Chuuya doesn't dream. He never has and he never will. It's just yet another thing that makes him question his humanity.

When he closes his eyes he doesn't get to see painted blue skies and endless green fields. He doesn't experience the fear of coming as the only one unprepared for an exam, only to wake up in a state of relief to realize it was only a dream. He doesn't even get to see the faces of friends who've long since left, lost to the swirling black abyss of the Port Mafia. He doesn't even get to see darkness.

When Chuuya falls asleep, he is faced with a blankness. Essentially, the absence of anything. It's like he's an astronaut lost in deep space, cut from the once grounding tether that held him to everything he'd ever known. Or rather it's worse than that because unlike the astronaut who would float amid stars and sparkling rays of color highlighting the darkness, Chuuya experiences nothing. He is nothing.

It is things like this that make Chuuya feel like A5158 the most.

A thing tore from meaning. A thing that was not truly alive. A thing that was long lines of binary code stretching out to create a monster who couldn't keep a home. A monster who had killed his own men, while lost in the throes of a terrible corrupted state. A monster who no matter how hard he tried would always be second best, if even that, and never the first choice.

While Chuuya often has his heart on his sleeve, these feelings are something Chuuya tries hard not to acknowledge, because those thoughts make him feel weak and out of control.

Control is the one thing he constantly strives to have.

Even if no one else cares. Even if no one else deems him as their first choice. Even if all feels lost, Chuuya's fine as long as he knows he's in control. He needs to know that he has the ability to make his own choices. That's what makes him feel more human. That's what makes him feel more like his own person.

That's also exactly what makes losing himself to corruption so hard.

When he's in his corrupted state, he's no longer calling the shots. Instead, he's trapped in the backseat, having handed the wheel over to a sadistic psychopath with no morals or ethics. It's a state where his only chance for survival is Dazai.

Trusting Dazai for survival wasn't necessarily the problem though. Back when they'd been partners, Chuuya had often relied on Dazai to save him and vice versa. The thing is, without corruption coming into play, Chuuya still had control of his bodily autonomy. With corruption, all the cards were in Dazai's court. So instead of playing a fair game where both had at least somewhat equal shares of power, with corruption Dazai quite literally held onto all of the power to either give Chuuya back his hand or set the entire deck of cards into burning pits of hellfire.

Simply, imagine trusting a nihilist, someone who is the antonym of life, with your own.

Truly terrifying.

Every. Single. Time

Still, there's some idiotic part of him that wants to trust the sociopathic bastard, because while Dazai might not be the most stable person, he always has a plan. He's always thinking ten steps ahead, like he's in some endless game of chess, strategizing for an indubitable win.

So Chuuya trusts Dazai to bring him back from corruption. He trusts Dazai to save him, because no matter the man's many flaws, he's always been there. He's always managed to corner Arahabaki into checkmate before Chuuya succumbs and is lost into the endless abyss of his unconscious mind, becoming something even less than A5158.

So while Chuuya will always exhaust all other options before he uses corruption, sometimes he just has to let go. Sometimes he has to accept becoming nothing. Sometimes he has to trust that Dazai will give him back his deck and not just throw all the cards in hellfire

Control is something Chuuya rarely gives up, but now as his body twitches in suffocating rhythms at the edge of death, he is forced into submission and reminded once again of his lack of humanity.

That he is A5158. That he is Arahabaki. That he is a monster.

A tool to be used by all others; not even a real person. Instead, just a long series of binary code creating a vessel for a monster. Something that shouldn't even exist, if not for the cruelty of the lab.

If only those goddamn scientists hadn't cursed him to this life.

Normally, Chuuya has to use a chant to unleash Arahabaki, but really the chant isn't needed nor is the taking off of his gloves. Those things just give him a sense of self. They make him feel like corruption is a decision that he's making rather than just succumbing to the screams of the damned cursed being within him. Those things help him feel like he's more in control.

Now however such methods are beyond him as he's been placed into a position where he quite literally is unable to speak and has lost all of his mobility. Chuuya is only able to give in to the monster that is Arahabaki. He has no control here because corruption is his only chance at life and Chuuya doesn't want to die.

The thought of what'll happen after his death terrifies him, because he doesn't know what to expect. At least people have the option to hope for something after.

If he isn't human then what awaits him? Just more blankness? He's so tired of being alone, so the thought of being condemned to an eternity lost and forever alone terrifies him.

It's startling to realize just how little power one has in the grand scheme of things until the tipping point is falling over the edge and you're faced with every action that has led to the devastating presence of the present.

Left with no choice, Chuuya lets go and Arahabaki takes the reins.

He doesn't want to die and this is the only possible way out. He just hopes Dazai figures out where he is and saves him like he always does.

A blinding red light explodes from the depths of the tenebrous room, sending the prison's alarms into a frenzy.

The water is gone, pulled through the power of a black hole formed of condensed gravitons cultivated by the god.

Red markings burn into the skin of the vessel and stab a reminder into the branding only hidden by the choker around its neck. Already, there is blood flowing freely from its mouth, hitting the ground rhythmically like rain. Blood streams too from its soulless white eyes like tears and falls from its ears in rivulets, painting its skin crimson.

It laughs maniacally or rather it would be if its vocal cords weren't shredded by the cruelty of the angry tides and the blood that filled its throat. Instead, strangled airy gasps fall from its mangled throat, which echoes around the closed-off room, where only one other resides.

He too has been torn apart by the tides, just managing to cling onto life like a cockroach.

Purple-hued eyes watch the monster from the ground and a sinister smile falls upon Dostoevsky's face as Arahabaki makes its way towards him, continuing to choke on its own blood, as its limbs move in unnatural ways. It's a gruesome sight, but Dostoevsky isn't afraid, because now the pawn has fallen into his hands and he will dispose of it before it has the chance to cross the board and become a queen.

Arahabaki is standing over the demon now, eyes of malice reflecting in Dostoevsky's unwavering gaze. A black hole forms in the palm of the entity's hand, but Dostoevsky is completely unfazed as he reaches forward and lays the palm of his hand on the god, expecting it to succumb to his all-powerful ability. He wonders how Dazai will react upon seeing his plan fail so miserably.

It's an amusing thought to think of seeing the shock in Dazai's usually ever so confident gaze, having known that he not only failed to kill his opponent but also murdered his ex-partner in cold blood for no reason, because even if Dazai pretends not to care, Dostoevsky knows he does. It's obvious to anyone who knows how to look.

Any moment now Arahabaki will be punished for his crimes and Dostoevsky will rise triumphantly against Dazai.

Except it'd been a few seconds now and the entity was still above him, soundlessly cackling with a black hole that was getting closer and closer to his face.

What?

His ability wasn't working. That wasn't right…

A rare look of shock passed across Dostoevsky's face before he was met with a swirling black mass ripping his head from his body, which slumped to the floor, a single hand laid out as if reaching for salvation it would never find.

With no more life left for the god to snuff out, it turned to randomly throwing condensed gravitons at its surroundings, seeking to destroy the ability-proof room to no avail, which only increased its anger tenfold, as it pushed itself further and further to the limits of its power.

Mindlessly Arahabaki kept doing this until the body of its vessel could no longer take the strain, falling to one knee as copious amounts of blood poured from its body, and bones snapped under the pressure. It, however, did not care about the pain nor the current unsuitable quality of life its vessel was currently placed in. It only knew how to destroy and would continue to try to do so to the room until the heart of its vessel gave out and blood filled the room where water had once been.

Arahabaki did not care about the future. It only cared about the moment.

As both of its vessel's knees finally gave up, Arahabaki collapsed to the ground. The god was weakening and wouldn't be able to keep this up for much longer, as the vessel's loss of strength only continued to accelerate to increasingly dangerous levels. Still, the god didn't give up in its rampage, as powerful bursts of condensed gravitons flew from its hands and exploded against the room's walls, splattering both its and Dostoevsky's blood into twisting scarlet shapes, reminiscent of Picasso.

Arahabaki was growing irritated at the current state of dwindling power at its disposal. It didn't care that it was going to die, it just wanted to paint a crimson picture unlike any the world had ever seen before. Just like Dostoevsky, Arahabaki desperately sought salvation through the throes of violence and the metallic tang of destined endings.

However, just before Arahabaki completely lost both itself and its vessel to madness, a loud bang sounded at the sealed door to the room.

A new target.

Turning its crazed gaze onto the entry, Arahabaki, with the last of its strength, lifted a hand to unleash hell upon whoever was going to open that door.

It took a few more moments before the door opened and the sound of quick footsteps entered the room. The person that entered was a man with dark brown hair and eyes that looked almost fearful, it was a look that seemed almost unnatural on this person for whatever reason.

Usually, Arahabaki would just end lives indiscriminately and blast the man away into a broken smattering of blood and bone, but there was something about the man that was familiar and it threw the god off. It was also almost like there was this voice screaming at it from deep within to leave this person alone and redirect its attention elsewhere. It was something that made it loosen its grip on the reins, so it stopped wreaking havoc if only for the moment, called back by some kind of desperate force.

The man placed a hand on the god's shoulder and suddenly that slight loss of control turned into a total loss of control.

As the god faded into the background, screaming its anger at having been overtaken into the void, so did the darkly colored pinpricks surrounded in soulless white, which were quickly overtaken once again by their usual vibrant blue.

Chuuya returned to his body to find himself in incredible pain, as blood poured from his mouth, eyes, ears, and the many abrasions that Arahabaki had left on his body.

While corruption had saved him from drowning in the suffocating tides, he was now ironically enough about to drown in his own blood if Dazai didn't do something soon.

Granted, regardless of whether Dazai managed to save him or not, Chuuya was currently unable to recognize the idiot for who he was. As he was too entrapped in his pain to pick up on things such as that. So, it's not like Chuuya would be able to blame him if he failed.

A moan grated against his throat and he curled onto his side in a fetal position in an attempt to escape from the pain.

Everything hurt.

Corruption had never been this bad.

It felt like his ribs were stabbing straight through his lungs, it felt like his heart had just been thrown around in a game of catch and it felt like his brain had just been yanked out, cut up, and then stuffed right back into his head in mismatched pieces, sending pain shooting throughout his entire system.

A voice sounds above him then, accompanied by a blurry figure dressed in white. He looks and feels familiar somehow, but Chuuya struggles to place it in the midst of his delirium.

"...Chuuya… Chuuya… need… hold… stay…."

His brow furrows in confusion and Chuuya tries to open his mouth to talk, but instead of words, he only coughs up more blood. This only seems to worry the person more, as they pull him onto their lap, causing his already aggravated wounds to tear even more. A silent scream of agony escapes him and his teeth grit together, his eyes slamming shut once more.

Who was this person? Why were they hurting him?

"...be okay… Chuuya… please don't…. this wasn't supposed… you too… not… Odasaku…"

Why were they still talking to him? He just wanted to rest, as his body begins to give in to the pain and the pull of unconsciousness loosens his muscles. He's so tired. In fact, he doesn't think he's ever been this tired. Maybe if he just takes a little nap he'll feel better and this will all go away. It's funny though, this person with their endless nagging kind of reminds him of Dazai.

He wonders what that bastard is doing. Probably something stupid. Whatever it is though, he's probably having a much better time than Chuuya at least, is what he thinks jokingly to himself as he falls away.

At last, he can finally rest. He'll get up in a little while, but for the moment he just needs to take a quick break.

It'll be fine, he thinks to himself, as something wet falls onto his cheek and he slips away into a blank expanse of nothingness.