Ryuji paced all about the azure confines of the Velvet Room in what seemed an endless loop. His anxiety was such that he could not keep still for longer than five seconds. Impatience was not an uncommon issue with him, but his restless attitude today was not only his own. His friends looked from where they sat, quietly sharing in the same emotions. Neither Ann or even Morgana could reproach him. It has only been little under an hour, but it felt already too long since Makoto left to retrieve Akira.
It was now Haru's turn on the modelling stool, after Ryuji's mercifully quick session. Abiding to the Demon Artist's craft, she did her best to maintain her pose and expression. The young woman proved an optimal model to work with, but beneath her stillness raged a tempest of fear. Haru still could not get past the horror of Susumu Kamiyama's lot since becoming Nyarlathotep's vessel, or the harrowing experiences the Crawling Chaos forced on them; the raw sight of their foe wearing her father's face still visited her at night.
She feared for Makoto and Akira, and the reprisal of such horrible visions. They may yet encounter some other, unforeseen terror, and the loathsome possibility that they may not come back. Despite her fortitude, the thought manifested into a fleeting twitch in her expression, prompting the Painter to stop for a moment.
"Alright." He sighed. "You're doing great, lady. How about you take a couple of seconds, though? You know, to breathe, relax, and… let go of that horrible thing I see in your eyes."
"I'm sorry." Haru looked down, ashamed.
"No, no, it's okay. Can't really blame you. You're worried about your friends. It's perfectly normal." The Demon Artist rubbed his eyelids with his fingertips, betraying a hint of exhaustion. "Just try not to let that be all you think about. Dilutes the colours."
"I'll try."
"Your Persona carries a lot of anger, of the powerful, wilful kind. Kind of similar to your pacey friend over there. Maybe hold on to that?"
Haru turned to Ryuji, who still paced about the room. A storm was brewing atop his brow, and from the way he walked, one could guess he may burn himself out before their time came. They could tell at a glance that he was worried, but there was more to it. Ryuji itched to join his friends, and to take the fight to Nyarlathotep, to defeat him once for all. He was not clinging to fear, but the sheer desire to act.
At their core, they all wanted to take the battle to Nyarlathotep. Right this wrong for good.
"That's better." The Demon Artist said suddenly. "No idea what you did. But… eh… keep doing it."
Keep doing it. As vague a description as it was, it sounded true in Haru's ears. Their work as Phantom Thieves was not always easy to put into words. It comprised so many roles, all subject to unpredictability, and the need to adapt and be courageous. Many aspects of life had become so disorienting since becoming Noir, but the constant beneath would carry her through it all. She would give her all, and never stop.
She kept doing it, convinced all eight of the Phantom Thieves, her dearest friends, were on the same wavelength. Their hearts beat at the same tempo. A war drum - a foreshadowing of the rage they would unleash upon Nyarlathotep, all guns blazing.
"Much, much better." The painter grinned, spotting the renewed gleam in Astarte's armament.
The larger half of the Phantom Thieves continued to wait. The silence was uneasy and the worry almost palpable. But something brighter and mightier lay beneath: a quiet, unshakeable resolve to emerge victors.
[ ]
Kawasaki no longer felt the same way. Its make had been perturbed somehow. It was sufficiently changed to make the Joker hesitate upon his return to the dark realm. He expected the eventual arrival of his other, obstinate, hated self, which accounted for the subtlest of differences. Yet there was another in here, someone whose very presence wrecked the unlikely harmony of the town. The paradox of it all was only starting to enforce its influence – he could feel it, miles away.
Slowly at first, then sudden and violent. His senses were being dulled and confused, far away from the cruel accuracy of his master's design. And it was all because of a small light where there once had only been darkness. The light was small in its current state, but it potentially could grow into a supernova, mutating and destroying this Kawasaki, starting with the Joker himself. He still possessed the might to endure devastation, and deliver it tenfold. But all that power became meaningless, in face of the unexpected.
And for the first time since his birth, he knew frailty. His mind could barely keep his physicality in check, as the Joker began to resemble a feral, rabid creature. Instinct was taking over, and soon he would have but one single inkling of thought and intent: the one thing that demolished his certainty. There were hints in the world outside, images that clashed with the truths he knew, but there was no denying it anymore.
Makoto Niijima was alive.
The girl he loved, lost to a terrible fate.
She now stood here, defying everything he knew to be true - the Queen unbound from the clutches of ruin.
The Joker hardly needed to see it happen to know. Makoto came here, through passages nobody was meant to cross, just to see the other him, the one who failed them all. It was not his body she embraced, but he could still feel her warmth. For all his strength, Nyarlathotep's knight was completely powerless to the feeling. He fell one knee, as the fire of his hatred began to wane. And then, only for the briefest moment, his thoughts belonged to him alone.
Gone was the murderous glee in destroying his botched copies.
Gone was the all-consuming animosity towards his other self.
Gone was his devotion to his Master.
If she's alive… are the others…?
Joker's mind dissolved. The weight of the contradictions was too much to bear. Thus, he broke into a wild run, apparently aimless, through nigh unbreakable walls and roots of the unholy tree. All to see her once more.
[ ]
Makoto Niijima knew there was something about Akira Kurusu, from the very first moment she saw him truly. He was just a nameless silhouette to her during the early days of her final term at Shujin, just like everyone else. From her position as honour student and student council president, the only thing that mattered was living up to the expectations of a competitive society. But her heart was never in it - that was the hardest realisation, and it changed her life forever. It all began when she was tasked to uncover the truth behind the Phantom Thieves of Hearts.
That was when she saw him; no longer a silhouette, no longer nameless. Gazing at her prime suspect, she found cockiness, defiance, and something else she could not quite place – a shine that never goes out. Makoto soon discovered that once she looked into Akira's eyes, she could no longer look away…
… as an adversary, as a friend, as a comrade, as significant other.
As her equal.
Now, viciously ensnared in a world built of his own torment, Akira's eyes still found Makoto. The spirit and energy of their first encounter was no longer there. In their stead was vulnerability, damage, and shame, from having succumbed to the horrors that surrounded them.
The young woman approached as carefully as she could. She measured every movement, so as not to hurt him in his current state. However, she fought to contain the desire to search for that same old shine in his eyes, first and foremost. No matter how bad things got, as long as Akira possessed that spirit, all would be well. Things were different now. It made no difference whether she saw the shine in his eyes at all. She could not waste any time seeking that familiar sign of hope – it was her turn to shine for him.
"Akira, how did this happen?" She held a firm grip on the coiling branches trapping his left wrist. It looked a manageable start before working her way to the rest of his body.
"Pretty sure it was the blackout." Akira resumed his efforts to free himself, to little effect.
"That fits in with what we know… but that's not all, is it?"
All around them, the tainted sights of Kawasaki and the statues pressed on their senses, like their very existence were a tangible weight. Oppressive and inescapable.
"No…" He admitted. "I walked into this place back then. That much I know. The rest I've only started to understand recently, somewhat. It's still conjecture, though. A hunch."
The first set of roots broke apart with a loud crack.
"We'll be here a while." Makoto wiped the sweat off her brow. The limbs of the black tree proved a challenge even to her strength. "I'm all ears."
She carefully picked another branch. As the leaner branches came undone, he found himself at liberty to tug away at the rest.
"It's complicated." Akira said. "Actually, it's just ugly, and painful. This world is a lie, and the other me was born here, believing it was true. The link to Nyarlathotep lets me peek into the Joker's heart. It's bad in there. That heart is full of anger and hatred, mostly directed at me. But above all else, there's pain."
"Your double is hurting?"
"Badly. I can feel it, even now He and I, we are linked." He went quiet for a moment. Akira designed his gambit back in the real world to undertake this duty alone. This implied keeping the harrowing epiphany to himself. But circumstance was not on his side. Much to his own heartache, encircling the truth meant speaking about something he would have kept hidden forever. Circumstance demanded it. But he still could not bring himself to tell Makoto.
A tremor shook the world for a brief moment. His thoughts were a powerful stimulus on the dark Kawasaki.
The casino gambit had been their greatest challenge. In many ways, the gamble proved harder than the ensuing ordeals against Yaldabaoth. Evading Goro Akechi's murderous plan involved a great deal of preparation, skill, and luck. Akira gambled with his own life to mislead their foe, and save Sae Niijima from a dark machination. Even in victory, his friends ended up agonising under the foreboding possibility of his failure, in which case, misfortune would surely have followed. But that path of ruin was averted. The Phantom Thieves of Hearts lived on.
We won.
No need to look back at those excruciating hours.
No need to revisit my side of the gamble.
My friends had it bad enough with the cards they were dealt.
Makoto suffered much already with the stakes.
There is no reason to talk about it.
"How?" Makoto asked.
A twitch of the finger gone unnoticed. A faraway statue turned its head in their direction.
"Makoto, I…"
Far away in the unseen horizon, a burst of light flashed suddenly. In a world of infinite darkness, Makoto Niijima found this to be an especially unsettling phenomenon. Akira would have appreciated this interruption, but he knew what caused it. There was no relief to be had – that light was really a beacon of their doom.
"He's here."
"You mean…?"
"Makoto, you need to leave. Now." He urged with subdued desperation in his voice.
"Not a chance." Makoto continued to unmake the branches, as if nothing happened. She spoke with a light-hearted tone, which sounded unfitting for the situation at hand. "I rode too long to leave empty-handed."
"You don't understand. He's much more dangerous than you know!"
"As am I." Queen declared. "Don't forget I'm now a Wild Card also. I bring quite the arsenal myself, and I will not relent if he comes our way."
"It may not be enough… Do not take this risk. Please…"
Akira cupped her cheek with his palm so she would look at him in the eye. Makoto froze upon feeling his fingers on her face. She found the callousness of wounded hands completely imperceptible next to the lingering warmth on his skin. How uncanny, she thought, that even now he could convey tenderness with such abandon. A world of hurt could be looming on their heads, and he still would reach deep into her soul, one way or another. Makoto was already in the know, that this was Akira Kurusu's signature. A particular and very paradoxical kind of charm, both self-serving and selfless.
"… just go."
However, being this close to him dispelled the notion. This was neither a charm, nor a shame-riddled lie. Eye to eye, she immediately found the same old shine that gave her hope; a sight that lay beyond all doubt. That little, unflinching thing she identified as faith and love, recontextualised as per that exact moment, when unspeakable dangers stalked in their shores. She knew then he did not mean to simply charm her into leaving. This was far different – it was truth, and acceptance.
He was saying goodbye.
Did you come here to die?
Even before the moment when he snuck out of the Velvet Room, his course was already planned out.
Are you going to just leave me?
He weighed the menace like nobody else could, and thus he saw no other way.
Do you mean for us to just go on, without you in our lives?
A fate spelled in the stars. From the beginning, this was a suicide mission.
"… ther, or not at all." She muttered.
Somewhere, something was slowly breaking amidst the dark.
"Makoto…"
"TOGETHER, OR NOT AT ALL!"
Outside, the rupture in Makoto's heart translated into a cry that dwarfed Queen's already ferocious spirit, and into the branches that bound Akira completely undone by her hands. All in one, furious motion. The crack was deafening. And her partner found himself completely speechless as he fell free, only to be caught in a hot embrace by his liberator.
"How dare you… how dare you try send me away…?" No hate or bitterness clung to her muscles as Makoto held him tight. "You don't get to play dumb, and ignore how many times we have faced death before. Once more, a thousand times more… it will never make a difference to me. I won't leave you. Ever."
Akira remained silent. The shock of Makoto's ire was in the past. Now all he could think of was the great incognita glaring at him, the possibility he had never considered. Was it possible to destroy his other self's cradle, and escape together? Could there be an outcome different to the doom he envisioned?
Another burst of light. An ensuing tremor. And with that, the sign of a coming behemoth, shaped in Akira's own image. As if responding to Akira and Joker's emotional bond, the statues slowly came alive, encroaching upon the centre of the world as best they could. Some walked, others crawled, and some others pathetically dragged themselves along the ground.
Perhaps there was another way all along. The weight on his soul may have just kept him from seeing it. But though Nyarlathotep exploited the burden, he did not create it. The cause lay elsewhere.
Makoto placed a gentle hand on his shoulder as he regained his footing. He did not find this contrast strange in the slightest. Formidable strength and infinite kindness dwelled in her soul. Within his, lay the foundations for this world's existence.
It was time to speak the truth he kept hidden for so long.
"I call them Les Misérables." Akira said, as the statues in the likeliness of his friends and loved ones came into view. "I thought coming up with a quirky name might help me cope. It really didn't, as you can imagine. And it was… hard to seek counselling for this kind of thing. The only thing that made sense was simply burying it. We had our hands full with Shido and Akechi. I just chalked it all up as a bad dream."
"What happened?" Makoto asked.
"That night at the casino…" He breathed deep and slow. "After I was taken in, the cops roughed me up a bit. It was nasty, but not all that bad next to the drugs. I don't think truth serum actually works the way it did, or that the agent meant for it to have that effect. But that shot did something to me."
The memory was well over a year old. But it was still all too fresh in Makoto Niijima's mind. She remembered the preceding hours, how cruel and long they felt. She remembered the brutal shock on hearing the news of Akira's 'suicide' while in custody. And above all, she remembered the relief when Sae and Sojiro returned to LeBlanc with the boy she so dearly loved, alive… but not well. Makoto was furious when she knew what Akira had endured throughout the night, but she never suspected how bad things truly were.
"It's all conjecture, but maybe the time spent in the Metaverse had some effect on my head. The serum made certain thoughts feel too real. All of them false. Still, my brain construed them as reality. When Sae interrogated me, she had me tell our story… the Phantom Thieves' story, from the beginning up to that moment. One by one, I visited and wrestled with these false memories. I think I did okay in the end." Akira smiled sadly. "As Sae and I pieced the story together, my common sense told me that I wouldn't be where I was, if any of those false memories ever truly happened. But I couldn't simply ignored them. It was as if a cognition had been made from each one."
Akira and Makoto were now surrounded by a multitude of statues, each of them possessed by a distinctive kind of misery. They represented no threat to either of two. Yet their sole existence was a deep wound in his heart. Akira took a few steps towards the closest statue, the one that resembled Ryuji. Despite two shattered legs, it was him who reached them first, as a tragic simile of their comrade's truest virtues.
"None of them happened, I know." He kneeled in from the statue, lovingly placing a hand on the grey stone head. "But as we went along, my thoughts lingered on the what ifs… What if we'd failed to stop Kamoshida. What if Yusuke continued to live and work under Madarame. What if Kaneshiro…"
But reviving the thought of what would have happened to Makoto was too much to bear. As Akira hurt, so did his double, and the world that surrounded them. Another lightning-like flash revealed Kawasaki unravelling in grotesque detail. What unnatural forces retained their hold in this place could only keep it whole for so long.
"You get the idea…"
"Akira…" She crouched at his side, and saw the trail of tears falling lonesome down his face. "I'm… I'm so sorry! I had no idea. And you've been carrying this for so long…"
"You couldn't have known. I never spoke a word, to anyone, when I should have. That's all on me."
"No, it's not." She wasted no time. Makoto held him closely, taking in the slow, tranquil release of his sorrow. Though he kept himself composed, catharsis manifested in full – quiet but faithfully. He felt light as a feather to her, as if he was letting go of all those terrible burdens. And she was willing to be there always, to hold it all for him. He did not even need to ask. "There is no blame in this, Akira."
"But there is." Akira said with a grim expression. "It was that moment that caught Nyarlathotep's attention. One way or another, I supplied him with the materials to make the other me. Susumu Kamiyama and the blackout, those were just the following steps in the process I started."
"You never meant for any of it to happen. You did not set the wheel in motion. Nyarlathotep did." Makoto stood her ground. Her hands curled into fists as she spoke. "He took advantage of you, just like Shido, and Yaldabaoth. And his means were just as foul, feeding on your fears to create his enforcer. From the beginning, it was only natural that you'd fear the worst, being thrust into becoming a Phantom Thief, dealing with injustice and forces beyond anything we'd ever seen. Still you led us through it all, despite the stakes. You united and protected us."
The statues continued to close in on them, their tormented expressions contorting further. At this point, they looked human in only the basest fashion. But then, in some unseen manner, the miserable, ravaged mockery of Makoto Niijima made its way to their feet. She was looking on them with empty, hopeless eyes.
"You took the force of the blow whenever we were in danger. It's what you're doing right now even. And each time, we see the infinite potential of what life could be. That's the wheel you set in motion, Akira."
A frail hand moved upwards, violently trembling at the very touch of the wind. The destroyed Makoto reached towards Akira, pleadingly.
"And because of what you started, I stand before you now. Living. Whole. Loved."
Another flash. Neither of them noticed the silhouette of the Joker, shambling forward like a corpse revived. Instead they gazed down at the statue. Together, they saw the surface of its body unmaking itself. From stone to dust; from dust to nothing. And one by one, the effigies of Akira Kurusu's deepest fears, and the terrible fates that never happened, were all gone.
"I'll be here for you..."
Makoto's words fell on his ears like an impossibly gentle avalanche, overwhelming every doubt that lingered in his soul. Despite his vow of silence on the images that tormented him, they remained a tale he could not deny since. Failures that never happened, leading to self-loathing, and the birth of another self on a nightmare of endless sorrow. But that ceased to matter, as his partner's presence shattered the narrative. 'Les Misérables' were finally laid to rest.
She did not tell him anything he did not know already. All she truly did was braving into the deepest darkness, just to fish him out of this delirium. He thought it was just the kind of thing she would do.
"… forever, if you'd have me."
"Are you proposing to me?" A familiar smirk formed on Akira's face.
"Maybe." Makoto felt the blood rushing to her cheeks, just like the old days.
"Ask me again, at the end of this craze. Preferably over coffee." He said, fully knowing his answer already. Akira could vocalise no more on this matter, as the right words would only elude him. So in the deepest of hearts, he made a new silent vow. He swore to Makoto – bones, heart and spirit – and to his comrades, that they would all come out of this victorious. They would all grow old together, and he promised, across the long expanse of years to come, to see their dreams come true. As the truest of companions, as a family.
With that, an unexpected change began to occur in the world, as seen through Akira's eyes. The tendrils that polluted his vision were burning bright, seared into a new shape through azure flames. Nyarlathotep's 'fingers' were transformed into a flow of chains that surrounded the young man in circling motion. And out of the ether, emerged a shape in black and red.
I HAVE LONG WALKED AT YOUR SIDE, ON EACH STEP TAKEN ACROSS THE BEATEN PATH. SINCE THE MOMENT THOU FIRST HEARD MINE VOICE, SINCE THOU TOOK ON THE MANTLE OF TRICKSTER. I EXIST IN THY SORROW, IN THY VIOLENCE, AND IN THE BALEFUL GLEE OF THY REBELLION. COME WHAT MAY.
EVEN IF THOU WERE CHAINED TO DAMNATION THROUGH THE WHIM OF A FACELESS LORD, THE WAY OF THE TRICKSTER REMAINS CONSTANT. HEAR ME NOW, ACCURSED SEEKER OF JUSTICE… DOES THY HEART CONTINUE TO BEAT AT THE SAME TEMPO?
"Yes." Akira responded to Arsene's question.
THUS, LIBERATED… THOU SHALL PUNISH YOUR OPPRESSOR'S VANITY IN EXEMPLARY FASHION. LASH OUT, AND CLAIM DOMINION OVER CHAOS!
"I am thou."
THOU ART I…
AS ONE, HELL SHALL RIDE FORTH!
Arsene faded into thin air, but the lingering shade appeared grander in size than the Trickster's original Persona. And the remainders of his monstrous echo mingled with the sounds of the world coming apart. In nearly every way that could be perceived, this was an awakening.
"Akira?" Out of instinct, Makoto put her hand on his chest.
The young man was speechless. So much had occurred in such a brief moment that even maintaining his balance on his own was a miracle. The gift of the Wild Card had never left him, but something had been lost in his soul since this saga began; a thing he could not figure was missing, let alone retrieve on his own. All he truly knew is that, for the first time in so long, he felt whole again.
And this Kawasaki, bleak and dying, looked brighter somewhat. But nothing had truly changed about the pocket world itself. Akira was simply looking at his surroundings with his own two eyes, free from the influence of the Dark Lord.
Nyarlathotep's reach no longer lived inside of him. Akira was free.
"I'm here." He said, looking straight into Makoto's eyes. Though it has been countless time he has seen her, this felt like the first time, all over again.
"At long last." She smiled, holding joyful tears back.
How long have I seen him straying further away from who he is, without me being able to do a damn thing? And now… is this real? Are you… are you finally back…? Ah, yes… I see now… the face I've so wanted to see for so long. Our Joker… no, our Akira Kurusu is back.
Time would come for some catharsis of her own. For now, they had to escape back into the mutating world.
But no sooner they made for the exit, an ominous figure stood in their way.
Nyarlathotep's knight – the Joker. The fearsome figure slouched forward like a mindless beast, with an aura of darkness clinging to his body like a promise of death and destruction. However, the menacing double made to effort to approach or attack. Unbeknownst to Akira and Makoto, the Doppelgänger had remained nearby, as a transfixed witness of a scene he could barely make sense of. His other self had broken free, and rose with the full intent of bringing his Master to heel. But completely against his design, he cared about none of it. Through glowing, white eyes, all he saw was Makoto Niijima.
It was neither illusion, nor cognition. She was alive and well. And now, she was also the sole element that denied his origin.
A natural response for such an altered psyche would have pointed towards aggression. A tantrum of cataclysmic proportions. No violence came out from under the wreck of his mind, however. There was not even the slightest urge to comprehend the logic of what was happening.
From where Makoto stood, the Joker's strange, marble-carved facial features looked shockingly sad.
"... Q… Q… Quee-" A growl of a whisper escaped his lips. But he never got to fully utter the word, as something in the darkness snatched him away.
The pair could not afford to stay and process this turn of events. Whatever lay unseen could come for them next. It was time for the getaway.
"Johanna!" Queen called for her original Persona, producing a bright light that evidenced just how precarious the road ahead. "Joker, with me."
She did not have to say that twice. The Trickster hopped on Johanna's back, preparing for a hard ride.
"Hold on tight." She exclaimed.
"Aye, aye, Queen."
The duo streaked for the outskirts of dark Kawasaki at high speed. Only a few seconds had passed, and they already dodged a close shave with a disastrous demise. The town was not simply coming apart, it was lashing out like it was a living creature. This chaotic state was fitting for a place framed around suffering; nonetheless, it proved extremely dangerous.
The steel-clad rider was focused on dodging debris and outrunning enormous, wrathful growths. But as they drew nearer to the tunnel, she found herself ever more tense and scared. There seemed to be no end to the obstacles and perils that kept springing out from nowhere. Through boundless mayhem, the lonely, desolate world resembled Nyarlathotep's temple to frightening detail.
Suddenly, she felt Joker's arms tightening around her abdomen.
"Always dreamed of riding with you. Never like this, though." He sounded as scared as she, but the inappropriate cheekiness of his word sweetened her nerves.
"We'll make it out, Akira. I promise you. We will make it out!" Makoto roared as she pushed Johanna to her limits, beelining into the tunnel – furiously, desperately.
Then, everything was dark. A thick, black cloud enveloped them both. Johanna's light was already dimming out through exhaustion; now the nuclear glow of Makoto's Persona was almost put out. They were riding blind and doombound.
Suddenly, the cloud was dispelled on contact with another light. It was the view approaching behind the mass of darkness what kept Joker and Queen from giving in to despair. The familiar sight of two blue headlights coming their way, and the very distinctive, purr-like roar of the Mona engine.
