Everything in sight was a labyrinth of chaos, but if she found one recognisable thing beneath it all, there might be another.

Queen felt her surroundings as she walked further in. She found these cold, dry surfaces repugnant, if only by the many loathsome things she associated with them. But sooner rather than later, she discovered another object - larger and bulkier. It was a mailbox. A few steps ahead, there was a third, this time a bench. A wild suspicion was now brewing in her mind.

Then she took a chance.

All she truly had was the orientation of the objects. Otherwise, she was as good as blind.

"I'm coming, Akira."

Queen put a daunting amount of force into her fist, ramming it straight against a specific slab of stone. And like any Shadow vanquished by the fearsome lieutenant, the barrier crumbled. Behind it, she found a hollow wider than she would have guessed. And further in, a path drenched in pale, greenish moonlight, which somehow did not shine upon the outer reaches of the stony landscape.

Everything changed after that moment. Makoto was filled with dread, seeing such a familiar place corrupted so. For she would never forget it, the most bittersweet of days. Driving into Kawasaki, knowing they had saved the world and righted a despicable wrong, only to then part with their dear friend and leader. The experience was all the more intense for Makoto. The farewell was inevitable, but that happened two days after arriving to Akira's hometown. The hours in-between were simply blissful, in a manner so simple and clean.

These were the streets that saw little Akira grow into the good, honest man she befriended and fell for. Makoto immediately sensed a rustic tranquillity about the town, with its spacious roads and unassuming streets; it was a bit like a cleaner, larger Yongen-jaya by the sea. She remembered its people like a midpoint between the city and the country. Industrious and confident as per the demands of the local, fishing trade, but somewhat reserved nonetheless.

Quite like Akira himself.

That day, she Makoto his parents. And even before she could say a thing past the introductions, they already treated her with a distinct regard, which needed no further words. It was as if they were ready to accept her into the family. But though this made her happy, it was even better to see Akira mend relations with his parents. In that moment she knew that the hurt of saying goodbye would last only for so long. After the storm passed, the future was uncontestably bright.

Or it should have been…

Queen turned the corner down a narrow alley, which she would have never discovered if not for Akira. It was a shortcut he used to take as a little boy, and one of the many hidden roads he knew. Come night-time, the two managed to steal some time away for themselves, probably the last they would have for a while.

He led her down the secluded path into a recess that never got much light, even during the day and the bright starlit hours. This was a darkness she found welcoming, rather than oppressing. Perhaps it was merely his presence what made it such a serene place. Regardless, she desperately searched within herself for something appropriate to say – something, anything that left a sweet aftertaste in his heart.

But she found nothing to say.

He found nothing to say.

And that was fine, for there was nothing that needed be said. No obligation to waste their breaths into something they each knew in their deepest self. How she longed for that hallowed, loving silence.

The quiet in this passage was just that.

Coming out of the shortcut, Queen walked into the square where all eight spent the evening of the first day. Several roads branched out in all directions. She made for the one leading uphill, towards Akira's home. But before continuing, something on the ground caught her eye. It was small and grey. Queen crouched to get a better look.

It was a skull; or rather, the austere remains of one. Further observation revealed a few stylised lines, which reminded her of Ryuji's mask. This duplicate looked old and dusty, with cracks everywhere and some bits fallen off. She suspected this was not without reason. Her pulse stumbled when she caught another similar object, not far ahead. A feline mask, just as broken and weathered as Skull's.

Queen prepared herself as a third, fox-like mask showed up to narrate a path to follow, leading downhill on a road parallel to the one she intended to take at first. The fourth mask was like her own, the fifth resembled Futaba's, and the sixth was similar to Haru's. There was no sight of Morgana's mask, or Akira's. But as she continued down this road, she noticed something odd - that the 'veins' on which she travelled back in the tunnel, were here in the open.

And not too far away, a large set of strange figures. All of them completely grey and still, like statues fashioned in bizarre positions. But now, more than ever, Queen felt like something truly sinister lay in wait. She cautiously approached the small crowd, fighting to keep her cool.

The first statues, the ones on the outer circle, looked crude and lacking in detail. But as she drew closer, they became more and more defined. Their faces and clothes began to closely resemble real counterparts, but same as the masks she found before, these were marred with cracks and holes all over.

Within brief moments, the statues became startlingly faithful to real-life counterparts. The first one was an unexpected sight. Former Diet member, Toranosuke Yoshida. Next to him was the journalist that helped the Phantom Thieves in the past, Ichiko Ohya. A little further ahead, Queen saw Dr. Tae Takemi.

Most of these statues resembled familiar faces. A few of them were strangers to Makoto. But they all had something in common: body language. Even while completely still, each and every single one of the statues looked like a representation of agony and suffering. These dark reprisals conjured images straight of renaissance and neoclassical sculpture, tainted with the atmosphere of the surroundings.

Then, for a split second, Queen felt as if they were moving. She jumped back, guard up, and ready for whatever may come. But the figures remained frozen in their respective misery. Simply shrugging it off felt unwise, but opted to move on.

Further away, past the crowd of statues, she saw something that looked like a big, blackened tree. The very sight awoke Makoto's very instinct of self-preservation. It told her to flee, without looking back for a second. Alas, she defied this core human drive, resolute to only leave this place with Akira at her side. She walked on, scared, but uncompromising.

A smaller set of statues surrounded the 'tree'. She would have simply walked past them, if not for the face on the closest one.

It was Haru.

Queen froze instantly.

Someone with a weaker will would have lost all sanity in that moment. Even so, Makoto felt like she would lose all sanity if she stared too long. All the same, she could not help it. Her friend bore a defeated look on her face that shook Makoto's fortitude. She wore something that looked like a wedding dress, tattered and mangled in haste. A leash on 'Haru's' neck bound her to the statue of he who had once been her fiancé. Sugimura's arrogant look of triumph awoke a jolt of nausea in Makoto. If only to briefly escape the impression of this monstrous travesty, she looked away, finding a 'vein' skewering her friend's statue through her mid-section.

Makoto knew this was not real. However, despite the obvious wounds on the statue's make, the details spelled too realistic a scene. It was easy to fool oneself into thinking this was real, especially in this place.

She next saw Yusuke, emaciated and fallen, with a brush resting careless between his fingers. Futaba was nearby, a figure even smaller than she knew, buried beneath debris. Ryuji and Ann were both trapped in a revolting tableau of abuse and submission under Suguru Kamoshida's foot. Similar to Haru, all the Phantom Thieves' statues were 'wounded' by the veins. Makoto did not even entertain the idea of laying one glance longer.

But then she found her own statue, closer to the tree.

'She' was naked and beaten, with a syringe buried deep in her neck. The statue was similarly pierced like the others. Her feelings regarding this image were different from the rest. Disturbed as she was, there was no immediate nausea, or frightful chill. Instead, there a hollow feeling in her stomach. She could not begin to think or imagine what had been done to this false rendition of herself, but the pain and cruelty inflicted were very real. 'She' had not been hurt quite like the others, but this statue whispered a different kind of horror. It never happened; none of this was real. But it hurt all the same.

Seconds later, the hollow in her stomach was filled with sadness, as she finally came upon 'Morgana'. Since meeting the feline, Morgana shone as the group's life force, inside and outside their roles as Phantom Thieves. Whether the snarky advisor in Akira's backup, or their getaway vehicle and trusty comrade, Morgana filled every moment with life. Yet here he lay now, curled up quietly at the foot of the black tree. Dead.

Tears fell as she lifted her face to look at the tree, already knowing what she would find.

Akira.

Coat tattered everywhere. Strings of blood running down from his head and the corner of his mouth. His extremities were bound by the tree's roots and this world's veins, while another wrapped around his neck in an idle, but relentless noose. His breathing was slow, and his face was troubled – like he was caught in an endless nightmare. The overall image spoke on its own. Joker had put up a fight, but this place had its own lowly defences, especially designed to break him.

"Akira…" Queen sobbed as she tenderly placed her hand on his cheek. She wished she could lean her head on his chest, if only to feel the beating of his heart, but she did not feel confident in doing that without hurting him further.

His fingers twitched in response. Her very proximity was undoing the slumber of defeat.

"Makoto. I messed it up…" He sounded weak and tired.

"Hush. Don't… don't say a thing." She pushed her sorrow far away. For all the horrors she had seen in this dark fishing hamlet, she still had won in the end. The got the one solace she sought for. He was alive, and this place would never take him from her. "We will get out of here."

"I can't go with you."

"Why not?"

"I haven't done what I came here to do." Despite the pain and shame he felt inside, his resolve was again shining through.

"Then we will do it together."