Authors Note: I've come to realize that 5,000 words no longer feels like a long chapter to me. It's been years (my daughter is in college now!) since I wrote Echoes, so I decided to take a look back at it. Turns out, I was definitely mistaken with my whole "3-5,000 word chapter" idea. My chapters used to be much longer, typically around 5,000 to 8,000 words, and I'm going back to that!
If you're intimidated by the length, I suggest reading a scene or two at a time. This chapter is just over 9,000 words (seven scenes), and it'll likely be the longest one in the fic.
I worked so hard on this chapter, especially trying to get the emotional beats just right—and I really enjoyed writing the action, too. Oh, and the dialogue. I'm trying to improve in my weak areas and I'm hoping it shows. I'd really love to hear your feedback! Am I capturing the emotions and characters well? I've been rewatching the anime to make sure I have a good feel for everyone.
Summary: Corrective measures are taken with dire consequences.
IV. In the Space of a Breath
"I sink beneath the weight of sorrow,
Into a darkness I cannot escape.
My soul, heavy with pain, drowns in despair,
As I am swallowed whole by this relentless ache."
/\*
The air thickened with foreboding as "F" calmly approached Kunikida, his fingers deftly removing the gag from the detective's mouth. Before speaking, he tilted his head slightly, a feigned polite curiosity coloring his tone. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name?"
"Kunikida," came the hoarse reply, edged with apprehension.
"My apologies, Kunikida-san, for the unfortunate role you find yourself in tonight," "F" said, his voice brimming with mock regret.
Kunikida, still processing the sudden ability to speak, looked on in worry as "F" motioned for the other members to force Atsushi to his feet. Atsushi's wide eyes and rigid body were a portrait of frozen terror, an expression of pure fear.
"It's truly regrettable that you have to witness this," "F" continued, his gaze shifting between Atsushi and Kunikida with a perverse delight. "Your colleague, Nakajima-san, will be resigning from his position tonight. He has a much more... pivotal role to play."
Kunikida's confusion morphed into horror as "F" grinned broadly. "Indeed, it's quite a gratifying night for me—to have a final opportunity to engage with Kitty." His expression sobered for a moment as he held up a cell phone and waved it, his voice dropping to a sinister whisper. "Unfortunately, he knows far too much, and the boss has sanctioned... corrective measures."
As Kunikida followed "F's" gaze, he noticed the activity around the tank. Members of the Obsidian Sun were assembling a bizarre contraption—a ominous metallic device that resembled a child's water gun but far more sinister in appearance. It was mounted to aim directly into the tank, and next to it were several hoses, all positioned to point down into the water. About a foot of water had already collected at the bottom, where the chain and anchor lay ominously, waiting for their purpose.
Realization dawned on Kunikida —this weapon was meant for Atsushi. Panic clawed at his throat as he began to plead. "Please, you can't—"
"F" turned sharply, his red-brown eyes drilling into Kunikida with a cold ferocity. "Cease your begging, Kunikida-san, or I assure you, it will be far worse for Nakajima-san." The threat hung in the air like a guillotine, silencing Kunikida with a wave of despair and helplessness.
As the men struggled to maneuver a visibly panicked Atsushi towards the tank, Kunikida's heart pounded against his chest, every beat echoing his failure to protect his younger colleague —the kid he had grown quite fond of. The despair was overwhelming, suffocating, as if the ability he suspected "F" possessed had not just threatened but promised a grim outcome for Atsushi.
The chaos unfolded with the raw intensity of an untamed storm, each moment cascading into the next with brutal swiftness. With Atsushi as the center of it all.
In his frenzied struggle, Atsushi's limbs transformed into those of the white tiger, his actions driven by sheer instinct and terror. At first, he was merely difficult to move as they headed towards the stairs. His resistance began with a low murmur, head shaking slowly as he repeated, "No, no," at the lack of response to his pleading his head shaking became more violent, his body jerking chaotically making any attempt to hold on to him difficult. His voice, though strained, grew louder— "Please don't!"—and occasionally slipped into the heart-wrenching plea of a broken child: "I'll be good."
As the members of the Obsidian Sun tightened their grip against his wildly persistent begging, trying to herd him forward, Atsushi's terror reached a breaking point. Suddenly, he erupted with a ferocity that seemed to surprise even himself. His limbs shifted, partially transforming into those of the tiger and then back, giving the impression of a desperate creature caught between two worlds. This sporadic transformation allowed him a moment's relief from their clutches, but it was short-lived as the guards quickly regrouped to restrain him.
Kunikida could see it—Atsushi was trapped in his tragic past, barely aware of the present danger. The air thickened with tension, snapping sharply as Atsushi's limbs fully transformed once more. This time, one arm broke free completely, swiping wildly in a reflexive, defensive gesture. His tiger claw caught one of the Obsidian Sun members by surprise, slitting the man's throat in a lethal sweep. Blood spurted as the man dropped to his knees and collapsed.
As the man's life ebbed away, so did the miasma of intoxication that had clouded their senses. The oppressive fog lifted from Kunikida's mind, allowing a moment of clarity. His awareness sharpened, first drawn to the feeling of the coarse fabric of his uniform clinging to his skin, his meticulously planned disguise now scuffed and torn. Atsushi's clothes had fared far worse, reduced to rags by his erratic transformations and 'G's earlier assault. Kunikida ruefully recalled Atsushi's earlier doubts about the uniform's durability and had to admit the younger man's foresight, despite their dire circumstances.
Taking a deep breath, relief washed over Kunikida, albeit briefly, before it was shadowed immediately by the grim reality of their situation. With the oppressive cloud lifted from his mind, bringing a sudden clarity which only made what came next even more harrowing to witness.
"F," the momentary leader of this nightmarish pack, signaled to someone who Kunikida hadn't noticed before, a hulking brute of a man who approached Atsushi with a grim determination to subdued the crazed were-tiger. With methodical cruelty, the man delivered a series of punishing blows to Atsushi. The initial strikes prompted only grunts from the young man, which seemed to trigger the man to intensify his assault, evoking sharp cries that made Kunikida flinch with each one. After several hits to his stomach, the men handling Atsushi tilted him forward to vomit bile, an action they seemed to anticipate.
Once subdued by a final blow to the back of his head, Atsushi was hauled over the man's shoulder. Kunikida watched, his heart pounding with dread, biting his lip to stifle any pleas that might worsen Atsushi's ordeal.
The bulky assailant, now bearing down on him as he walked past, landed a hit across Kunikida's face with the force of a two-by-four. Pain exploded in Kunikida's vision, a white-hot flash that nearly overwhelmed him. As he struggled to regain his senses and not pass out, he watched helplessly as they prepared Atsushi for something unthinkable.
The burly man stood in the tank, ready to receive Atsushi as he was unceremoniously lowered in. Upon hitting the water, Atsushi momentarily regained his senses and tried to scramble away in the shallow water, but the man quickly grabbed his leg and shackled his ankle. Kunikida's eyes widened as the chain and anchor gleamed ominously upon making contact with Atsushi—a gleam that traveled in a flash across the bottom, the frame, and even the glass of the tank, a clear sign of the chain and anchor's supernatural nature.
He realized that the chain and anchor were far more than simple restraints; they were enchanted, imbued with an eerie power. Such items, mysterious in nature like abilities themselves, were mercifully rare. His mind raced with questions—were these artifacts meant to synchronize with the weapon being set up above, or was their interaction just a grim stroke of luck for their captors?
Upon overhearing "F" speak gleefully to another member about having another "sacrifice," Kunikida's body jerked, a fresh wave of horror churning in his stomach. The word slipped from his lips in a whisper, barely audible but enough to be carried across the comm to Chuuya.
"Sacrifices," Chuuya's voice crackled through the comm, his tone laced with anger and disbelief. "Shit! They're using lives to power their damned artifacts. The more they take, the stronger they get."
The gravity of Atsushi's predicament became brutally clear. Kunikida felt cold despair seep into his bones, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. He had heard rumors of such artifacts, but never believed they truly existed until now.
Dazai's voice broke through the comm, a calm amidst the chaos, still Kunikida had become familiar enough with him to hear the urgency in his tone. "Atsushi, hold on. We're moving as fast as we can. You're not alone."
As the water weapon began to spray, Atsushi flinched back, his eyes wide with terror. The initial jets of water were sharp, more painful than damaging, eliciting a gasp of pain from Atsushi as he tried to dodge the streams. He pressed himself against the tank's cold glass, his breaths quick and shallow.
"Stay strong, Atsushi!" Dazai's voice urged over the comm.
Kunikida's eyes were drawn to something familiar on the floor—Atsushi's earpiece, which echoed Dazai's words half a second later. He flushed with anger and sadness, realizing that although they could hear him, Atsushi could no longer hear any of them—a consequence of his desperate struggles.
The intensity of the water increased suddenly, pulling Kunikida's eyes back to his suffering friend, the streams converging with a viciousness that was utterly merciless. Atsushi's attempts to evade became frantic, his movements desperate. But there was no escaping the relentless assault. His screams tore through the comm, a raw, agonizing sound that resonated with every member of the team.
The skin on his arms and face began to distort under the force of the water, peeling away from muscle and bone in a grotesque testament to the weapon's horrifying effect. Kunikida watched, helpless and horrified, as Atsushi's form writhed under the assault, his cries echoing in the enclosed space.
"Faster, everyone!" Dazai commanded breathlessly. "We need to end this, now!"
"I found other artifacts. Damn it! Of course, the one we're after is not here but there," Chuuya's voice came through again, angry and laced with resolve. "I'm on my way to retrieve the weapon. They won't get away with this."
Kunikida's eyes remained locked on Atsushi, witnessing the young man's torment. The emotional and physical torture unfolding before him was almost too much to bear; his heart clenched as he watched, his own chest aching with helplessness, yet he forced himself to keep looking, refusing to turn away from the harsh reality before them. This moment, as painful as it was, reaffirmed their mission—their need to act swiftly and decisively. The resolve to stay composed and tactical warred with a rising tide of desperation within him.
In that very moment, every instinct screamed for him to act, to save Atsushi from this torment. Yet, as if sensing his growing resolve, "F" caught his gaze, his eyes glinting with malicious intent. The cold, calculated look in "F's" eyes carried a clear warning. Any attempt to intervene would only bring greater suffering upon Atsushi. Bound by this cruel realization, Kunikida grappled with his helplessness, the fear and fury bubbling inside him as he stood watching a scene he could not control. While he wanted to believe there wasn't anything worse they could do to the boy, he couldn't take that chance.
The sense of powerlessness was suffocating. As Chuuya's assault on the base intensified, signaling a desperate bid for rescue, Kunikida clung to a frail hope that it might not be too late. The terrifying sounds of Chuuya tearing through the base resonated ominously, striking fear into the Obsidian Sun members. Even "F" appeared apprehensive as Kunikida caught his eye amid the chaos.
Against the backdrop of metal being torn and the base's structure protesting, there were scrambling feet and shouted orders. The previous efficiency of the Obsidian Sun members dissolved into panic as they hastily dismantled the weapon, trying to flee with it. Kunikida's gaze shifted frantically between the fleeing men and Atsushi, whose broken form lay crumpled against the side of the tank. How much more could Atsushi endure before it became too late to save him?
When he looked again, the weapon was gone, spirited away by a few of the members. "Damn," Kunikida muttered into the comm, visualizing the facility's blueprint in his mind—a mind thankfully clear of the haze that had clouded it before. "The weapon is moving east of our position."
"Got it," Chuuya responded with a growl.
"I warned you," came a sinister voice, and Kunikida's head snapped up to see "F" advancing rapidly, his presence as threatening as a storm gathering force.
The last thing Kunikida felt was the brutal impact of "F's" strike; his vision blurred into darkness, and he was almost certain he heard Atsushi's agonized cries echoing faintly at the edges of his fading consciousness. The cold trepidation that had settled in his chest blossomed, a stark reminder of their grim reality and the fierce battle that still awaited them.
/\*
The sound of rushing footsteps and distant shouting reverberated through the metallic walls, but Akutagawa paid no mind. His path was clear—to Atsushi—and anyone in his way would meet the sharp edge of Rashomon. He surged forward, his eyes scanning the corridors as he passed, prepared to unleash his ability at a moment's notice.
Suddenly, a wave of heat surged from a side passage he'd ignored, and a searing blaze erupted into the corridor, narrowly missing him. The intense heat singed his coat, the acrid smell of burning fabric filling the air. Akutagawa hissed in annoyance, spinning on his heel and diving behind a set of pipes just in time to avoid another blast of fire.
Peeking around the rusted metal, his eyes locked onto the source—a man standing in the side passage, casually manipulating a ball of fire between his hands as though it were a toy. The flames danced and flickered, shifting shapes with each subtle movement of the man's fingers, like molten clay molded with expert precision. The man grinned, his eyes alight with a dangerous gleam, as if amused by Akutagawa's near miss. Where were the Obsidian Sun finding these people? Mori was going to be very annoyed they hadn't been recruited into the Port Mafia.
Akutagawa's lips curled into a snarl, his chest rattling with a light cough as Rashomon flared around him. "You'll regret that," he muttered, his voice low and dangerous. He knew better than to underestimate a fire user, being that his ability was essentially fabric control, but there was no time to waste. His mission was too important. And this wasn't his first literal firefight. Rashomon rippled eagerly, its dark tendrils extending outward, ready to strike as he prepared to close the distance between them.
The fire user chuckled, molding the flames into a larger, more menacing shape—a searing whip of fire, crackling in the air. "I was hoping for a real fight," he sneered, his grin widening. "Guess I got lucky."
Akutagawa's eyes narrowed, his lips pulling into a sneer. Hands slipped into his pockets. "Rashomon," he growled, the name of his ability barely a whisper before the dark tendrils surged forward. The fire user lashed out with his whip, sending flames hurtling toward him. Rashomon met the fire midair, twisting and writhing as it consumed the flames, forming a black vortex of void that swallowed the heat. In the back of his mind, he thanked Dazai's brutal training—he wasn't an idiot; he knew it had prepared him for situations like this.
The corridor lit up with the clash of fire and shadows, the two powers vying for dominance. Akutagawa advanced, his steps controlled, unyielding, as Rashomon devoured the fire. The air around them crackled with tension, smelling of singed fabric, the heat oppressive as the fire user manipulated the blaze with practiced ease. He swung the whip again, aiming for Akutagawa's side, but Rashomon reacted faster, forming a barrier that absorbed the attack.
Akutagawa could see the surprise flicker in the man's eyes. He pressed forward, his tendrils cutting through the flames with ruthless precision. "You're nothing, a pitiful hack," Akutagawa taunted, his voice full of menace as he prepared for the inevitable counterstrike. Repeated use of Rashomon's vortex was tiring, even in his fights with Atsushi, he hadn't used it so much. He couldn't let this battle go on much longer.
The fire user's grin faltered, but only for a second. With a flick of his wrist, the whip retracted into a ball of fire once more, the heat intensifying as the man pulled his arms back. The flames twisted, growing hotter, fiercer, and he launched it toward Akutagawa, a blazing inferno hurtling through the narrow corridor. Instinct told him his shield wouldn't hold long against the unnatural inferno, so he dived back towards the side, feeling his pants catch on fire. He cursed as he tucked and rolled, his bony body not appreciating being suddenly slammed against the floor.
Aching, Akutagawa pulled himself to his hands and knees, resisting a deeper cough as he covered his mouth. He allowed the impression of vulnerability to take hold, and the fire user laughed, drawing back his whip for another strike. In that moment, the tendrils he had sent through the floor shot up and grabbed the man, slamming his back against the ground. The whip flew back, and Akutagawa could feel the satisfying cry of pain from a distant Obsidian Sun member who must have taken the brunt of the backlash.
Standing and brushing himself off as he pinned the fire user to the floor, Akutagawa declared disdainfully, "The foolishness of you all seems to be equal to your madness. The Port Mafia is not so easily overcome."
Whether it was his anger at being delayed from reaching Atsushi or his eagerness to end the fight, it didn't matter. The outcome was the same—a careless mistake. Before, he would have never let his guard down, but caring about someone had made him soft. It was an unfortunate consequence. The fire user surprised him by sending the flames snaking out from his hands, wrapping around the tendrils holding him down. Rashomon screeched in response as the flames ate into it.
Near panic, Akutagawa almost called for Chuuya's aid when it all suddenly ended. The flames vanished, confusion taking over the fire user's face beneath his mask. Akutagawa felt the familiar void of Dazai's ability a split second before Rashomon dissipated. He would never get used to that.
There was a loud metallic click.
Turning, he saw Dazai standing behind the fire user, his gun pressed to the man's head.
Why?
It was the first thought that popped into his mind. Why had Dazai helped him? This new Dazai that Atsushi always insisted existed was standing before him. The old Dazai, the one who had trained him, would never have helped him in a fight where his own foolishness would get him killed. But this Dazai—the one staring at him now with a touch of concern in his eyes—didn't make sense. Months ago, before he had formed some sort of bond with Atsushi, such a look would have been inconceivable.
"Are you alright?" Dazai asked, head tilted curiously, just as a coughing fit overtook Akutagawa. To his surprise, Dazai still stood there, watching with that same concern, even after the coughing subsided.
Akutagawa managed a hoarse, "Yes." Tucking his hands back into his pockets.
Dazai nodded before knocking the fire user out with the butt of his gun. "I'm starting to think they breed them."
Akutagawa stared blankly. "What?"
Dazai gestured toward the unconscious man. "It's odd how many ability users they have. Far more than we anticipated."
"Indeed," Akutagawa muttered, his thoughts no longer on the fight, but on the unsettling shift in his perception of Dazai.
Suddenly, a scream pierced the air—Atsushi's voice, distant but filled with pain. Something about it shook him, a painful fear searing through his chest.
Without a word, both Dazai and Akutagawa took off running. The urgency of Atsushi's pained screams propelled them forward, their footsteps pounding against the metal floors as the corridor twisted and turned. Akutagawa's chest rattled with every breath, but he pushed himself harder, Dazai matching his pace beside him.
"Faster, everyone!" Dazai's spoke into the comms, although breathless from running, he couldn't hide the edge of urgency in his voice. "We need to end this now!" He is scared for him too, Akutagawa thought.
"I found other artifacts. Damn it! Of course, the one we're after is not here but there," Chuuya's voice came through, right after Dazai's, sounding very angry and making Akutagawa wonder what he had missed. "I'm on my way to retrieve the weapon. They won't get away with this."
At Chuuya's mention of the weapon, Dazai slowed slightly, turning to Akutagawa, his eyes snapping with anger. "Go help Atsushi-kun. I'll go help the runt."
Akutagawa nodded, his mind snapping back to focus on his goal—Atsushi. Without another word, they split paths, Dazai veering off in pursuit of Chuuya, while Akutagawa pressed on toward the source of Atsushi's cries, determined to reach him before it was too late.
/\*
Discovering a small room filled with numerous artifacts had been an unexpected surprise. Chuuya had only decided to check it out because several rooms in the area were marked as important on the blueprints. It had struck him as odd that there were so many Obsidian Sun members guarding what seemed to be a simple cleaning closet. Knocking them unconscious had taken little effort—if they had abilities, they never got the chance to use them.
But the moment he stepped inside, a terrible sense of foreboding settled over him. His eyes scanned the array of artifacts, many of which seemed to call to him in a way he didn't like to acknowledge. Past experiences—ones he preferred not to think about—had taught him that nothing good came from ability-infused items. As far as Chuuya was concerned, anyone capable of creating things like The Book or any similar object was a monster, even by Port Mafia standards.
That creeping dread had solidified into something sickening when he overheard the plan to sacrifice Atsushi. It meant the weapon they were after wasn't just another dangerous artifact—none of them were exactly harmless—but this one was in a league of its own. The kind that fed on the lives it destroyed. Obsidian Sun wasn't just planning to wipe out the mafia and incidentally take the city with them; they were planning to build power from an entire city of lives, for some deeper, darker purpose.
It left him with more questions than answers about the group's true intentions. But there was no time to waste. Chuuya spun on his heels, activated his ability, and tore through the base with single-minded purpose.
Thanks to memorizing the blueprints as they all had, he had not just an understanding of the layout but also which walls he could break through without risking a catastrophic accident. Tearing through the walls had proven effective. The cult—because that's what they were—had already packed up the weapon and fled. He shifted direction, gaining on four members, each of them holding something.
Damn.
That was not convenient. Annoyed, Chuuya sped into the first and then the second, knocking them both hard into the walls. Unfortunately, he had chosen the wrong pair, as the other two seemed to have abilities. Seriously, what was with this group? It had been ages since he'd been on a mission with this many ability users. He narrowly avoided taking a cannon-sized bullet as an obnoxiously big gun appeared out of nowhere in one of the men's hands.
The bullet was fast, and the gun seemed to reload instantly. This was not going to end well for the other man if he kept shooting at him. Chuuya could feel his temper rising, and frankly, he didn't care if anyone objected to him obliterating these men—Agency joint mission be damned.
Chuuya slammed his hand into a nearby pipe and tore a length of it off. He batted the next bullet away, feeling the heat of its impact against his back, before hurling the pipe like his own bullet at the man, fast enough that the man never had a chance. He ended up pinned through the chest against the wall. Chuuya turned his attention to the partner, who stared at bullet man for a moment before snarling and charging straight at Chuuya. He didn't have any remarkable speed or other noteworthy physical skills. What he did have was an ability that Chuuya should have noticed beforehand. Of course, this would be something to reflect on later, with a great deal of cursing—especially of Dazai's name for not bringing it up.
The fear hit him like a ton of concrete. It was so strong he fell to his knees, gasping. The man had stopped an inch away, gripping Chuuya's wrist. He hadn't been prepared for that or the mind-numbing fear. Its grip seemed unshakable—he couldn't move. If he did, something bad would happen. His hands began to shake, and he thought he was going to be sick. It was like being a kid again, scared out of his mind and clueless as to how to save himself.
For the first time in years, a voice he usually loathed, especially for its mocking and lies, spoke nearly in his ear. "Well, isn't this a pickle."
With wide eyes, Chuuya managed to turn his head to look at his ex-partner.
"It's funny. You are the second Port Mafia member I've saved today," Dazai said, a bit more dramatically than the situation called for, his sharp eyes moving from Chuuya to the Obsidian Sun member gripping his wrist. "And do I get a thanks from either of you? Nope." He popped the 'p,' carrying on a staring contest with the fear user. Chuuya felt a bit of annoyance at his ex-partner slip through all the fear suffocating him.
"Dazai," he managed to growl.
The man in question blinked and said, "Oops," before pulling his gun on the fear user and placing his hand on Chuuya's shoulder, effectively canceling the terrifying ability.
With a gun pointed at him, the man withdrew his hand from Chuuya and stepped back, his own hands held up in the air.
"That's better," Dazai remarked with feigned pleasantness.
Chuuya disagreed. And upon standing, he improved the situation by punching the man out. "No, that's better."
Dazai gave a slight smile in response before bending down and making contact with the man to ensure that his fear ability was well and truly off. One could never be too sure.
He slipped his hands into his pockets and remarked to Chuuya's dismay, "You know, I think I broke Akutagawa-kun's mind."
"You already broke him. What did you do now?"
"I was just nice. Honest."
Chuuya began searching the four men for the weapon, not sure if he wanted to get pulled into whatever game this 'being nice' was. "Right. Hey, shithead… help me search, will ya? We're kind of in a rush."
"I know. And no need. I have it right here." Dazai's tone had grown serious.
Chuuya turned to look at Dazai with a snarl, seeing a strange coil wrapped around the barrel of a metallic gun that he was certain was fake. "What the hell?"
"We don't have time." Dazai waved the weapon once before putting it back into a pocket. "Let's go, we'll worry about this later."
Chuuya nodded, but before Dazai could react, he gave him a quick punch to the gut, taking off toward Atsushi at high speed.
/\*
Atsushi's senses flickered in and out of focus, a haze of confusion mixed with blinding pain. The tank's icy water clawed at his body, the shock of it competing with the agony that tore through his muscles and skin. He wasn't fully present. The headmaster's voice echoed in his mind, distorted by time and his current terror.
""You think you're worth anything more than this, Atsushi?"
He couldn't tell if those words were real now or simply echoes from before. ""A monster like you should be grateful to have a roof over your head."
"I am grateful, please!" he pleaded back, in a hoarse whisper, to the memories that clawed at him, dragging him between the present and the past.
He trembled, his entire body shivering both from the cold and the torment of it all. There were three streams of water. He was aware of them even through his fragmented state of consciousness—the way they relentlessly attacked him, two merely punishing, the third a nightmarish force that defied his imagination. The pain in his arms, legs, and face was a burning, unnatural sensation. No blood flowed as the skin peeled away, revealing bone and tissue, muscle fibers breaking apart. His right cheek drooped, exposing teeth as if in a grotesque smile. The skin below his left eye hung loose, sagging under the relentless assault.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized he was screaming. He hadn't even known when he'd started—hadn't realized until the sound resonated in his ears. His voice was ragged, raw, intermingled with sobs that echoed around the confines of the tank. It felt like a piece of him was being stripped away, just as the water stripped his flesh.
"Pathetic. You'll never escape what you are. No matter where you run, Atsushi Nakajima, you'll always be worthless." The headmaster's voice, the one that haunted every step of his life, weaved through his thoughts like a relentless chain, tightening with every second. Atsushi's eyes lost focus, a part of him almost believing that he was back there, in that cold basement, chained to the floor in darkness. That he had never gotten out.
The streams of water finally ceased. He couldn't tell how much time had passed. Seconds? Minutes? The absence of pain was almost as shocking as the pain itself. He blinked, disoriented, the edges of his vision darkening as he became aware of his surroundings once more. The tank was filling—fast. Faster than his addled mind could keep up, the icy water rose past his waist, his chest, and he realized the lid was sliding shut above him, casting him into darkness—a haunting parallel to the suffocating walls of the orphanage basement.
Panic clawed at his chest, and with what little strength he had left, Atsushi tried to fight. His limbs, trembling and weak, struggled against the chain that bound him. He pounded his fists against the glass, but the blows were feeble, the resistant glass merely vibrating under his weight. He tried to swim, to keep his head above the rising water, but the chain dragged at his ankle, forcing him back down. His breath hitched, turning to gasps as the water reached his neck.
In the darkness, a faint light flickered—the familiar faces of his friends beyond the glass, desperately trying to break through. He saw Kunikida, his fists slamming into the tank, his face twisted with determination. Akutagawa looked desperate, using Rashomon to attack the tank, attempting to break the glass. He caught Dazai arriving at the back, his eyes holding an emotion Atsushi could not place, his lips moving as he spoke to the others. They were all there. They were trying so hard.
For a fleeting second, hope stirred in his chest. They hadn't abandoned him. But as the water rose above his head and their frantic actions seemed to have no effect, that hope twisted into something bittersweet. They were there, but they couldn't reach him. It was both a comfort and a cruel reminder of how helpless he truly was. His heart ached—not just from fear, but from the love he felt for these people, knowing they were fighting for him even when the odds were stacked against them.
The darkness of the tank swallowed him, his last desperate struggles barely making a sound in the confines of his watery prison. As the water closed over his head, Atsushi's terror gave way to numb resignation. His hands scrabbled weakly against the glass, and his vision blurred—both from the cold and the encroaching loss of consciousness. He was drowning, and no one would be able to save him.
He tried once more to swim for the surface, desperately clawing as the last air in his lungs left him, and with eyes wide open, everything faded away.
/\*
Akutagawa's arrival was swift, still it felt like it had taken him forever to get there. His gaze locked immediately onto the tank, his heart clenched at the sight. The dim light filtering from both above and from inside the tank, barely illuminated the scene, but it was enough for him to make out Atsushi, struggling to keep his face above the water that was rising all too quickly. Rashomon rippled at Akutagawa's side, but before he could act, a low groan reached his ears. His eyes flicked to the side.
The blonde agent was slumped, tied up on the floor, clearly dazed but thankfully conscious. The detective's pained moan drew Akutagawa's attention fully, his body stiff with an urgency he could hardly suppress. Their eyes met, Kunikida's filled with disoriented pain and desperation, Akutagawa's with cold resolve. Without a word, Akutagawa gestured slightly, and Rashomon reacted instantly, its dark tendrils shooting forth and slicing through the restraints binding the blonde agent.
Freed, Kunikida staggered to his feet, shaking off the fog of his daze as quickly as he could. He first looked around as if expecting something, and that's when Akutagawa realized all the Obsidian Sun members, including Atsushi's tormentors, had fled. But his attention, like Akutagawa's, was immediately after drawn to the tank. Atsushi was frantically trying to keep his face above water, gasping for air as the liquid crept higher, threatening to submerge him entirely, his chained foot keeping him from properly treading the water. The desperation in his eyes was clear, even in the low light.
"We have to break it!" Akutagawa snapped, Rashomon lashing out toward the glass, the dark tendrils slamming against it with all their force. The impact sent a deep reverberation through the air, but the glass held firm. Not even a crack.
Stunned and dismayed, Akutagawa began to search the tank, trying to find a weak point while Rashomon continued her assault. Even when he finally managed to produce a crack in the glass or cut through the metal frame, it would repair itself, ironically not unlike the were-tiger's self-healing. Not even an attack on the nearly closed lid did any good.
Kunikida, recovering his breath, took a step forward. His mind raced, quickly writing out a command in his notebook—Spring-loaded Emergency Hammer. The tool materialized in his hand, although small, it could pack a punch. He rushed forward and placed the hammer against the glass, releasing the spring. The small tool struck with precision. He could feel the vibration and even see a dozen small cracks form, only for them to immediately repair themselves and disappear.
"It has to be the anchor," Kunikida mumbled gravely, his voice low, barely hiding his agitation. He stood back, wiping sweat from his brow, knowing that whatever they tried would be futile as long as that cursed object kept them from saving Atsushi.
Desperation gnawed at Akutagawa as he briefly met Atsushi's distant gaze. The tiger's once vibrant eyes now held a terrifying truth—defeat. It wasn't just the water threatening to drown him; Akutagawa saw it—the weight of failure in Atsushi's sunken eyes, the burden of being unable to live up to expectations. In that moment, Atsushi wasn't the fierce were-tiger or even the fledgling detective. He was a scared, broken child, silently pleading for forgiveness—for not being enough.
Akutagawa's chest tightened, resentment and anger rising not only at the tank he couldn't break but at the sight of Atsushi accepting this fate. The anger he felt wasn't solely for their enemies—it was for Atsushi, for allowing himself to give up. His hands tightened into fists, nails digging into his palms as Rashomon struck the glass with a renewed ferocity. Each attack carried a weight beyond the physical, as if Akutagawa were trying to fight against Atsushi's surrender as much as the tank itself.
"You don't get to give up now," Akutagawa snarled under his breath, his voice trembling with a mixture of rage and desperation. His eyes flashed with something that was neither pity nor understanding—but indignation. He couldn't afford to lose someone like Atsushi, not like this, not when they still had a chance... at whatever it was. Friendship. Brotherhood?
Exasperated, Kunikida clenched his fists, knowing full well that no amount of brute force would shatter the glass while the anchor held its power. Still, the helplessness gnawed at him, his hands hovering for a moment before he pulled back, fighting the urge to slam them into the unbreakable surface. He turned back to the others, chest heaving with a mixture of exhaustion and frustration. "It's the anchor," he muttered darkly, his voice barely hiding his fury.
A moment of silence passed, broken only by Atsushi's muffled gasps on the other side, the water continuing to rise. Akutagawa's eyes scanned the area, the faint light of the tank just enough for him to make out the heavy chain and anchor at the base of the tank, now gleaming faintly under the water.
"No, Atsushi…"
Akutagawa turned to find the red-headed agent standing behind them, looking distressed. He scowled upon seeing the Mafioso but said nothing. Instead, Akutagawa followed his gaze to the top of the tank where the lid covered it, and the controls for it sat on the loft platform, sparking from sabotage. He watched as the red-head ran up the stairs and tried to use the controls to open the lid, but the damage resulted in the same outcome as attacking had.
With a cry of distress, Jun'ichirō began shouting to Atsushi, likely offering moral support, though Akutagawa doubted Atsushi could hear anything clearly—if at all. The rushing water filling the tank and the water already in his ears would have drowned out most sound. Akutagawa had noticed the discarded earpiece on the ground, likely lost in Atsushi's desperate struggle.
To the three men's relief, Dazai and Chuuya appeared. Kunikida immediately turned to his partner, quickly explaining about the anchor and the tank's unbreakable nature. Akutagawa struck the glass again to demonstrate, and they all caught sight of Atsushi, now fully submerged, looking back at them. Akutagawa wasn't able to catch his eyes, instead shouting, "Dazai-san, he's drowning!"
"Move," Dazai commanded, rushing over to the tank and pressing his hand against it. He could feel the power coursing through the glass, and he focused, channeling his ability into his palm, the same way he had to concentrate when nullifying Atsushi's ability. He nodded to Kunikida, who stood ready with the emergency hammer, prepared for the inevitable rush of water.
Dazai focused and signaled. Kunikida struck the glass again.
For a brief second, there was a visible ripple across the surface of the tank. Akutagawa's heart leaped, bracing himself for the water to burst forth, a flicker of hope lighting in his chest. But in the next instant, Dazai was thrown backwards by an unseen force, caught at the last minute by Chuuya.
Turning back to the tank, Akutagawa watched as Atsushi struggled beneath the water, completely submerged. It seemed that, in his frantic state, Atsushi had lost awareness of the chain and anchor preventing him from reaching the surface.
Akutagawa sensed Dazai coming to stand beside him, the man rubbing his head in pain and frustration as he surveyed the scene. Without a word, Chuuya raised a hand, focusing his gravity manipulation ability to try and lift the lid. The strain was evident on his face as he attempted to pull it free, but even Chuuya's considerable power couldn't shift the enchanted cover.
They all gathered, watching as Atsushi's struggles began to slow. The water had claimed every inch of his body now. He could see the last of the air leave him in a stream of bubbles. His body jerked several times, his movements growing weaker with each passing second.
When Atsushi's head finally dipped beneath the water, the world around them seemed to still. The chaos, the tension—it all fell away, replaced by a suffocating silence. For those watching from outside the tank, it felt like the last gasp of hope had been extinguished.
Akutagawa's body went rigid, his breath faltering as the water engulfed Atsushi completely. His breath caught in his throat, a sharp pain twisting in his chest. Even though he had faced death countless times, something about this moment shook him to his core. No…
Kunikida's fists hovered in the air, the strength draining out of him. For a brief second, it was as though the glass separating them was the only thing holding the world together. The last traces of Atsushi's form blurred beneath the cold, unyielding water, leaving nothing but the stillness of the tank.
Finally, with one last desperate attempt to swim, Atsushi's body stilled, drifting limply in the water. His eyes, wide and terrified, stared sightlessly upwards, as though still trying to reach the surface.
And then he was gone.
/\*
One moment, Atsushi struggled—desperately trying to escape the icy waters—his last breath leaving his lungs. It left him with that terribly familiar burning pain, the kind he could never escape. It was accompanied by memories he'd fought so hard to lock away, the ones that he knew were always there but had managed to keep at bay for months. But now, with Franz's torment, the weapon's assault, and the drowning in the tank, it was a losing battle. He could feel, as if it were only yesterday, the hand pressing down on the back of his head, another often between his shoulders. The sensation of the cold porcelain beneath his face, his bleeding fingers carving into the grain of wood, the futile struggle to be free—it was all there.
He could never win, neither as a child nor as a scrawny teenager, malnourished and without a chance against the headmaster. Atsushi could live a thousand years and still never forget the agony of drowning: the desperation, the searing black hole that replaced his lungs, and the way his thoughts grew sluggish before fading out.
Of all the ways he imagined he might die while serving the Armed Detective Agency, drowning had not been on the list. Whether that was from a genuine lack of expectation or a subconscious refusal to acknowledge it, he couldn't say. But now, it no longer mattered. He had only moments left.
He struggled, and then he wasn't.
In the space of a breath, between drowning and the turn towards death, he found a moment of mercy.
Atsushi opened his eyes and found himself standing on an expanse of white that stretched endlessly in all directions. Despite the lack of color or shadow, he could still feel something solid beneath his feet. Overwhelmed by the infinite brightness around him, Atsushi turned in a slow circle, confused. Yet, there was something familiar about this place. He had been here before, he was certain of it, even if he couldn't remember when. But that certainty offered no solace as he found himself reaching up to pull at his hair, unable to cope with the white emptiness. There was nowhere to go, no answers as to why he was here or what he was supposed to do.
The emotional turmoil of the night came crashing down on him again. A wrenching cry escaped his lips as he covered his face and fell to his knees. Why? Why drowning? Why did they have to be here? Why did his parents…? He couldn't even finish the thought. Despite how lost and disoriented he felt, that revelation had managed to tear through him. Like any orphan, he had wondered why, but never dared to ask—not properly. The headmaster had happily volunteered vague, cutting reminders whenever it suited him to remind Atsushi just how low his place in life was. He wasn't worth anything to his parents, and he wasn't worth even that to the orphanage. He was a waste of space, stealing food from other mouths. Someone who didn't deserve a warm bed or a moment's rest.
Somehow, Atsushi had convinced himself he had found a family, a reason, a purpose to keep living. But now... did he even have that? Only barely able to remember their frantic faces on the other side of the glass. Emotionally raw, drained, and dulled, he knelt in the white abyss. The last real thought that passed through his mind was if he was dead and this was his afterlife—a place devoid of comfort, where the white exposed the sin of his existence and the loneliness reminded him that he deserved nothing more.
There was no sense of time in this space, but after a while, Atsushi became aware that he was, in fact, still alive. He could feel it—as if half-awake—his body floating, tethered to the bottom of the tank, lungs filled with water. He only had moments left. What now? Why was he here?
The answer to his question came in the form of another presence, as if conjured by his very thoughts. The moment his sunset eyes met her slitted gold, he understood. He understood this place, why he was here, and that there was no one else he would rather spend his final moments with. There had been times when they were at odds, where acceptance had been hard to find. But over time, her presence inside him had become less an unwelcome intruder and more a comforting friend. Even more than that, she had become a part of him—just as much a part as his hand, his heart.
Byakko was the other half of his soul, and now that she was here, wherever here was, Atsushi felt whole. He reached out a hand, gently placing his palm over her head, then running it down her back. The white tiger, splendid in her feline glory, closed her eyes at his touch and chuffed in response. Pleased by her reaction, a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. Atsushi cupped her face with both hands, pressing his forehead to hers.
"Why?" he whispered, running his thumbs gently through the fur beneath her eyes. "Why did it have to be like this?"
He had often imagined dying in a ditch, alone and forgotten. But the more time he had spent at the Agency, the more he had imagined dying in battle, with one too many stab wounds, or falling victim to some strange ability. But drowning? That had been his childhood fear, one he had firmly locked away. And now, he was being forced to reconcile that fear with his reality.
Atsushi sighed, not expecting an answer from her. He wanted to pull at his hair, to claw at his scalp in frustration and despair, but the urge was tempered by the waves of calm and affection that washed over him.
"Thank you," he said gratefully. He was truly glad not to be alone in this. "I know. It's the end. At least I didn't die in that orphanage. But... I'm a bit disappointed I didn't get to see twenty." After a pause, a sudden stab of guilt pierced his chest. "I'm sorry that you'll die with me."
Though he didn't want to be alone, Atsushi wished just as deeply that Byakko could somehow escape this fate. But she was tethered to him, and this was their end.
Byakko responded by pressing her head against his, nudging his face into the thick fur of her neck. He wrapped his arms around her, fingers curling deep into her coat, soothed by her warmth and the comfort she offered.
"I suppose..." he murmured, inhaling her scent as he steeled himself. He was grateful for the past year and the wonderful people he now called family. Deep down, he knew they were still his, despite everything that had been revealed that night. They had given him more than he ever knew to hope for. So, despite not wanting to go, despite the crushing unfairness, he wouldn't dishonor their memory by being ungrateful for the life he had had since leaving the orphanage.
"I can be thankful they are here, and I can say goodbye," he said softly, somehow aware that he only had moments left. The painful ache in his chest confirmed it. Atsushi pressed his face almost cat-like against Byakko, sharing one last affectionate gesture. "Thank you," he whispered before turning away, a sad smile on his lips.
/\*
Dazai had seen and done many things in his time with the Port Mafia and the Agency—things that left him numb to suffering, things that would've broken a lesser man. But as he watched Atsushi, submerged in the tank, barely holding on, something stirred in him. He stared, his breath shallow, as the boy's struggle slowed, and the room fell into a tense, deafening silence.
Atsushi wasn't just a subordinate or another case. He was the boy Dazai had pulled off the streets, had reluctantly taken under his wing. A boy full of potential but also fragile, and Dazai had always been careful—too careful at times, perhaps. And he could admit, not careful enough at others. He'd held back from training Atsushi the way he had Akutagawa, afraid he'd break him like he did back then. Afraid that pushing Atsushi too hard would fracture the same delicate spirit that made him different from the others.
He wasn't ready to lose him yet.
Just when Dazai thought it was too late, Atsushi's eyes fluttered open. The sudden shift was startling. Dazai stepped closer to the glass, his breath catching in his throat. Atsushi, who moments ago had seemed lost in the depths of his mind, now looked... peaceful.
Atsushi, weak and barely holding on, lifted his trembling hand and pressed it against the glass. The movement was slow, deliberate, as if this small gesture carried the weight of all his unspoken words. On the other side, Akutagawa stood frozen for a moment, his expression shifting into something unreadable. Slowly, almost hesitantly, Akutagawa raised his own hand, pressing it to the glass to meet Atsushi's. Despite the injuries that marred Atsushi's face, his swollen, sagging skin, and revealed bone giving him a distorted appearance, the connection in that moment was raw and deeply human.
Dazai's heart twisted at the sight. Without thinking, he stepped forward and placed his own hand where theirs met. The three of them stood there, separated by the unbreakable glass but joined in a moment of fragile connection. Their eyes met one by one—Atsushi's dimming, Akutagawa's conflicted, and Dazai's uncharacteristically grave. Even with half of Atsushi's face twisted from the injury, his mouth still fighting to form that soft, sad smile, Dazai could feel the boy's resilience, even in his final moments.
Dazai remained frozen, his hand pressed where Atsushi's had been. His face, so often a mask of playful nonchalance, had shifted into something grim. As he watched Atsushi's trembling hand slip away, Dazai felt something in his chest tighten, a rare and unsettling sensation of helplessness taking root.
Atsushi's sunset-colored eyes found his, a mix of warmth and sadness swirling in their depths. Dazai had never fully understood why Atsushi looked up to him the way he did, despite knowing his past in the mafia and what he had done to Akutagawa. Yet, despite all that, Atsushi had always seen something in him—something Dazai himself struggled to acknowledge.
Now, there was no time left. Atsushi had fought with every ounce of strength he had, but even he couldn't escape this. Dazai saw the acceptance in his gaze, and it was that look that cut deeper than anything. He's letting go, Dazai realized, his own hand tightening slightly against the cold glass.
For the first time in a long while, words failed Dazai. What could he say to Atsushi in this moment? There was no clever manipulation he could do that would benefit any of them.
When Atsushi smiled —that gentle, sad smile that spoke of goodbyes—Dazai's throat constricted. It wasn't the boy's usual, bright smile that had occasionally warmed even Dazai's distant heart. This was a smile of acceptance, of gratitude for the life he had lived, however brief.
And then Atsushi's eyes, those sunset eyes Dazai had come to know, began to lose their light. Dazai couldn't tear his gaze away, watching as his young protégé slipped further from their reach. The pain in his chest grew, but Dazai's face remained eerily calm, his fingers still resting where Atsushi's hand had been just moments before.
This shouldn't be happening. The thought clawed at him, irrational and useless as it was. Atsushi had so much more to live for. He had found a place, a purpose at the agency. And now... all of it was being taken away.
As Atsushi's final breath slipped away, the muscles in his neck relaxed, causing his head to bow slightly, his body drifting in the water with a gentle, lifeless grace. The chaos, the tension—it all fell away, replaced by a suffocating silence. For those watching from outside the tank, it felt like the last gasp of hope had been extinguished.
Akutagawa's body stiffened, his eyes widening as Atsushi drifted deeper, the distance between them growing, both in body and in the unreachable stillness of death. His breath caught in his throat, a sharp pain twisting in his chest. Even though he had faced death countless times, something about this moment shook him to his core.
Kunikida's fists hovered in the air, the strength draining out of him. For a brief second, it was as though the glass separating them was the only thing holding the world together. The last traces of Atsushi's form blurred beneath the cold, unyielding water, leaving nothing but the stillness of the tank.
The sound of Akutagawa's scream pierced the silence, but Dazai didn't immediately react. He simply stood there, his breath still caught in his throat as the terrible stillness settled over the room, broken only moments later by the soft sound of sobbing—likely Junichiro.
For the first time in what felt like ages, Dazai didn't have a plan. There was no way to save Atsushi, no last-minute trick to turn the situation around. The truth hit him harder than he had anticipated, a hollow feeling settling in his chest.
But even in that hollow emptiness, Dazai did what he had always done—he kept his mask on, knowing he would have to be strong for the others. There would be time for everything else later. For now, he stood beside the others, hand slowly slipping from the glass as he faced the unbearable truth of their failure.
/\*
End Note:
Poem line -"In the Depths" by Sylvia Plath
Yes, I did change the story summary bit from Atsushi's pov to Dazai's. As by the time I got to that moment, I wanted it in a different POV. I'll be keeping Atsushi's in the summary still.
Comments are cookies, plus they help with knowing how I am doing. So please feed me.