Chapter XVII - Jailbreak
The heavenly sound of a serenader and her accompanying music rose against the quiet peace of Wymare's slumber, gradually becoming louder and louder until it brought him to consciousness. It was a song he had become well-acquainted with, and he had a sense of where he was without needing to see it for himself.
"Well, well. It would seem you've come quite far since our first encounter. How excellent."
Wymare's eyes peeled open. As he'd expected, Igor was seated across from him, his trademark Cheshire smile spread across his face. The serene blues of the Velvet Room were familiar to Wymare now, and as such he no longer seemed surprised at finding himself within the ethereal space.
However, something did indeed strike him as odd. Perhaps it was the lingering sensation of sleep blurring his senses, but the parts of the bench to Igor's left and right seemed vacant, empty of their usual occupants.
"There is no need for concern," Igor spoke, apparently picking up on Wymare's observation. "Archibald and Phoebe are attending to other matters at present. They shall return by the time you visit us next. But before then, I wished to have a brief word with you."
"Um... Alright," agreed Wymare, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. "Is something the matter?"
"You are on the cusp of a grievous undertaking, young man. You endeavor to rise against the system of oppression that keeps you down, beginning with the warden that imprisons you." Igor relaxed in his seat, appreciating the extra room afforded to him with his attendants absent. "I believe you recognize that once you've set forth on this path, there is no turning back - not for you, nor for your companions."
Wymare nodded. The erudite and often eccentric word choice of the old man before him was befuddling at times, but he understood the basic gist of what Igor was saying. "That's right," he said. "We've come this far already. It would be wasteful to back down now."
"Quite true. You made impressive use of the new Personas we fused prior to your latest battle," Igor commented, sounding pleased. "The Wild Card can be overwhelming to some, but you have demonstrated a solid grasp of it. The true test of your abilities, however, lingers in the near future."
"...Clerebold's Shadow," Wymare finished, looking down as he began to think. "Do you think we can take him on?"
"What I believe bears no relevance to the decisions you must make," Igor replied. "Your ability to wield your Persona has brought you this far, and it has found you trustworthy allies as well. The limits of where that power can take you shall soon become apparent."
"That... doesn't inspire a wealth of confidence. Are you saying we'll fail no matter how hard we try?"
"Perhaps a change in phrasing shall prove to be of some use to you." Igor leaned forward, a wise yet wild look flashing in his bloodshot eyes. "There is no power in the word 'try'. You can try to achieve a goal as much or as little as you please. It only matters whether or not you do it. Do not get lost in the tangle of whether you can or cannot when the only option is that you must."
Wymare pondered the meaning of the sage advice he'd been afforded. Part of the reassurances he'd been giving himself was that as long as he tried to make a difference and do the right thing, he need not worry over what conclusion his choices led to. But as he took the Velvet Room master's words to heart, his thinking changed. Reforming the crooked supervisor was what he had to do in order to make things better for himself and his friends. Therefore, he would do it, come what may.
"After all, you've set out on this journey not just for your own sake," Igor mused, picking up on his guest's thoughts. "As always, it is not only the strength of your convictions that are important. The bonds you forge shall become your strength, granting you the means to avert any crisis... Even the bonds you remain ignorant to."
Wymare blinked as the old man's words struck him. "Wait, what? The bonds I 'remain ignorant to'? Where do I hold those sorts of connections?"
Igor continued to smile, behaving as though Wymare had not even asked the question. "The conflict that fast approaches shall resolve itself one way or the other. Such is the way of fate. How it shall be resolved, and what path shall be taken once the dust has settled... those depend entirely on your judgment."
"Why do I get the feeling," Wymare asked, somewhat sour in his inflection, "That your indecisive language is entirely intentional?"
"Those who serve in this Velvet Room are barred from direct interference in the matters of our guests," explained Igor. "We aid, we advise, and we observe, but always from this realm between realms. That is why we leave here only on rare occasions."
Wymare considered the old man's words for a moment before something clicked in his head. "So... are you saying that Phoebe and Archibald are in our world right now?"
Igor nodded, impressed that Wymare had deduced as much. "As our roles are to aid in the cultivation of the human soul, I encourage my attendants to explore your world from time to time. They must learn about humanity if they are to be of any service to guests like yourself."
"But... by now, it's surely past midnight. What could they possibly be getting up to at this hour?"
Igor chuckled knowingly to himself. Wymare was puzzled at first by the lack of response, but as he thought about the question he'd posed, he remembered hearing about Rìo Ghaile's vibrant nightlife scene, bolstered by its many 24-hour taverns. He groaned inwardly, anticipating that there would be rumors floating around of a bearded giant and his somnolent partner causing trouble at a bar by the time he awoke.
"In any case," Igor piped up, "I did not intend to keep you for long. You have a momentous day ahead of you, and so I shall release you to the rest of your slumber. Know that we shall be watching eagerly, and we hope to see your efforts bear fruit."
Wymare nodded, a bit of a smile forming on his lips. "We'll win," he said. "I'm sure of it."
The grin spread across Igor's face only seemed to widen. "Until when next we meet, young Wymare."
. . .
"It's time. Are you two prepared?"
Wymare looked up from the meeting room table to meet Merliad's gaze at their question. The white-haired caster had made a full recovery from the fatigue of magic overuse after a good night's sleep, and now they stood a few paces from the door to the hall, solemn conviction visible in their eyes.
"...Yes," he replied, equally serious in his demeanor. He glanced at Yselt, who was also seated at the table, asking, "Ready to go, Yselt?"
The withdrawn girl let out a deep breath, letting her shoulders and head sag with the exhale. She had been taking the last few minutes to prepare herself, making peace with her conflicting emotions prior to setting off. Wymare and Merliad had been a tad worried for her going into the mission, but as she stood from her seat and rose to full height, she turned to look at her teammates, her expression killing any of their remaining concerns.
"He won't know what hit him," she replied, stone-faced despite her confident remark.
The three victims of Clerebold's abuse shared a look with one another as their resolves became one. There was no secondary task remaining; no hand-wringing left to be done over their decision. Everything came down to this, they thought, and they refused to consider backing down after coming so far. As they exited the meeting room and faced the plaque-bearing door, only one thought raced through their minds, strong and unrelenting like a crashing wave.
Today, the warden would fall.
They pushed their way through the door and into the world beyond it, their Persona armaments flaring into existence upon entry. The air of Parallel Brilan was always strange and oppressive, but now it felt downright suffocating, hot with tension and energy. In fact, in the silence that lingered as the Persona-users assessed their surroundings, a low sound drummed in their ears from nowhere, the rhythmic pulse evoking the sensation of an elevated heartbeat.
"This place seems different," Wymare noted dryly. "The world feels... angry."
"A result of Shadow Clerebold, no doubt," Merliad followed. "He knows we're coming for him, and because he's on edge, the prison itself is on edge. Let's hurry onward."
Wasting no time, the team made their way through the reflected castle, dodging the aimless Shadows roaming the upper floors and descending the spiral staircase that led to the prison camp. Wymare took point, scouting ahead for enemies and ambushes. He could handle himself the best out of the three, able to adapt to suit the enemy thanks to Gawain's augmented skillset. Yselt followed behind him, positioned to maintain a sturdy wall between opposing forces and the group's backline with her healing skills and Nikanj's resistance to physical damage. In the rear, Merliad watched the team's flank, prepared to assail any threat with magic from a safeguarded location while Estraven supported their close-quarters teammates.
Before long and after encountering little resistance in arriving there, the group came to the cubic cell block that marked the first area of the prison camp. They fanned out around the entryway, Merliad peering in on one side and Wymare and Yselt sneaking glances from the other. There were a handful of Shadows shambling about the room, unbothered by the persistent ringing of alarm bells from further inside the compound. It seemed as though there had been a struggle since the last time they had come, as the bars of some cells were smashed in and some claw marks were distinguishable in the floor.
"There aren't too many of them," Yselt said, focused and eager to proceed. "We can take them out and move on quickly."
Merliad's face darkened with a thoughtful frown. "This isn't anywhere near the level of security I had anticipated for the main entryway," they mused.
"Call it a lucky break," Wymare replied. "We may be able to reach Clerebold without too much combat. Now... stand back."
Yselt and Merliad stepped a few paces away from the doorway as Wymare positioned himself in front of it. He took a breath to calm himself as he eyed a Shadow crossing the center of the room, his axe held in one hand at his side. He channeled Gawain's wind control, building up a burst of wind at his back, and imagined the concentrated tempest launching him forward like an arrow from a longbow.
The Shadow had no time to react as the interloper appeared at its side in a supersonic blur. As he passed by the surprised monster, Wymare heaved his axe up for a two-handed side cut that arced in a full semicircle in front of him, careful to time the strike for when his target was within range. The bladed edge of his weapon tore through the Shadow's neck effortlessly, and Wymare skidded to a halt across the room from where he'd entered, the slain entity's essence fusing itself with his axe as the rest of its remains withered away.
Alerted by the noise and angered by their slain brethren, the rest of the Shadows roared and revealed their true forms. Wymare recognized the creatures bearing down on him by their names now, identifying two Raijuu, one Fortuna, and one Mad Hatter as the forces that made up the enemy ranks.
"Go forth, Gawain!" he shouted. The armored Persona appeared in front of him, striking the floor with an overhead swing of its sword to secure the enemy's attention. Gawain's powerful aura caused the Shadows to stall their approach, but they quickly recognized their numbers advantage and continued forward.
Before they could reach the human, a small violet orb flew into the back of the Fortuna's wheel, exploding upon contact and nearly knocking it out of its socket. The Shadow wheeled around to see what had attacked it, seeing Yselt dash into the cell block with Nikanj rushing through the air behind her. She spun the head of her flail at blinding speed, her long black hair billowing around her stern face as she charged. From the entrance, Merliad invoked Estraven in order to cast Sukukaja on Yselt, settling into their role of ranged support.
"Magaru!" Wymare called, smirking as the Shadows' focus became split between him and Yselt. Gawain swung its sword in a backhanded side cut, a forceful burst of wind emanating from the movement. The Raijuu yelped and leaped away, scared witless of the wind that threatened to undo them, and Wymare moved to pursue the electric wolves. The Mad Hatter stumbled, knocked off balance but not as susceptible to the skill. The Fortuna shrugged off the Magaru without issue, but its focus was now on the girl that had struck it from behind, and it flew toward Yselt angrily.
The Raijuu bared their fangs and snapped at Wymare as he drew close, their snarls booming in his ears like rolls of thunder. The boy cleaved at the feral sparks, but they were quick, and one dodged to its left before moving in a flash of lightning to Wymare's back. Its fangs flashed with furious electricity, and it lunged toward its attacker, trying to bite into the unprotected flesh around his spine.
Despite the lightning-fast speed of the creature, Wymare saw the attack coming, sidestepping to his right to let the Raijuu pass by him without injury. The lightning wolf growled, but the sound was cut off when Wymare raised his axe from underneath its head, locking its neck within the lower fold between his axe's head and handle. Dragging the canine Shadow around, Wymare whirled his axe in a circle before slamming it into the floor with a mighty overhead cleave, slamming the Raijuu into the floor. The beast whined, but its pain did not deter Gawain as the Persona appeared behind it and flashed its sword skyward in a rising slash.
The other Raijuu, having stayed away after dodging Wymare's initial axe attack, watched in horror as its kin was split in twain by the armored Persona, wind bursting forth from between its severed halves to blow its remains apart. It yelped in fright and turned tail, flying across the room in a desperate bid to escape the wind-attuned fighters. However, as it made for the exit, it locked eyes with Merliad, the caster blocking the way out while channeling white runes in front of their hand, and froze in place.
Merliad arched an eyebrow at the cowering Shadow. "Not the best idea, running away," they remarked.
Before the Shadow could attempt another evasive maneuver, Merliad shot out their wind spell, lifting the Raijuu off the floor as the concentrated gust struck true. Estraven flew up next to it as it reeled in midair, and with a quick flash of its fishhook polearm, the tip of its weapon was jammed cleanly through its skull, ending it.
That left the Fortuna and Mad Hatter Shadows, both of which were trying to land a hit on Yselt. Empowered by Merliad's Sukukaja, she was easily dancing between the wind attacks and extending fists that came her way, never so much as breaking a sweat as she remained focused on the objective. Recalling her last encounter with Mad Hatter, she opted to crush the smaller Shadow first, waiting for the arm that extended from its top hat to come her way once more.
As she leaped over the Fortuna's latest attempt at a Garu skill, she saw the magic fist coming toward her, trying to catch her mid-movement. She parried the strike with an upward swing of her flail, the spiked head hitting the fist from below and sending it flying toward the ceiling. Nikanj then grabbed the deflected arm with its own before pulling back on it, and the Mad Hatter Shadow, still gripping the brim of its oversized top hat, was suddenly hoisted from its feet and in the direction of the black-haired girl.
The Shadow was helpless to stop Yselt's flail from bashing it across the head, the momentum of its movement and the force of her swing colliding with devastating results. It let go of its hat as its strength quickly faded, its body tumbling across the floor before sliding to a stop at the feet of the last remaining Shadow. The Fortuna, seeing the puncture wounds left by the flail's spikes in the Shadow's head, knelt down to try and revive it.
A tug on its robes interrupted the Shadow's attempt at resurrecting the Mad Hatter. Before it could respond, Yselt hoisted the Shadow over her head with her bare hands, rearing back and shouting with fury as she flung the Shadow into a wall. Dazed, the Fortuna attempted to push back from the wall and retaliate, but Nikanj's leg was on it before it could. The thick appendage smashed into the wheel that floated in place of its abdomen with crushing strength, shattering it, and the Fortuna's upper and lower halves fell to the floor before withering away, lifeless.
Wymare sighed, relaxing as the threat of danger faded with the Shadows. "Good work," he said, nodding his approval at his teammates.
"Not bad at all," Merliad agreed, crossing the cell block to reach their allies. "If the rest of our encounters go like that one, we should have little issue reaching Clerebold's Shadow."
"Then let's not waste any time," said Yselt, stretching her shoulder as the gift of speed Merliad's Sukukaja had granted her faded away.
Falling back into their agreed marching order, the group made their way out of the entry cell block and onto the path that led to the prison yard. As they forged ahead, the sounds of alarm bells grew closer and clearer, ringing ceaselessly to announce the arrival of intruders. The three Persona-users braced themselves for an increased Shadow presence, but when they looked out over the prison yard from the path that led to it, they saw nothing there. No Shadows could be seen patrolling the yard or the prison's main entrance, a fact at which Merliad scowled thoughtfully.
"What's going on here?" they wondered. "Clerebold has raised the alarm, and yet there are no enemies in sight. Could this be a trap of some sort?"
"There's no time to think about that," said Yselt, her eyes fixed on the prison's highest tower. "We need to keep moving. As long as we make it through the door, that's all that matters."
Wymare nodded, pressing on toward the yard. "I agree. If that seal was meant to keep out those who don't know Clerebold's true self, then there shouldn't be any Shadows beyond that point. Just him."
"But that's..." Merliad sighed, seeing that Wymare and Yselt had no intention of slowing down. They shook their head and followed, trying to disregard the uneasy feeling that was rising in their throat.
The team of Persona-users raced across the yard while it was unguarded, heading toward the prison entrance. Merliad, still on the lookout for enemies, took notice of the fact that some parts of the turf in the yard were dug up and gouged out, marking the area as the scene of a recent battle. Combined with the similar signs of strife left in the initial cell block, these indicators worried them that something more was at work in the prison camp, but they let those worries go unspoken, knowing their allies would shrug the idea aside.
Much to the three's surprise, the entire stretch from the prison entrance to the door opened by memories was entirely unguarded. Over the constant sounds of ringing alarms and the heartbeat that continued to pound along, sounds of combat could be heard from somewhere within the compound, but they found none of it as they made their way through the winding dim corridors that led to the primary cell block. As they reached the cylindrical detention spire, they looked up to its many rising floors to see that every cell was open and empty, deserted by the many Shadows they had seen there before.
Merliad shook their head, a fearful look on their face. "Something is very wrong here," they finally said, the nagging feeling within them spilling over. "Sure, we may have been lucky to avoid large groups of Shadows on the way here. But not a single one in the very heart of the prison? You two don't find that the least bit concerning?"
"Well... I admit, it is rather bizarre," Wymare conceded, craning his neck while surveying the room. "You don't suppose it's an ambush ahead, do you?"
"Didn't you say there wouldn't be Shadows past this point?" asked Yselt. She pushed open the door that had once held the ornate carving of Shadow Clerebold, gesturing down the unlit hallway beyond. "Let's just get moving. We won't have to worry about the Shadows once we take care of him."
"Except I am worried about the Shadows right now," returned Merliad, frustrated that their logic was faltering against Yselt's one-track mind. "What will we do if they swarm us when we try to make our escape? We won't be able to fend off that many at once. Not if the man himself poses as much of a risk as we've been assuming."
"We have the transporting device, don't we?" Yselt looked to Wymare, knowing he was carrying the perforated gadget from before in his jacket pocket. "We'll make use of that to get away."
Merliad was about to protest further when a loud thud rang out from overhead, the cell block shaking slightly in tandem. The Persona-users all looked up at the same time, forgetting their dispute as they looked around for any sign of what caused the disturbance.
Thoom. Another sound, louder this time, came from the highest reaches of the tower. Wymare saw a small shower of dust and rubble fall to the floor in front of him, and he took a few steps back as he looked up to the ceiling, noticing that a few cracks had begun to spread across it.
The room shook again with a much louder boom, and the cracked ceiling worsened before giving way entirely. A giant Shadow, identical to the warrioress the team had encountered in the prison canteen, crashed into the cell block after apparently falling through the roof, shaking the room upon landing with one knee and its sword on the floor.
Morgan, Wymare thought. Again, he drew from his Wild Card stock to find the Shadow's name, the knowledge coming to him like it was instinct. The giant Morgan rose to its feet, taking up a quarter of the cell block at full height, and slammed its sword into its shield while looking up to the hole in the ceiling it had fallen through. A roar of challenge bellowed from its throat, calling out to some unseen adversary.
Merliad looked to Wymare and Yselt, a shared look of terror spreading between them. "Go?"
Yselt frantically nodded. "Yeah. Go."
Not waiting for the massive Shadow to notice them, Wymare, Yselt, and Merliad all sprinted through the memory door. As they plunged further into the darkened corridor, they heard the huge Shadow roar again, the deafening cry being followed by the sounds of clashing blades. Though it brought Merliad no pleasure to remain clueless as to what was happening with the Shadow population, they lit up their palm with fire magic to light the way, steeling themselves for whatever awaited them at the end of this path.
The hall was straight and somewhat wide, with its walls being built of well-cut stone blocks. It seemed recent in its construction, though there seemed to be little signs of foot traffic since then. The sounds of the Shadow in the cell block were soon out of earshot, and the three Persona-users slowed their pace to a cautious march, progressing down the long, dark hall in silence.
After a few minutes of walking through the dark with only Merliad's flames to guide them, they came upon a simple wooden door. A simple plaque hung from it, with letters carved into it to form a familiar word.
"'Supervisor'," Wymare read. "This is... the door to his office in the real world?"
"I'm feeling a strong energy from beyond this point," said Merliad, closing their eyes as they concentrated on the sensation. "Rage... grief... indignation... and desire. So much desire, it nearly blots out everything else."
"It's him," Yselt said, her voice tense. "It has to be."
Wymare allowed himself a sideways glance at his allies. With the greatest danger they'd faced yet waiting just ahead, he couldn't help but feel the same seed of worry he'd been carrying all day sprouting within his soul. However, seeing Yselt's determination and recalling Igor's wisdom, he pushed that feeling aside, knowing there was no turning back now.
He reached for the door and put his hand on the handle. "Ready?" he asked.
Yselt and Merliad nodded sternly, their fingers turning pale as they held fast to their weapons. Wymare took a deep breath, sired his courage, and turned the handle of the door, feeling the latch slide out of its place. He gingerly pulled to open the way, the squeaking of old hinges piercing the silence.
The bottom of a spiraling staircase revealed itself as Merliad's flame illuminated the room. It curved and reached out of view, and as Wymare stepped into the center of the bottom floor, he craned his neck to look to the top, spotting a faint light from where the stairs seemed to taper off several stories above them.
"It'll be a waste of time to take the stairs," said Merliad. They followed Yselt to stand by Wymare in the center of the rising stairwell, looking a question at the red-haired Scadarah. "What say you to an updraft, Wymare?"
Wymare returned the look, understanding. "I'll have to focus to lift all three of us, but it's doable. Brace yourselves."
He lifted his axe over his head, the weapon emitting a flash of blue flame from which Gawain took shape. The Persona's green cape of billowing wind flapped and grew to surround the three Persona-users. Wymare closed his eyes and lowered his head in concentration, visualizing him and his friends rising up and into the air. The winds in the chamber picked up, and with a sudden lurch of upward movement, the group's feet left the floor.
It took Yselt and Merliad a moment to gather themselves as Gawain's winds pushed them upward. Merliad used a small amount of wind magic to balance themselves in the breeze, and Yselt kept her flail hand on her uniform dress as the team's ascent continued. Wymare was like a statue, familiar with bending the wind around his body to keep himself steady while in flight. Flight after flight of spiraling stairs passed them by as the Persona-users rode the wind, and after a couple of minutes, they rose to the level where the light had been coming from at the highest point of the chamber.
As they touched down on the end of the stairs, they looked through a large empty doorframe to see a penthouse office. The view from the open balconies on the left and right of the room revealed that they were standing in the highest tower of the prison camp, the green sky that stretched over the world of the unconscious appearing closer than ever. Torches hanging from the walls crackled and popped, placed between huge chains that dangled from the elevated ceiling like barbaric decorations.
Wymare, Yselt, and Merliad slowly entered the room, stepping on and over papers that were scattered across the floor. A cursory glance as they passed over the discarded documents revealed that they were various forms and reports relevant to the Scadarah labor unit, all filled out with elegant penmanship marked by bright crimson ink. The mess of files concentrated around the middle of the circular room, outlining a regal-looking hardwood desk that was stacked with more documents. Seated at the center of the mound was Shadow Clerebold, the quill he held in his hand flashing furiously from one scroll to the next.
As the crunching of papers underfoot caught his attention, the warden of the prison camp glanced up from his work, spotting the Persona-users that regarded him cautiously from halfway between his desk and the doorframe they'd entered through. He sighed, then set his quill down and rose from his padded chair to glare at the intruders.
"...Now this is a surprise," spoke Shadow Clerebold. "At least, that is what I would have said were you three not so hopelessly stubborn."
"You knew we were coming, then," said Merliad. "A pity you didn't think to place more guards in our path. Or is the warden struggling to find capable hands in these trying times?"
The Shadow of the supervisor scowled, a deep rage creasing his features. "I should put you to death for your insolence. However... it would seem that I underestimated that paltry power you wretches command. That mistake will not be replicated."
"Brother, you need to stop this," said Yselt, her tone deathly serious. "You know the path you walk is a villainous one. There is nothing to gain from continuing to abuse your power."
Shadow Clerebold scoffed. "'Nothing to gain', is there? Then answer me this: what is the purpose of having power if not to use it? This world in which we live is not a charitable one. Once the mighty have had their fill, there is nothing left behind for those who espouse virtue and justice."
"And you find that agreeable!?" Yselt challenged. She was exasperated by her brother's Shadow's words, knowing in her heart they did not reflect his true nature. "You may fool yourself, brother," she went on, "But I know the motivation that lies beneath your tyrant's mask. And as much as I miss them as well... restoring our status won't bring mother and father back!"
Caught in the midst of pushing in his chair, Shadow Clerebold froze, his grip tightening on his chair as he regarded his sister with an enraged look. "You... You would dare to say such things? Pah! As if you could ever understand my ingenious plans, you filthy worm!"
Yselt matched her brother's gaze unswervingly. "But I do! You've promised me the life we had before the hostage plan came about... But you and I both know that there would be no going back to that time without them! You were able to find me using your influence as supervisor, so who's to say you couldn't find them as well?"
The prison warden was lost for words, standing behind his desk with a mixture of shock and rage reddening his features. Seeing that Yselt's words were having some effect, Wymare and Merliad stood back and remained quiet, letting her continue.
"Brother, please... Do you honestly think they would be happy to see this version of you? Would they be any happier than I to be forced to see a monster of a man wearing your face!? You can put a stop to this! You don't have to hurt people anymore! You just have to-"
Shadow Clerebold stepped to the side of his desk and slipped a hand under the edge of its flat surface. In the blink of an eye, he flipped the heavy-looking furniture through the air, the papers that had been piled upon it scattering as it arced across the office and smashed against a wall. Yselt stopped talking, shocked by the sudden expression of destructive rage.
"I... don't care what they would think," Shadow Clerebold growled through gritted teeth. "And I don't care for your uneducated opinion of my work! A warden's responsibilities are many in number, little girl. You would play at knowing all of them with your limited frame of reference?"
"I... I don't..." Yselt trailed off. She was stunned at her brother's complete rebuking of her plea, leaving her silent as he went on.
"This kingdom is a den of pigs and rats, piled high with filth," Shadow Clerebold spat. "At every echelon of society, people turn a blind eye to suffering because the temptation of power is too great. Those who dare to conspire against the injustices of the castes are slapped down and discarded like trash. I alone can change that. It is my right to do so, as one who was buried and forgotten for the greater good of the selfish!"
"You make it sound as though you're some infallible entity," said Merliad. "But we know the truth. All you're espousing are self-righteous excuses. Don't you see that your rise to power is built on a foundation of abuse? You're no better than the men you despise!"
"Insult my ambition all you like! For it changes nothing in the end." Shadow Clerebold spread his arms wide, flourishing his cape as the documents around his feet were blown away by an unseen wind. "I will tear the powers of this kingdom apart for what they did to me. To us. Stézar will also feel my wrath in due time, and before long, everything will bow to the justice I envision. Measly rodents like you lot can do nothing to stop my ascent!"
Wymare arched an eyebrow, frowning grimly at the prison warden. "I seem to recall you saying something similar in the past," he said. "But this won't end with words alone, Clerebold. Not this time."
The red-haired boy spread his legs apart and brought his axe forth, holding it in a ready stance as his eyes locked on Shadow Clerebold. Yselt and Merliad followed his lead, preparing themselves for battle with their respective weapons.
"Nowhere left to go. Nowhere left to run," Wymare said coldly. "It's time we brought this to an end."
"Hmph. I agree," said Shadow Clerebold, turning his back to the intruders and strolling to the far side of the office. "You three are all beyond saving. A warden like myself has no use for dogs that bite and howl without ambition."
As Shadow Clerebold turned to face them again, Wymare, Yselt, and Merliad noticed there was a dark aura beginning to form around him. The tower beneath them shook slightly as great energy gathered itself within the chamber.
"Now, I shall show you the ultimate truth of this country," said Clerebold's Shadow, a manic grin stretching across his face. "The weak are born in chains, bound to serve that which enriches their superiors."
Standing between Wymare and Merliad with her flail in hand, Yselt watched in horror as a black fog crept up the tower and into the warden's office, slowly inching toward her brother's Shadow. Still smiling as though he welcomed the ominous cloud, Shadow Clerebold swung his arms over his head before bringing them out at his sides. The huge chains that hung in the room responded to the action, shaking and writhing like gargantuan metal serpents before slinking around the warden and embedding themselves in his back.
Wymare, Yselt, and Merliad felt the entire prison shivering beneath them as the black fog was drawn into Shadow Clerebold's body, the familiar figure shaking and contorting. As his skin darkened and his shape bloated and cracked, the eerie smile on the warden's face never faltered, haunting the Persona-users below as he transformed.
"And if you should foolishly endeavor to break free..."
Clerebold's voice echoed through the air as the gruesome transformation continued, his voice booming and more distorted than ever. The Shadow's arms and legs were soon twice the size of his usual body, and though he still wore the same garish robes of his station, they were torn and stained, looking as though they had been missing a wash for years on end. His mouth had widened into a wretched maw lined with jagged, uneven fangs, and a layer of molten wax had been slathered over his face and shoulders, the melted material coating the chains that remained stuck in his back and forming a visage of oily, dripping wings. A blindfold was stretched over his wax-coated eyes, and rusted cuffs were bound around his wrists and ankles, visibly digging into his skin and tarnishing the flesh beneath.
The abomination that was Shadow Clerebold's true form rose to his full height, the chains in his back shaking and rattling as his movements pulled on them. He towered over the terrified Persona-users beneath him, locking his line of sight with them despite being blinded by wax and blindfold alike.
"...Those same chains become the noose by which you are hanged!"
Shadow Clerebold threw his head back and arched his back as he let out a horrific war cry, the scream sounding more bestial than human. The muscles in his arms tensed and the veins in his neck throbbed as killing fury rushed through him. More inky fog seeped over the edges of the tower balconies, pouring into the doorframe that led to the tower's stairwell and forming a solid black barrier that blocked the way. Wymare took note of this sternly, fighting to maintain his nerve as he sized up the situation. It was exactly as he'd said a few moments ago: there was no way out for them now. All that was left was to fight.
"Time to fight," he said, briefly looking to Yselt and Merliad before focusing on Shadow Clerebold once again. "Are you ready?"
"As ready as I'm going to be," replied Merliad, magic runes flashing into existence around the head of their staff. "Let's finish this."
Yselt spun up her flail, the papers underfoot fluttering into the air from the force of it. "I won't fail now," she said, glowering at her brother's monstrous form.
Wymare nodded, a surge of appreciation for his teammates rising within him as their words instilled confidence and pride within him. The pride he felt surprised him for a moment, but he quickly realized that it was pride at being able to call them allies, and indeed, friends, in the face of the danger they faced. He raised his axe a bit higher, his eyes locked on Shadow Clerebold and his breathing steady.
"Persona-users... TO ARMS!"