Be honest, how many of you thought I was gone?

It's pointless.

The thought is at the forefront of Makoto's mind, dominating all others. The Velvet Room is in flux, chaotically shifting around him. The instability casts him adrift, weightless, and floating in an invisible ocean.

He's had enough fighting. It's easier to throw it all away. Let the end come, and embrace the eternity that awaits. Whether it's eternal bliss or nothingness, any ending to this story of his will be liberating.

It should be so easy.

He doesn't care.

Let it end.

Just let go.

Ignore it. Don't listen to it. Do not listen to them.

Pharos' voice rams through the gates, forcing its way through."Damn you!" he cries from reality. Though he left long ago, Makoto can still feel his presence, the chill that follows him, his anger, and the pain that dominates all thoughts. "Liar! Traitor! What's it all for!? You can't stop me!"

Makoto closes his eyes, covering his ears in a futile gesture. Makoto Yuki, a splintered soul of Minato Arisato, is still bound to his body. The adrenaline coursing through his veins, the fear weighing in his chest, and the sight of the beast towering over them after it knocked him to the floor.

Minato coughs out a faint chuckle, "Probably not, no." The boy does not relent, however. Gritting his teeth, standing through the pain, he prepares himself again. "But I'm not stopping until I'm dead."

"And for what?!" Pharos growls. "For a girl? Someone a year ago could've been dead, and you wouldn't bat an eye. What makes her so special? If they are your new family…" Death charges forward, striking the ground before him. A shockwave follows the sword, effortlessly cutting through everything in its path. "... then what was I?!" he bellows.

The shockwave is too fast to dodge. Orpheus appears, turning his back to the attack and wrapping his arms around his wielder to shield him.

The attack is relentless. The sensation of thousands of tiny blades working in unison to cut through the persona's back transmits to Minato. "Shit," he curses through the empathic burn.

What felt like an eternity only lasted a brief moment. Orpheus lasted long enough to withstand the blow, retreating immediately after.

"I gave you everything," Pharos' words are filled with venom. "And what now? She's not here. They're not here. There's no one else to save you."

No one. The words hang over Makoto like a grey cloud that refuses to give way to rain. Pharos is his monster, no one else's.

No Kotone to pull them out of hell. No Pharos to put him back together. Just him and the past he can never leave behind. And yet…

"Damn you," Makoto thought, cursing but was unsure of his target. Pharos for pushing things this far? Kotone for changing everything beyond reconciliation? Was it himself, and if so, as Minato Arisato or Makoto Yuki—how much of a difference is there?

The silence of the room nor the battle raging on provide an answer.

"You shouldn't stay out in the rain."

Makoto Yuki's lips vibrate as he blows air out his lips, sparing a pacing glance at his childish friend before sighing. "Not like I can feel it. You make sure of that."

Today's his thirteenth birthday. Annoying. His "family" is going to want to celebrate with him. He doesn't have the energy to put on a mask and pretend to enjoy it; he needs time alone. And with all the attention, he and the knife have no privacy.

Fortunately, whatever deity was out there decided to give him a slight gesture of mercy. The rain is pleasant and comforting. He didn't plan on staying on his school roof after hours, but it is the best solution for now; it's doubtful that people will look for him here, especially with the downpour.

Pharos appears next to Makoto, sitting on the railing beside the one his friend was leaning against. His expression turns curious, "Didn't your caregivers want to do something with you today."

Makoto shrugs. "Screw 'em," he waves his hand in dismissal. "I don't even recall their names. They will dump off somewhere or get the message—I don't care which."

"Message?" Pharos repeats. "What message?"

"I don't need them. I don't want them." Makoto grips the railing in his hands, clenching his jaw for a moment before continuing, "They're not my family. They never will be. I'm not interested in stand-ins."

There's a moment a silence. Pharos looks down at the ground as if contemplating something. Despite the years together, there's always been a barrier surrounding Makoto—one that Pharos couldn't understand: a door leading to a room only Pharos can enter, but inside is a darkness he doesn't know how to navigate alone.

"I don't think I understand."

Makoto shakes his head. "You don't need to. All that matters is that I have you, little guy," there's a smile on the boy's lips, a small candle in this swirling abyss.

"Me?"

"No, the other ghost in the pajamas. Of course, you," Makoto's laugh is drowned out by the storm, but Pharos could feel it throughout his being. "You and me. I don't know the future, but we're in it together. Think of it like one of those stories kids in school read all the time—we're out making one of our own."

Despite the teacher's reprimands, his classmates like to read those manga stories in class. Pharos always found the tales humans conjured fascinating—how a human could create something familiar but distinct and captivating, all from nothing. Makoto doesn't share his passion but is happy to indulge him.

From nothing, characters are created and placed in artificial worlds. Despite their immaterial nature, the stories can invoke happiness, excitement, and sadness.

Sadness. Why would anyone want to feel that? Why create these worlds only to force one to watch it crumble?

"Will…" Pharos hesitates a moment before finishing, "will our story have a happy ending, Minato?"

Makoto needs to answer. Instead, he turns his head towards the sky with his eyes closed. For a moment, neither of them say anything.

Makoto exhales, and whatever spell held them is broken. He shakes his head, launching several droplets from his dripping locks. He's spent enough time here. It won't be hard to convince people he's not feeling well after all this time in the rain. If nothing else, it should allow him to turn in for the day.

Before leaving, he turns to Pharos, still sitting on the railing. "Dunno. Wish I knew. We'll just have to see when we get there."

Death brings down his sword, powering through Orpheus' futile attempts to defend himself. The blade cuts through the persona and his lyre like butter, shattering the ground beneath it and sending out a shockwave that sends Minato flying.

The friction burns as his body drags and skips across the ground. There's barely any time to recover. Supporting himself with his sword, Minato watches Death hovering towards him.

This is bad. Very bad.

Death may have marked his soul, but that power is buried deep inside him now. Maybe with time, Minato could have learned to tap into it—master it as Makoto had done.

But Makoto sealed himself away with all his regrets, leaving Minato to face their former friend alone. The anger brought about by Death's presence was quickly becoming a distant memory—a fire that had burnt itself out.

No one to help. No strength to draw from. He's as helpless as he was before.

"Run," Minato hears a familiar voice. This fight is hopeless. All it does is guarantee suffering for a slim chance of delaying the inevitable.

"Not… not this time, Makoto."

Minato forces himself to stand, drawing his sword. "I've spent the past ten years running away—we both have," he frowns, "all that's done is hurt everyone we care about. If you'd rather kill her again, be my guest, but I'm done running."

Death arrives to continue his relentless assault, undeterred by any damage Minato inflicts upon him. And Makoto watches as Minato grits his teeth, getting back up to try again in the face of helplessness.

Why?

Makoto repeats the question to himself, watching and feeling every hit Minato endures, every bone cracking, all the pain screaming through the adrenaline, and the exhaustion weighing down on him. He's all by himself, but he keeps trying.

Why does he keep trying? When does enough become too much? How can they be cut from the same cloth yet have their paths diverge so much?

Everything that makes Minato Arisato is a part of Makoto Yuki. So why? Why is it that Makoto still ended up here despite Pharos, Kotone, and everyone who tried to help him?

A spark of pain shocks Makoto back to his predicament. His arm dripping—he may not have the body now, but even here, the place where the fabric of his soul is reflected before him, he continues to kill himself slowly. One cut, one crack, one broken piece at a time until the fractures bring it all tumbling down.

Minato stands to face Death. Makoto would instead seek it. No matter how much people helped, they could never save him from himself.

"I…"

The room around him begins to crack, the blackness giving way to rays of light. His persona is howling in his ear.

Makoto is biting his lip, gripping the mask tight enough that the fissures begin to spread. He is not in control of his body yet feels as if his heart is pounding, adrenaline coursing through his veins, and a familiar sense of exhilaration.

Anger. He has so much of it. How many times has he unleashed it on himself, cutting into his arms and bleeding all over his soul? The world around him would go numb. The closer he brought himself to death, the more alive he felt.

No one else is here. Makoto is alone, and Minato Arisato is fighting Death—no one to help them. No one is here to save them.

He could let go now, one last time. Let himself be free. Give in and never hurt anymore.

"No."

Makoto eyes shine brightly through the darkness. No more excuses. No more hesitation.

Time and time again, he tears himself apart. A cycle of self-inflicted torture where nothing changes, and he suffers for it—it ends here.

Makoto marches through the darkness and into the unknown. The world around him seems to scream as the cracks spread, causing pieces to give way to more of the blinding beams. So many hands have tried and failed to pull him out of the dark—it's time for him to crawl out alone.

Minako…

Kotone…

No, not this time. He won't run and watch her die. Makoto wasted all his chances, but the Inheritor died to give him one more—he couldn't waste it. He has to try for himself, for the piece of humanity Inheritor returned to him—-Makoto will not lie down and let it happen.

All those years wasted—the self-loathing, the anger, his inability to act when necessary.

The cycle ends now.

"One way or another," the mask slips on like a familiar glove. A taunting, inhuman grin on one side, a dark shroud broken only by his iris on the other. "It's time for our story to end, Pharos."

Minato's sent back, back crashing into the side of a car. His ears fill with a high-pitched ringing, his vision blurring, and he struggles to get back into focus.

Death approaches, pausing briefly as he watches the boy as if looking for any further sign of struggling. His body may be broken, but Minato raises his head, glaring back at Death in defiance. No matter what Death may do to him, he will not break his spirit.

"Why?" Death asks but knows better than to expect an answer. Instead, he raises his sword for one final attack. "Why did it have to come to this?"

There's no joy when Death brings down his sword. He can put his friend back together again but they'll never be the same—a bond unbreakable yet rusted and corroded until it had become unrecognizable.

Why did he have to be his friend? Why couldn't he have just hated him from the very beginning?

Death's blade stops in its tracks and a loud clang pierces the air. "Wha?" Death barely has time to question what had happened before feeling hisform being piercing all around his body.

Piercing and wrapping around him were familiar yet different chains—their color paler than its own and several links possessing what could only be described as spikes meant to dig into their prey.

Death turns his head to face Minato, but his words falter upon seeing a hooded figure wearing a familiar mask staring back at him. "You…?"

The figure didn't respond, leaping into the air, weapon ready.

The boy's sword digs deep into Death's shoulder when he lands, supporting his climb as he faces the monster. Empty block sockets stared back into the fractured mask, revealing a single luminescent blue iris.

"Pharos," Makoto hissed. There's none of the warmth that Pharos had come to associate with him. The rare smiles reserved for him were replaced with a snarling, contempt-filled frown that he could feel beneath the mask. Behind him was a warped echo of both their features: Makoto's face, wings that appeared to have been mangled, and an arm bleeding with more chains piercing into its flesh to support the familiar coffins it drags. It gives the impression of an angel, its grace lost and corrupted as it fell.

Death tugs and pulls and tears at its restraints and flesh alike. Makoto's grip remains unbroken; instead, he crawls on Death like a spider, scuttling where Death cannot reach, his blade serving as his fangs, piercing his body to bleed its prey dry.

Death wails, and the chains shatter. Makoto holds on, stabbing at the monster's wings. Tossing and turning, Death tries in vain to lose the boy, driving his back in the direction of a nearby building.

Makoto leaps off at the last moment, the inertia causing him to roll on the ground before he grinds to a halt. Standing upright, the boy groans, shrugging his shoulders and turning his head until he feels a satisfying crack—it had only been a few weeks, but it felt like years.

"Why?" Death almost sounds breathless. "You too…? Why…?" I… I thought…"

"So you can think?" Makoto chuckles, giving the air a couple of strikes as if he were testing a new weapon. "Did you think I'd forgotten what you did to me?"

The feeling of himself getting broken, body and soul, the things Pharos made him see, the pain he inflicted, and the countless violations he endured until he was left nothing more than a mindless animal. Pharos bled humanity from Makoto until a fraction of Minato's broken soul merged to give it back.

Three became two: the original and the tainted soul Death left behind—and now, it will have its revenge.

"I…" Death pauses a moment, shaking its head. It's like staring into a mirror; the contradiction of his actions is put in front of him, so the only choice is to deflect or find any excuse. "I only thought—"

"Oh, will you just shut up!" summoning the black angel again. The persona lifts Makoto onto its shoulder before dashing forward, the sword in hand.

Death meets the angel's charge head-on, their blades clashing and releasing a loud screech with each impact.

Black spheres turn into phantom blades, each intercepting with an almost identical copy.

The Angel's actions felt like an imitation of his own—with each strike, Death felt his strength being used against him; blow for blow, they matched, each unable to dominate the other.

Their swords lock together, the umbral blades surrounding them forming a swirling vortex. More shadowy constructs join the whirlwind, moving faster and faster as each is intercepted by another.

Both sides push with all their strength until the deadlock breaks and the vortex surrounding them shatters, each sword sliding off the other.

Death and the Black Angel prepare their next attacks, each intercepting the other.

Once.

Then twice.

It's not until the third that the force becomes too much, sliding both back and forcing them to dig their heels into the ground.

It's not until then that Death realizes its mistake and the absence on the persona's shoulder.

"Surprise!" Makoto exclaims, plunging his sword deep into the back of Death's metallic head. "You're not just a bastard, but a blind one too, huh?"

Death gave what sounded like a low chuckle despite the sword coming from its jaw. "Maybe I am," the laugh quickly turns into a snarl, "and you're still flightless."

Makoto's eyes widened as Death's wings extended. There's no time for anything before a single beat of his wings launches them into the air.

The loss of balance occurs instantly. For a moment, Makoto feels himself become weightless as he enters freefall. But he feels a hand on his leg catch him before he can gain momentum, hanging him upside-down as his old friend tilts his head down at him.

"Any regrets, friend?" Death spits out the last word as if it were a curse. Regrets? He has no idea.

"Plenty," Makoto answers because it's the truth. "You most of all."

Death scoffs. "Is that how it is?" he asks. "Years for a few months?"

"You just don't get it, do you?" Makoto shakes his head and laughs. "We always put it off—ignored the elephant in the room because we were all we had. I lost everything because of you: my family, my home," he growls, "and I won't let you do it again."

"So that's it?" Death hunches down to meet Makoto's eyes. "You're the Dark Prince turned Dark Messiah? Going to lead them into salvation, too?"

"Pft," Makoto blows air like it was a bad joke. "I'm already damned, Pharos. But I'm going to Hell, then I'm going to make sure you're there so I can hunt you down."

"Hmm," Death hums to itself, repeatedly tilting his head as if in thought until he finally grunts. "We'll see about that."

Death doesn't drop him; instead, he tosses him several paces forward as if expecting someone to catch him. "Shit!" he's not sure if this will work; he's never used any of his powers in the air like this, but he has to try!

The Black Angel returns, its ruined wings extended as it catches the boy with its free arm. There's no moment of reprieve before Death lunges forward.

The persona parries the attacks effortlessly. There was no real strength behind them—just a few tentative strikes before the angel pushed him back.

"So this is it." It's not a question. There's no hesitation or traces of regret in Death's words, only a grim acceptance.

Settling himself back on his persona, Makoto answers. "One way or another," he affirms, "I'm done with you."

Under the light of the pale moon, Death and the Prince continue their battle.

This took awhile. I swear, not all of it was due to me procrastinating! Okay, most of it was, but that's not all! Kotone would be in here, too, but I found it too hard to meld her bits with Minato's/Makoto's. Ultimately, I said, "fuck it" and dedicated this one to the blue-haired boy.

And Makoto's back. Finally. I'll be honest, I kinda missed him.

Ha! I knew you-

Oh fuck no, not you again. But he's back and has more than a chip on his shoulder after what Pharos did to him. The most this arc has is one, maybe (if I have to) two chapters left. After that, maybe one bit of reprieve, and then we're jumping into Nyx. I don't care what it takes, I'm ending this damn story one way or another.

"One way or another"?

Good God, I forgot how much I hate you.