I swear, I'm trying to end this damn arc. Things just keep adding up, so I have to write more, which means more chapters (unless you want something that's 10k+ words). I'd been planning to have one last mini-arc after this but given how long this is taking, I might have to rethink it a little.
"Minato?" All rage and bloodlust ceased the moment Death called out his name. His enemy is behind him and could attack at any moment, yet he lowers his guard.
"You shouldn't be here," he says, shaking his head, lowering his body closer to eye level, and stabbing his sword into the ground as support. "You're not well. Please, let me finish this."
Death tries to catch his gaze to no avail. His body is here, but his true self is in the past. It's a sight he knew all too well. Letting out something akin to a long sigh, Death looks towards the ground, shaking his head.
He turns back to Kotone. He's not surprised by the dread from Minato's arrival or the radiating fury that quickly took its place. It's fitting, Death thought; they had been given one last look at the prize before the finale.
But then the moment of silence was broken by a voice neither expected. "Not… well…?"
Death lets out a confused gasp when it faces the source. Minato doesn't look up from the floor, but his hands are trembling, clenched with white knuckles. "I'm… not… well?!" He repeats, slowly emphasizing each word.
Manic laughter oozes with contempt, shocking Death enough that he takes a step back.
Makoto had been angry with him before. He's lectured him, glared at him, and during his final weeks, even cursed him. But it had always been anger and pain—never with hatred and disgust. "You, who locked me in a room torturing me? Beat me to hell, painting the walls in my blood?!"
Blood? Writing? Did he do that? Why would he?
No, he wouldn't—he couldn't have. It's just another lie he's been fed. He would never—
No, no, no! He would never! It's just another lie he's been fed by them—by her! Just another trick to turn them against each other.
The glare Death gives Kotone tells Minato all he needs to know. Stubborn to the end. Unwilling to see the truth in front of him. Deny the obvious and let the world suffer for it.
Minato doesn't need another look in the mirror. No, he has something else now. Reach out for that thread. Grab it. Tighten it. Fasten it around that bastard's throat and pull.
Every moment here is another painful memory. Memories made bitter because of him, and he thinks he can blame it on them—on her?
No. He's going to pay for what he did. Pharos, Nyx, they're all just another name to add to the list; they're more fuel for the fire he feels burning.
"No, no, no, no!" Death's words are frantic. He knows that look all too well. The girl twisted his mind against him! For that sin, she would—
The attack came without warning. Death felt something strike its jaw in what ostensibly appeared to be an uppercut. Too fast and too sudden for it to defend against.
Another attack. A backhand with enough force that it almost sent Death flying on its own, supplanted by a minor explosion at the contact.
Instead, he stabs his sword into the ground and plants his feet firmly, friction quickly bringing the momentum to a halt.
The wounds sting, its metallic anatomy shrieking in pain from the intense heat—but that was nothing compared to the dagger Death felt dig into his heart.
Kotone lies, the hand that had reached for an Evoker that had fallen at her side frozen in time.
SEES remains absent. All there is…
"Y-You…" the word comes out breathlessly. Orpheus—the true persona of Minato Arisato, endowed even to the splintered fractions of his soul. Its body remains a pale silver, but its red eyes feel different, possessing an intensity that was absent before. Is it from being unleashed by its true owner or a reflection of his contempt?
Orpheus attacked him.
Minato attacked him.
All those years. Everything he did. Every moment they had together. Why would he just…?
It doesn't make sense. Nothing makes sense. Through the next incoming attacks, Death continues trying to understand.
What did he do wrong?
He never truly meant to hurt him, right? He did everything he could!
They've fought. They've argued in the past. But through it all, they had each other. When Makoto would cross the point of despair and attempt to end his pain, he would always bring him back from the brink. It hurt him to continue existing with the pain, the nightmares, and the regrets, but he always understood.
He understood he meant the best. He understood he was all that little ghost, Pharos. had—Makoto Yuki was his entire world.
So why?
Why is that gone?
What went wrong?
Why can't…
How…?
How could he?
How dare he!?
All those years, and he would just throw them away—throw him away?
Minato is clutching his head, dragging himself through pain as he approaches with Orpheus at his side. Good, that makes this easy.
"Oh no. No," Kotone shakes her head, forcing herself back on her feet. Her body screams in protest instantly, leaving her frantic sprint reduced to a hopeless stumble. "No, no, no, no…"
This was bad. This was the worst outcome imaginable. She can't leave him alone with that thing, not again—she won't.
It's only by reflex that she throws herself back when she sees something rising from the ground, shielding her eyes with her arm, feeling what could've easily been a debilitating burn. Every nerve sends a painful shock through her system. It's a force of will to keep herself from screaming out, but nothing would stop the pained whimpers or the water following down her cheeks.
Another wall of black flame, same as before.
Not again. Not again.
She's a helpless little girl; nothing more she can do but cry and wonder what she could've done differently. What mistake did she make? Why did Mother leave her—
No. No! She refused. Mother came back because she loved her, and it's that same love that she cannot—will not—give up on him.
Though it's her blood that stains the ground, Kotone forces herself to stand, using her naginata for support. She will get through that barrier. She doesn't know how yet, but she will.
And when she does, she'll make sure that Death won't hurt anyone ever again.
Makoto Yuki fidgets in his chair, his persona lurking in the shadows behind him and trying to peer into him quizically.
He's in danger.
She's in danger.
Everyone is at risk.
It's asinine for him to grow a conscience now. He's killed in cold blood and has slept soundly since—murders that were his to bear, not Arisato's.
But Makoto Yuki should be dead. The humanity bled from him by Death itself. But he wouldn't let him die.
No, that's wrong. Makoto Yuki died, but he brought him back. That third fraction of Minato Arisato's shattered soul; the one bearing his humanity, his hopes—he died, allowing all he was to become part of Makoto's corpse.
So what is he now? A monster made by his own mistakes, humanity borrowed for reasons he can't understand. Why wouldn't he let him die? Let the monster be gone.
A monster. A mistake. A nightmare best left forgotten, yet here he is. He taints all he touches.
It's the only thing he can tell himself to remain seated. The imp keeps staring at him curiously with that mocking, expecting grin. His respecting his wish for silence is all that keeps Makoto from striking.
Anger. The same he feels Minato channeling. The same Makoto feels towards everything. This world that hurt him, Kotone for trying to get close no matter how much he pushed, Minato Arisato for his greatest mistake, but most of all, himself…
"It seems the boy has made his choice," Igor breaks the silence. He pauses, letting his words linger, perhaps expecting Makoto to respond.
"Good," the smile creeps up before he can catch it. Though the magic of the hood should conceal his features (an aspect he appreciated greatly in the earlier months), Igor gives him a knowing look.
Makoto lets his eyes flare, daring the old man. Dare him so that he could pick a fight with him or his assistant—a fight with anyone. A loud crack comes from his knuckles.
He shouldn't care.
He doesn't care.
He can't care.
Close the door. Lock it. Don't let it back in. Here he is safe. The nightmares can't reach him. The pain can't touch him. Its voice won't…
Makoto blinks, and the room changes. Gone is the elevator, alongside Igor and his attendant.
No, no, no, no! He won't do it. Even with his eyes shut tight, his blood runs cold in recognition.
Keep them closed. Don't let it in. Ignore the flames. Let them burn themselves out. Say it doesn't hurt. It can't hurt you.
Don't let it in.
Don't let it in.
Never let it in.
Never let her back in.
"Still running away, brother?"
Death's claws swipe at the air around him, spilling more of the malevolent flames and forcing the boy to move.
"Traitor!" Death shrieks, his movement becoming a blur only hinted by the flash of silver from his blade.
Parrying the following blow with Orpheus is still enough to send a painful shock through his system, all nerves lit at once and all sounds muffled by a ringing after the impact.
Orpheus won't be able to absorb another blow like that. Fortunately, he doesn't need to. When Death charges for another attack, striking high, the persona retreats, and Minato meets his charge, going low.
Too committed to his current attack and presented too small of a target, this is his chance.
One strike, he has to make it count.
With all his might, Minato plunges his sword as deep as it can go. Both keep their momentum, going opposite directions, allowing the resulting drag to cut deep into Death's abdomen, rapidly bleeding out black smoke.
There's pain, of course, enough to make Death let out a guttural growl. The wound itself, however, begins closing almost as quickly as it came. Painful. Harmless. Distracting.
Death's wings wrap around him, shielding him moments before being engulfed in another blaze. The flames' scorching touch unleashes its full fury, eager to crack the shell and inflict as much agony as possible.
It's excruciating, but nothing compared to the thorns of betrayal tearing into its heart. The thorns dig deeper with every attack, the ones causing him to bleed until there's nothing left.
When the flames die, and his old friend—his world—stands at the center, there's a moment of bitter realization.
This is real.
This is real, and this is them.
Minato is the one inflicting the stubborn wounds that refuse to heal.
And Death is the one hurting him.
They were friends months ago. They were all they had.
And now, they're killing each other. All because he chose her instead.
It's not entirely deliberate when the black spheres begin appearing, black and white auras swirling around in a vortex. And when Minato senses the impending danger, all Death can do is curse his name. "Liar! Betrayer! I'll never forgive you for this! Never!"
One step. Two steps. Three steps. Deep breath.
One step. Two steps. Three steps. Deep breath.
Kotone recites the mantra under her breath. The weight on her shoulders threatens to collapse, her knees wobbling despite the added support from her naginata. Every blink was a temptation. Close her eyes and drift off, allowing her body the desperately needed reprieve.
No, she can't. She won't fall here. He needs her. Her friends need her.
Gritting her teeth, Kotone lets out a cry, forcing her weary legs to move. One step. Two steps. Three—
The naginata scraps against the ground. Kotone's balance shifts, legs unable to bear the weight and give out, bringing her crumbling to the floor.
"Dammit," she curses, only able to mutter under her breath as she's overtaken by exhaustion. Her body refuses to obey her. Her eyes are heavy. All she can focus on is the cold hard ground pressing against her face as her world is left in darkness.
It's so tempting to just let go. Allow herself to be swept away by the current. Even if she wanted to, her body was at its limit.
Kotone hears something calling her name, but the sounds are muffled. Her head is dizzy—the world keeps going in and out of focus. Someone shakes her, trying to snap her out of her daze, but she can't focus long enough to identify them.
There's a moment of silence. Then she feels herself being carried. She's too tried to resist. All she can do is let her consciousness drift off and put her trust in them.
Don't answer it.
This isn't the first time the specter has haunted him. Once, it had been a constant presence; an inescapable reminder of what he had done. Ignore and it always goes away. It may take hours. It may take days. But it always leaves.
"Brother, answer me. Please."
It's not her. It can never be her.
It has her voice. It knows his name. But it will never be her. It's not how life works. The dead never comes back, no matter how much you wish they could. Everyone's life has to end, and hers was brought by his hand.
"Minato, look at me!" It demands.
Minato. Only one person has that name now. There was another, but he's gone now; all that he was merging with Makoto, and now there's nothing left. Fitting, he supposed. In a sense, his final victim was himself.
And now this mask is all he has left. His fingers brush against the jagged edges, tracing the various cracks staining the once pristine surface. The hood's magic obscures his features except this—no, that's not right. The hood is like a mirror, only allowing himself to show his true face.
"I forgive you! I forgive you! I forgive you! How many times do I need to say it?"
Forgiveness? Is that what she thinks this is?
"Even if you don't forgive yourself, don't you see? This is it! Even if you think it's pointless, you can try! Try to right your wrongs—"
"I don't care!" The mask is on now. Cracked and broken, its soulless empty socket on one side and Makoto's blue on the other, its brightness betraying his anger.
"Righting my wrongs? Find forgiveness?" His words are caustic, dripping with enough venom that Minako steps back. "To hell with that!" he declares with a growl.
The bridge distorts around them, glitching and becoming replaced with a static growing with his outrage, his fury, and his resentment. "Do you honestly think it's that simple that I'll try to fix things because I feel bad? Is that it?!"
"Minato, I—"
"Stop calling me that! I am not Minato!" Makoto, a name he chose—a piece of Minato's soul, broken off and led astray, with Death filling the cracks and void left. "Do you remember that I've killed people? I almost forget because I can't bring myself to regret it, despite knowing what that makes me. More than that, it felt damn good. This world took everything from me, so why shouldn't I make it bleed in return?"
"I don't believe that," Minako shakes her head, but her expression doesn't inspire confidence. "You don't believe that."
"Believe whatever you want. Let the world die for all I care. Don't tell me you thought you could change me because I met a pretty girl?"
He can see it. Minako is on the ropes. She knows Minato Arisato better than he knows himself, but she wasn't prepared for this—so much loathing, built up for over a decade. Like a wound, it's been left to fester and rot, his anger acting as the pus spilling out as he bleeds out the infection he feels inside.
The only way to save the body is to remove the limb. Remove him. Cut him off completely so that he can't ever hurt anyone again.
He said it himself. He's less than a dog. Makoto didn't know what delusion the other broken fragment of Minato was under to think he was worth saving, giving up his being and humanity to replace what Pharos took from him. All that's left is a monster that should be locked away and forgotten.
Makoto turns his back to his sister's ghost. "Just… go," he exhales slowly, deeply.
He can't see them, but he knows she's crying. Silent tears, yet he feels himself drowning in them all the same. How liberating it must feel to close your eyes and let yourself drift away. No more anger. No more pain. He could just let it all go.
"I can't."
"Sucks to be you." Pharos, Kotone, and now Minako too? Why? Why won't they just let him go?
"I can't because you want me here." She answers as if reading his thoughts.
"I wanted you back for years," Makoto scoffs. "Too little, too late. Doubt you're even real."
"If I'm a hallucination, then I'm you. If I'm some ghost from the Velvet Room, it's because of you. Either way, I'm here because of you." Her voice cracks. "Because you can't let me go."
"You're an idiot," it comes out in a whisper, lacking any force. "You're dead. I'm not. No amount of wallowing is going to change that."
"You're not making any sense! Why—" Makoto senses the movement immediately, turning around in the blink of an eye, blue iris flashing and reflexively summoning his persona standing ready behind him. Minako's dash forward is ended before it can begin, forcing another step back.
That's when he sees it. The same look she had the day she died. The same one he saw when he fought Kotone.
Fear.
"Of course, it doesn't make sense! That's because you don't understand! Not you, not Kotone, not even Pharos! No one, because… because…" The fire burns cold. Its intense flames are reduced to embers. His knees give out, hitting the floor as the weakness spreads. "I… I wasn't the one that left."
He ran, but he wasn't the one that left. "What?"
"You're gone," he says, keeping his head focused on the ground. "You, Mom… Dad… you're all gone. You're gone, and I'm all that's left. I'm the only one left—no, I'm the only one that didn't leave."
"Brother…" Minako tries to reach out a hand, but Makoto refuses to take it. He can never take it.
"And he wouldn't let me die. I still remember the first time I jumped off a roof during the Dark Hour. By the time anyone found me, it'd be too late. I tried so hard. Pharos just kept putting back together. My body was living, but I wasn't—it felt as if it were some cruel joke. I had to cut myself just to think—to remind myself I'm not some soul stuck to a corpse, preventing him from seeing his family again."
"We would never want—"
"This isn't about you!" Finally, he looks at her. Horrified. Devastated. Features as he remembered them in his nightmares. "I can't… I can't do it anymore. I don't want to be here. I don't want to be the only one left anymore. Please, just me go."
There's nothing left for him. The body has its true owner back. All he has left to give are painful memories, regrets, and Makoto Yuki, the name he chose for himself.
Minako doesn't say a word. All she does is keep looking at him with those same sad eyes mirroring that boy from ten years ago.
She reaches out again, a simple test to see how he responds—dipping the toe in the water to see if it burns. When it doesn't, she almost leaps forward and wraps her arms around him.
It can't be real. No more real than what Pharos made him see in that alleyway. It can't be.
But the warmth of her arms, the tears he feels as she buries her face in his chest, the grip around him, desperate as if she were afraid of what would happen if she'd let go—it feels real. He wants it to be real.
"I won't." Minako shakes her head, pulling back to see her brother, his features still hidden beneath his hood's unnatural shroud and mask. "I will never leave you."
"You already did. You're dead. I'm not."
"I am you, remember?" Minako looks around. The bridge and static have been replaced by a void. Not the void he's familiar with, the cracks of Minato's soul filled with unending blackness. Instead, it's more akin to the night sky, filled with shining stars and lights. "If I'm here, then that means I'm alive through you."
"Don't hand me—"
"No, you listen, Minato," she calls him by that name again. It's a risk but a necessary one. "If I'm your other half, then you're mine. As long as you're alive, so am I. If you stay here, you'll be letting me die all over again."
"Why me?" he asks. "I'm just a parasite at this point. You have Minato. That should be enough."
"You're both Minato." Minako stands up, smiling softly. Tears are still in her eyes, but the pain isn't visible. "You are my brother. You know. I know it. Kotone knows it. Call yourself whatever you want and break yourself into as many pieces as you can. Nothing will ever change that. If you go, then what's left of me will too."
Her eyes meet his. Her hands reach out for his hood. He lets her pull it down, revealing a familiar shade of blue hair.
Half his face is exposed now. The bags under his eye is exposed along with the tired expression he's had since Pharos left him. Despite it all, she's smiling at him. Little sister, always trying to see the best in her big brother. She has to—like the moon, he can only shine with someone else's light; someone has to prepare him to take the steps he won't.
Minako reaches out again, gingerly this time. Before the tips of her fingers can touch the mask, he grabs her hand, looking away ashamedly. This is who he is now; the path of his choosing.
"You can't save someone that can't save themselves," he says, refusing to look back at her. "You can't save me."
Makoto releases her hand and is given silence in return. She doesn't dare contradict him. It's the source of the cycle every form of Minato perpetuates—the self-loathing, trapping him in a cage he himself made.
He's already given up on himself, the world, and everything. There's nothing she can do. Nothing he will listen to. No matter how she bears her heart to him, he'll forever be determined to stab his own.
There's nothing left for him now.
Makoto rises back to his feet, pulling his hood up once more. All he can do is let out a heavy sigh. He doubts she'll ever be coming back. All that's left is him.
And he's never felt more alone.
Oh, and since I've been gone for so long, I'm leaving a little "treat" on AO3. I normally never do this. I doubt I will again. Don't ever say I don't do anything for you all.