Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Wake up, Tricksters.”

A feather light sensation breezed over noses and closed eyes, and faces scrunched as red and silver slowly opened. They blinked, seeing a blue butterfly fluttering between bright spots of light in an endless, blank void. Blinking again, the void became enclosed in a strange building; tall prison cell doors patterned one side, though the bars looked to be glitching out. Some bars were stuck together, diagonal and horizontal and piercing through each other, others were thinner or thicker, and cycling through many shades of grey, blue, black, and white. A few glitched and broke into shards before reverting back, others staying fractured and broken, the ends laying on the cracked concrete flooring. The cracked pieces didn’t seem to fit quite right and were hard to look at for too long.

It clashed in the centre, blurring in a tangled mess of structure. It stretched out to the other half, a court-house. The judge’s podium sat in the clashing middle, one side slanted and broken by shattered poles sticking out of it, the other standing tall and proud under the soft blue light. The rest gave way to the jury’s pews, cracked down the middle and shedding splinters across the floor. The rows of seats just beside them shared the same fate, the blue wood glitching in and out of existence, faded in places and shredded in others. The edges frayed unnaturally, hard to distinguish with each glitch and blurring woodchip pulsing. Taking in the whole, nauseating sight, their gazes finally came back around to the blue butterfly slowly flapping its wings. In a blink of bright blue light, Lavenza appeared and landed delicately upon the cracked, blurred middle.

She curtsied with a small smile, golden eyes a welcome reprieve from the haunting blue. “It has been a while, Tricksters.”

Akira and Goro turned to each other, just staring.

Akira was the first to gain his voice, though his words were wavering and frail, desperate with pain. “You’re alive…?”

Goro looked just as stunned as he turned his gaze down at his hands. “…Apparently.” His voice was quiet, as if afraid any louder, he’d shatter like the pews. He wore the same outfit he did in Maruki’s reality. It seemed the cognition carried across, weirdly enough. He looked up to Lavenza, eyes twitching. “How?”

“Your body was being held in stasis in the Meterverse to be repaired,” Lavenza explained, a kind of sadness appearing in her golden eyes. “Since you are a Trickster, a Wildcard yourself, and were killed within the Meterverse, you were able to survive, though neither I nor my master could reach you until now.”

Goro took it all in with a sigh, a hand rising to his chin. “What of my real body?”

“In reality, you are currently in a coma. As you are almost recovered here, you will be able to wake soon. But I’m afraid that’ll have to wait.”

“…You called us here for a reason, right?” Akira asked, trying to process everything. A surge of relief rushed through him, alongside many emotions he couldn’t decipher, at least not in the current moment. “I… I haven’t been able to talk with Arsene or Raoul for a while now. Is it connected?”

Lavanza nodded sadly. “I’m afraid so. Both of your connections to your true hearts have been frayed and damaged. It pains me to say this as your attendant, but you’ve both formed a Palace.”

Akira felt shock stab through him, and he stuttered, “B-but that shouldn’t be possible!” He thought Maruki was the exception, due to gaining the malevolent God of Control’s power.

Goro scowled, crossing his arms. “The cat mentioned that Persona users couldn’t develop Palaces, so what’s happening here?”

“While that is usually the case, due to the Councillor’s interference with the Metaverse, a disturbance has been identified. And with you, Justice,” she faced Goro who tensed under her intense gaze, “falling within a Palace without a chance to defy your blood, with fate so unkind since your birth, and you, Fool,” she turned to Akira who flinched, “who has been forcibly parted from your bonds and feeling lost and alone, the conditions were set. Due to this, I’ve called upon you to steal each other’s hearts and free your true selves once more.”

“Wait, each other’s?” Goro’s arms tightened as his face twisted up. “Why should we not tackle our own Palace?”

Right, he didn’t know. “Morgana said that it’s dangerous to go into your own Palace.”

“Didn’t Sakura go into hers?” Goro quirked a brow, shoulders tensing further.

“Yeah… but she also didn’t have a persona at that point. So maybe that made it different?” Akira felt like he was grasping at straws to reason. Morgana didn’t give enough of an explanation, and he was honestly doubting a lot of things at the moment, especially seeing the should-be-dead former celebrity in front of him. “The Metaverse is weird, okay?”

“That’s one way to put it,” Goro muttered through gritted teeth, his whole body rigid.

Lavenza fake a cough to return attention back to her. “While it is true Persona users shouldn’t enter their own Palace, should they form one, the current situation is… delicate.” She hesitated for a moment, before finding her resolve. “Your Palaces are unstable. I fear that any more strain upon your hearts that may be caused by your entering may completely sever your ties. There may be lasting damage that we of the Velvet Room cannot undo.”

Silence followed her words.

Akira sucked in a sharp breath, mind reeling.

“How unstable are you meaning?” Goro questioned. Akira could hear the slight hitch he tried to cover.

“I’m certain you can guess based on the state of the Velvet Room,” Lavenza gestured around the distorted space.

Goro sighed heavily, and clicked his tongue. “So separating and taking on each other’s Palace is the only method we have at our disposal?”

“Unfortunately, yes. I apologise, but this situation calls for action. Due to the instability, I’m afraid there’s a time limit, though I can only estimate based on your hearts strengths. Due to time working different within the Metaverse, you’ll feel when the end is nearing. But, I cannot call upon your bonds to help. You can only rely on yourselves. However,” Lavenza pulled out her huge book and opened it, the pages flipping in quick succession. “I can provide you the weapons you previously used. You will not be able to call upon your Persona’s as they roam the Palace’s.”

“Great! So we’re basically defenceless to whatever fuckery the Metaversa decides to throw at us. And a shitty time limit too. Fucking perfect,” Goro grumbled, cursing under his breath.

“So you can’t summon any Personas for us?” Akira asked, a timid lit of hope that was quickly crushed as Lavenza shook her head.

“Until your hearts are stable, that cannot be done. I apologise, Tricksters. I can only offer my well wishes and healing on your journey.”

Akira sighed, body feeling suddenly heavy and tired. “I guess it’s better to try and finish this as soon as we can, yeah?”

He turned to Goro who was scowling deeply. “Don’t poke around anymore than necessary, okay, Joker?”

He understood the taut line of tension and felt his blood go numb. “Of course. But neither of us can control what we see.” He was somewhat glad he wouldn’t be present when Goro uncovers his deeply hid secrets.

“…Give me my weapons and let’s get on with it.”

Lavenza summoned the weapons; a thick, black and silver dagger, Paradise Lost, and a weirdly shaped black handgun with a face carved into the barrel for Akira, and a long, glowing orange zig-zagging blade, Hinokagutsuchi II, and an intricacy designed black and red, short-barrel ray gun, Ancient Day, for Goro. Something inside Akira grew warm seeing the weapons he’d fused and gifted to him all those months ago.

God, it hasn’t even been half a year since he lost him.

“Now, please stay still as I transfer you.” The huge book in Lavenza’s hand snapped shut as she held out her other hand. “I hope you stay safe and save your hearts.”

A light blue glow enveloped them, and Akira closed his eye, feeling a comforting warmth settling on his skin.

He felt the air change, and suddenly regretted choosing to wear a hoodie to bed to fight the oddly chilly night. The comfort soon faded, leaving only the new heavy, heated air prickling through his long sleeves. He blinked opened his eyes, and his jaw dropped.

A huge castle.

Though it felt more like a fortress with its massive intensity.

Reddish brown marble and bricks, lined orange and standing tall. The heat quickly made sense as he saw fire blazing within open, dark corridors just above. Two glowing red gems highlighted the entrance between two long pillars, where he felt hordes of dangerous shadows roaming. He noticed a spasm in the bricks, the colours shifting more orange or red or black and back. It cracked and shook, pieces seeming to break and crumble one moment and fixing the next. No wonder Lavenza called it unstable. Would the ground glitch out and take him with it? His hair stood on end, goose bumps rising along his covered skin, and he gripped his dagger tighter.

He didn’t know what to expect within the dangerous walls, and hesitated at the entrance as he just took in the hulking structure. His non-existent confidence plummeted as he realised just how small he was in comparison, as he realised just what he was getting into. With no Persona to call upon, no items to heal or buff, and no one else to back him up, he felt like he may actually die here. But he had to move. He couldn’t leave Goro like this. He can always come back to Lavenza, so long as he could move. He took in a deep breath, and took a step forward.

“Why hello there, little magpie.”

He instantly halted, fear pulsing through his thumping heart. He looked left and right, trying to locate the source.

The voice chuckled. “Curious, are we? Well, maybe I can help with that.”

A figure jumped down from above, landing gracefully. The ground under gleaming gold lined black heels flashed and flickered, though it stayed strictly on the Palace structure itself. Covered in black and white stripes, a red lined coat over a tight black shirt, long black claws beckoned him closer to his striped horned, eerily wide, sharp fanged smirking face. It looked so strange, yet also fit upon Goro’s face so well. Golden eyes shone bright with mirth, crinkling in delight as Akira felt a shiver crawl down his spine.

“Don’t you want to see your elskede’s deepest secrets?” His eyes darkened, a pointy, long tongue darting out for a moment as a flash of red burned over his broad, sharp angular shoulders. “Don’t worry, I won’t bite.”

Akira gulped.

Yeah, he wasn’t prepared enough for this.

------

Goro regretted having eyes in this very moment, almost wishing he was back to being death, as that cold embrace was better than whatever he was looking at.

Bright neon pinks, reds, and greens glitched and glowed all around him, burning his eyes, and loud cheering screaming out from further within killed his ears. The large windows, some with stained glass patterned along the top or edges, shattered, then returned, the colours flickering and changing. The walls cracked and shook, becoming brighter and harder on his eyes. Of course Akira’s Palace would be as annoying as him. It was so disgustingly colourful, even the breakages, ever shifting blurring edges, and glitches stayed obnoxiously bright with neon.

He felt like throwing up.

The lack of voices and the feelings associated with them in his head didn’t help.

A breeze from what he believed to be a shining amusement park in the back sent his scarf flying, and it was the one and only time he would ever be thankful to the quack of a therapist with a god-complex. He rubbed a hand down his face and just breathed for a few moments, his brain still trying to sort everything now that it’s suddenly working as normal again. With one last heavy exhale, and a regretful eyeful of the cathedral looking Palace, he straightened up and prepared to enter.

“What do we have here?”

He shifted, gripping his glowing blade hard. He was far more exposed than he was comfortable with, body still tense all over.

“It seems mes petits coeur’š aiment yet lives. How surprising. Mon cœur must be beyond delighted.”

His French was a little rusty, but he knew enough to understand the voice. Heat travelled his blood to his face, but he kept his shoulders set and legs rigid.

“Awe, no need to be so tense, cher bien-aimé. I promise thou shall have a fantastic time here. Should you find that nothing satisfies you enough, then-“ a raven winged figure dropped, brushing down his red cropped coat. His red thigh high stiletto boots creaked and clicked as he stepped forward, a hand ending in sharp, black claws reaching up to tip the tall and sharp top hat he wore as he shallowly bowed. “I offer myself as thy personal entertainment.” The annoyingly bright wall behind him flickered out of existence for a moment.

Goro scrunched his nose, his free hand hovering over his gun. “I don’t suppose that includes a quick path to your treasure, does it?”

Arsene, Goro concluded, stood back up and pushed his hat back to settle steady upon the curly mess Akira called hair. His jet black wings folded in, tucked neatly with not a single feather out of place.

“As much as I hate to disappoint, that cannot be done, petit corbeau. Mon cœur is not yet ready. I’d hate to cause further harm.”

Goro cocked his head, his sword lowering slightly, but still at the ready. “That’s quite the loaded statement. Perhaps you would like to elaborate.”

Arsene laughed and shook a clawed finger. “Thou art too early to discern. I suggest spending thy time catching up on a lost childhood. Might I suggest the rollercoasters? Most patrons quite enjoy the thrill.”

“Doing frivolous activates is not what I came here to do.” Goro thrusted his blazing sword forward. A tight, uncomfortable feeling he was far too familiar with had begun brewing within him that he wanted desperately to ignore. “Either show me the way, or I’ll cut you down here and now.”

A deep chuckle burned his ears. “Does thou forget the harm that causes? I cannot allow you to do such. Not that you could get close enough with a mere blade.” He smirked wide, and Goro eyed a fang pointing sharp. “I’ll grant you a map to guide your path. If thou should ever feel lonely, just call mon nom.” He snapped his fingers and a small booklet materialised. He held it out, and Goro snatched it away. “I hope thou shall enjoy your time here.” He bowed deep, large black wings spreading out with a flourish. “I bid you, adieu.” And he flew off, disappearing into the dark sky.

Once his figure could no longer be seen, Goro opened the booklet and scanned the rather large map. There were several sections, most taken up by the amusement park, and the one that caught his eyes was the theatre section on the right. It was split into four rooms; solitude, sins, souffrance, and soul. The feeling grew and continued to grow as he eyed the mention of a basement level, and decided to check that out after the theatre.

He flicked through the rest of the booklet, seeing little descriptions with each of the attractions; the large ballroom to the left held grand, nightly venues for both nobles and peasants alike, the amusement park, housing all the usual rides and more enjoyed by all, which had rollercoasters that wrapped around the Palace exterior – he wouldn’t be surprised to see parts running through the other rooms either – and the theatre was well received with a lot of five star reviews. Some of the comments were concerning, however.

‘My favourite part was when all the voices were insulting him. My friends and I joined it. It was so much fun!’

‘Really cathartic experience. Now I know someone is worse than me!’

‘The special effects felt so real that I could even smell the blood! Impressive work! Can’t wait for more!’

‘The audience interaction was really fun. I was even able to keep the feather I plucked!’

He flipped the crinkled page scrunching further under his gloved fingers, reading the last little bit of necessary information; an unspecified show in the Cathedral’s alter room. Beside that was a list of food kiosks throughout the Palace. He’d be sure to check those out, as any item he can get would be helpful. He closed and tucked the booklet into his seemingly endless Metaverse pocket and began to walk, stepping through the glitching, jittering neon entrance.

In an instant, faceless shadows filled the area, mindless chatter of gibberish meeting his ears. He saw various outfits on display depending on where they were headed; grand gowns of all sorts sparkling down to the ballroom, interspersed with the occasional ratty, less elegant dress in between, more irritatingly colours paired with animal ear headbands and carrying a shopping centre’s worth of bags filled to the brim with plushes, figures, and more prizes, destination obvious, and comfortable, yet elegant clothes for those headed towards the theatre.

He couldn’t pin point any headed for the alter room, but that was an event for later anyway. He couldn’t feel any hostile intent from the writhing, colourful masses, so he merged into the group heading for the theatre. Apparently, the Palace had an intercom system as the speakers suddenly crackled to life.

“Testing, testing, one two. Why hello, hello my dear patrons!” The pitch was different from Arsene’s, though still naturally deep, being Akira’s and all. Akira used far too many Personas for Goro to know which would be held important enough to be an established figure here. “I welcome you all and wish you a very joyous day! I hope you’ll find your fill on entertainment. We’re always open and here to satisfy, so don’t feel afraid to file any complaints. We’ll rectify and make your next visit even better!”

Goro found one of the many speakers upon the high roofs, watching the unnatural black shape shift and break before clicking back together. It seemed to quiver with the voice filtering through it. A sudden neon yellow light fell upon Goro, and the shadows around him all stopped and turned, their facelessness not impeding the feeling of being stared at.

“Tonight, we have a very special guest with us! It has been a little while, mon cher! We’re all very glad to have you here with us. Expect some exclusive time with us hosts later. Now, I hope he enjoys the shows and stays for all the exciting events to come! Please give him our warmest regards.”

The shadows began clapping in eerie synchronisation, the lack of off beats making it stilted. Goro scowled, backing up till his back touched the neon bright pink wall flashing and jumping behind him. Starting a fight could bring about a larger devastation he’d rather avoid.

“No need to be shy! Please, accept this VIP card as a welcoming gift.” A bright glow sprouted in front of him, dissipating into a thin metallic card. It floated down to him, and he hesitantly grabbed it, feeling cold sweat rolling down his neck. “We cannot wait to see your reactions. The smiling faces of our patrons are the biggest rewards we could ask for! So don’t hold anything back.”

The neon spotlight flickered off and the strange clapping stopped, all shadows resuming their previous strides and unintelligible chatter. Goro was so thrown off kilter. He went to push himself off the wall, but his hand suddenly shattered through the wall and into the empty space within. A cut off gasp escaped his throat as the rest of the wall gave way and he fell through, his feet leaving solid ground. The glitching wall jittered back into place, leaving him in darkness as he continued to descend.

“Oh, and be wary of the walls,” the voice added. Goro could hear the smirk in his voice as a cold darkness embraced him, not dissimilar to the feeling of death. “They have a tendency to break and disappear. Have fun and good luck down below, should you fall~”

His chuckles echo mockingly before everything fell quiet, and Goro could do nothing but accept his damning fate once more.

Chapter Text

Akira was such an idiot.

Akira shouldn’t have followed Loki.

Akira should’ve ran when he had the chance.

Why did he let that sharp and wicked smile charm him?

Why did he stand there as claws so sharp that caressed his face so gently guided him into the hells warmed castled?

Why did he not fight back?

He knew why.

Of course he did.

Now, Akira sat alone, fingers tracing the gold now trapping him in its beautiful embrace.

A gilded cage meant for decoration, and him, the centrepiece within.

Akira knew that Loki was dangerous, that he couldn’t be trusted, that this was suck a stupid gamble he didn’t realise he was taking in the moment.

A gamble he now severely regretted.

Akira groaned.

“Why the fuck did I… No, I know why…” he sighed, cursing himself. He dug his palms into his eyes, seeing stars that felt so lacklustre compared to the sheer glamorising shine of stripes rimmed red and blinking gold so filled with inviting danger that he craved. He couldn’t do anything about the hot flush overtaking his shuddering body. “God, I’m so fucking hopeless…” The cool gold of the birdcage he now sat within did nothing to sooth the flooding heat. “Dammit, Akira.” He tugged at his hair. “Get your shit together. This isn’t the time for this.”

He took in a deep breath, then another, and another.

Only to choke as the golden birdcage’s bottom glitched out of existence. He fell and hit the ground hard, limbs spasming as pain overtook the heat and shook him back to reality. The shock of pain lessened as he realised his now freedom. He pushed himself up, rubbing his back as he looked around the throne room he found himself in. Black, white, grey, red, and gold decorated the whole of the large room, plush red carpet lining the black and white checkered, marbled floor up to the three large, golden thrones sitting at the back atop of lifted platform. Lining the walls stood knight armour jittering about and leaking black smoke. The room shifted to bright, flaming orange and red, thrones and armour clashing into one another in shining confusion before returning with a distorted black twitch. The feeling of unease returned from before tenfold as he pushed himself to his feet and began moving.

“I’m not wasting this chance. Just gotta avoid Loki. And probably Robin and Hereward, too,” he muttered, stride quickening to a jog as he left the throne room and started down a long hallway. “Just avoid everyone, finish this Palace before time’s up, and, maybe I can visit Akechi during school break.” His mind kept threatening to leave and wander.

It only snapped back once he took notice of the many painting lining the black and red hallway. Or rather, the tattered remains of paintings. They were torn so fiercely, he could only make out vague shapes and impressions of what seemed to be hair or eyes. Then came the golden statues. Huge carved structures depicted Goro, dressed like a fairy tale prince, crown, capes, and all, stood tall and proud, others depicting his Personas in all their monstrous glory. Few were of his idealised vengeance against Shido; decapitated, torn to shreds, bleeding golden blood from a jagged sword imbedded deep into his heart. Another showed only the heart pierced clean and bleeding. With the glitch, it seemed to pulse as if on its dying beat. 

The grotesque details were displayed with gleaming pride.

The statues were interspersed between the paintings in odd intervals; four paintings, statue, seven paintings, statue, two paintings. His jogging slowed to a walk as he took it all in, the paintings states slowly worsening the further he walked, more tears and flakes jittering off, the statues soon following. The golden structures were breaking, faces caved in and broken. Golden chunks littered the ground, glitching and twitching about. Fractures formed and deformed, following statues cut in half, jagged pieces jutting up, sharpness begging to be touched, to bleed. Akira felt his blood pulsing through his fingers that twitched with interest, but he averted his gaze back to the shredded paintings.

He couldn’t focus for long as a sudden entourage of voices filled the air, startling him back into pace. He jogged around a corner, finding himself faced with another long hallway, paths lining the walls down to the split path at the end. The voices grew louder and he ran, glancing down each pathway he passed, seeing shadows grouping large and racing down the halls.

“Shit, shit, shit!”

A sudden split hoard joined together at the hallway’s end, eyes all snapping to Akira. His curses grew louder as he doubled back into an empty hall, racing down the paintings and statues, eyes catching the glitches that shook the hall. The carpet ahead of him started to fade in places, and his jumped around, stepping on places that soon disappeared. The voices were screaming in his ears, “gEt hIM-“, “-Won’T eSCapE-“, “-tReAsurE-“, words jumbling together into nonsense, steps destroying the floor as they chased. He chanced a glance back and immediately regretted it, seeing the glitch travel from the broken floor and reaching out from falling paintings cling to the shadows. Their smoking bodies frayed and split, segmenting left and right and glitching back in static, uneven rhythm.

Flowers began to bloom free, bright red like blood in mangled messes so conjoined that he couldn’t decipher what they were, spreading an intoxicating smell hitting to the back of his nose that caused him to gag. Where eyes once were sprouted petals, and thorns tore through corporeal flesh and tangled legs that continued to run. Akira looked back, body acting on instinct to slash through the shadow suddenly leaping from a frame. The body split and smoked, flowers blooming out of the black energy filling the air, covering the hall and infecting the structure, flowers growing huge along the seemingly never ending hallway. 

Finally, a painting ahead fell and revealed a hidden path that Akira leaped for on instinct, barely escaping the writhing mass of shadows that scraped past the opening, clawing at his clothes as he collided into a wall. It glitched under his shoulder, and Akira startled and shoved himself away. His breathing was heavy and rugged, panting visible as it heated his face. He ran and ran, the hallway opening up to a multitude of paths that were darkening the further he went. Left and right he went, hearing the voices grow loud than distant all around, echoed and seeping into his head and skin. He could feel their smoke and claws teasing him. 

He ran left, tumbling but forcing himself to move. 

The hall started to twist, the floor writhing under his feet and jutting and bumping up, the angle warping till he was running sideways. Statutes twisted into unrecognisable shapes, spasming about in sharp, garbled messes that cut at his clothes and skin. Paintings warped from portraits to gory messes, so fleshy and life like, he did his best not to look. Blood poured out, red and black, staining into his clothes, thick and spilling to the wall below him. Some continued to fall, painting red and gold everywhere, and he ducked and dodged as he turned another corner. He turned right and the hall twisted again, and he found himself upside down, his blood rushing to his head and causing his eyes to go hazy and head to pound against his skull. 

He took another right, and found himself falling to the floor now twisted right round. His chest and legs ached, bruises rising to form as he pushed himself back up. The voices echoed with warning, one clear above the rest. 

“Did you really think you could run, little magpie. How adorable,” it taunted, bringing goosebumps and raising fine hairs. Akira shivered, but pushed on, taking another corner before running face first into a sudden wall. “I have full control over this domain. Your clipped wings won’t bring you far-“ 

The voice laughed, mixing with the warped shadows wails as Akira rubbed his face, ignoring how his body begged to stop, to rest, how his heart pounded wild and painful. He stepped back, about to turn and run, even he noticed the painting adorning the jittering wall he hit. A portrait of two, torn only at the face in a clean rip, Goro’s face, clearly that of a child, gazing up lovingly up at the tear. It didn’t take him long to guess who’s face was missing. His third eye activated on its own, the painting glowing blue with clear importance. He cautiously turned around, peering down the long hallway he ran, hearing only echoes and seeing nothing screaming “run”. Only a trail of glowing footsteps gave him a guide. He took the moment to breath, flinching as Loki’s voice spoke once more, but sighed at its distance. He placed a hand to his heart, feeling the jumping beat beginning to slow with each breath he took. 

With one last calming breath, he moved once more, following the trail. “Please do not lead me to a trap. Please,” he murmured over and over, feeling cold sweat roll down his bruised spine. 

The blue footsteps, a welcome light, lead him down hallway after hallway, zigzagging about the maze at seeming random till he found himself at a red door. The first besides the entrance. His vision faded back to normal as he stared. He hesitated, gripping his dagger tight and glancing left and right. No shadows or rulers to be seen, only their voices in his ears and infecting his mind. He shook his head and grabbed the golden handle, strangely warm under his touch, and he pushed. 

He blinked. 

And blinked again at the strange sight so different to the castle. He could only look about in absent shock as he fully entered, barely hearing the door close behind him. 

With golden light steaming in through a window that should not lead to sunlight but does in mockery of logic, he bore witness to a child’s room. So small and cramped, wooden walls stained and splintered, a tiny, fraying futon in the corner, a shoddy, rotting bookshelf with few books and items within opposing it, a poor excuse of a desk under the window, and filthy toys, broken or worn down scattered about. 

Was this really how Goro lived? 

He knew his childhood wasn’t great, but actually seeing it instilled the message with a firm, but familiar, ache. He took a cautious step, making sure to avoid the toys as he took it all in. He could see layers of dust, cobwebs in the corners dotted with spiders and bugs. Strangely, the glitch seemed less present, only visible in the sunlight that changed to moonlight and back, though the room didn’t feel like a safe room. He didn’t think that there were any safe rooms at this point. He crouched down, touching the rough surface of a wooden figure, feeling the grooves and the emotions that came from child joy. With only the use of imagination, the figure was alive, thriving in a made up world and serving its purpose under its owner’s whims and games. He felt a smile curl unconsciously at his lips at the warmth, the constant unease and dread so far away. 

He looked to the futon and stepped over, grabbing the thin blanket aged from white to grey. Dust coated his fingers, but he didn’t care as the warm feeling continued to spread. It felt like someone had recently slept here, their natural warmth clinging to the fabric so clearly loved. The unconscious part of his mind wanted to stay here, pulling at his body that began to grow heavy. But Akira forced himself to move, to reach the bookshelf and see what sat in its confines. He grabbed an unsolved rubik cube, caked in dust, disrupting a spider that quickly crawled away into an unknown crevice. Only the red side was complete, the rest all jumbled and waiting for an owner who won’t ever return. He tried to turn it, but it was so still and stuck with age that it didn’t budge, so he sat it back down.

Beside it was the only out of place book, sat flat down in spite of the rest being stacked together as normal. He placed his dagger down and picked it up and blew away the dust, forming a cloud. He sputtered and coughed, wishing he had his fake glasses as his eyes tears up as he waved it away and brushed off the clinging rest, revealing the title, ‘The Powerless Prince’. The upturn of his lips quickly flipped, and he opened the book.

‘Once upon a time, there was a young prince who lived with his mother, not knowing his title nor father. They lived happily together in their small home despite having little to their name. But the prince was happy, so long as he was with his dear mother.’

There was an image of a brunette child and his mother, whose face was scribbled out by black marker, living together in a home.

He flipped the page.

‘Years passed peacefully for the prince. He went to school, envious of his peers, and came back home to his mother where he’d eat a simple meal and sleep to the sound of her voice.

He didn’t need anything else. Even if he cra—‘

The rest was blacked out. The picture showed the prince at school and at home in his mother’s embrace as he fell asleep, her face once again scribbled out.

He flipped the page.

‘But that peace was soon shattered.’

There was no image.

He flipped the page.

‘One day, the little prince returned home, only to find a strange man leaving his home. He watched the stranger leave then went inside to his mother, whom sat in the kitchen, crying.

She looked up and wiped away her tears, a smile forming as she welcomed the prince home.’

The image showed the stranger and then the mother, eyes covered by black marker, but the tears on her smiling face were clear.

He flipped the page.

No image, just words.

‘But the prince would not forget. Would never forget.’

He flipped.

‘Year after year, the prince counted the men coming and going. Never did his father come, the king in a faraway Palace he knew nothing of. Ten, twenty, fifty. He lost count at one point. But he never forgot his mother’s tears.’

Man after man, one with a crown but shadowed. The mother’s crying face.

He flipped.

‘The little prince wanted to help his mother. But he couldn’t. And never got the chance to, before it was too late.’

No image.

Akira hesitated, gulping despite his throat growing dry. He didn’t want to see what Goro should never have seen. That no one should see. He took in a deep breath, steeling his nerves, and flipped the page.

‘He never got to say goodbye.’

Red. It was covered in red. It spilled red, dripping off the page and staining the fingers that held the book. Swimming in the red at the centre, caught in the crease, was an arm hanging limp.

Akira flipped quickly, not able to stomach it. He couldn’t imagine what Goro felt, only able to guess and hate his mind for even that as a wave of nausea overwhelmed him. He swallowed down bile, wrenching his head up from the hunch he instinctively curled into. He had to finish. To understand Goro beyond what he verbally gave. Beyond his strict mannerisms meant to hide the broken child within.

He wanted to know Goro.

The page that greeted him was only the prince’s face, so still and vulnerable, tears upon red cheeks, the shine that once sparkled in bright red eyes now gone.

It was hard to look at, so Akira flipped the page.

‘The prince was consumed by grief.

Was consumed by guilt.’

The image showed the prince curled up and crying in a foreign room. The orphanage he was sent to.

He flipped.

‘But even more than the grief and guilt, was rage.’

The prince’s eyes, light gone but not hollow. A metaphorical fire was burning, and Akira could feel its heat through the page, burning his fingers.

He flipped.

‘Home after home, the prince’s rage didn’t waver, even as he suffered under the hands of others. His mother was all he had. Now, he only had this fire that could not be burned out, just as he couldn’t forget his mother’s tears.

So he searched.’

Akira flipped faster, image after image of the prince in different places, with faceless people, searching for the king.

‘He left the orphanage.

He left the city.

He found a new world, so twisted and unknown.

He found power.

He found the king.’

Shido’s crowned face was as disgusting as ever, the vileness leaking through the page as he knighted the prince.

‘”Lend me your power, and I’ll give you what you desire.”

The prince didn’t realise how those words bound him. Didn’t see the strings pulling his limbs, aiming his newfound power. The prince could not see through the rage.

No matter how many fell by his power, the rage wouldn’t die.

No matter the bonds he formed, the rage continued to burn.

No matter what he felt, the emotions he shoved away to burn in his rage, the prince would never let go.

His mother’s tears were always present.’

Akira felt sick. He saw a silhouette of himself, his Joker outfit recognisable. He knew Goro wouldn’t give up his revenge, but he didn’t know just how bad it was.

‘The strings pulled. But the prince didn’t realise through his rage how he failed to kill that bond.

And how he killed himself.’

“But you didn’t…” Akira murmured, voice so quiet and quivering. He wanted to stop reading, but powered on.

He flipped the page, fingers trembling.

‘Atop the castle, the prince swore to take the king’s head. But the king just laughed and pulled his strings. The prince was helpless, even with his bond standing behind him, crying his name.

And the prince went down, knowing he was dying. Knowing he failed the one goal he had. His rage useless, his power, useless.

He could only pass on his rage, now only embers as it faded with his blood.

He told his bond, over his blood and the king’s glee, “please… take him down. End his crimes.”

His bond accepted, and the prince accepted his death.

With one last breath, the prince died, hoping to join his mother waiting for him.’

The prince lay in a pool of red that dripped off the page. Akira flipped, but the story ended there, incomplete, like the prince’s journey, taken by a cruel fate. Akira flipped the blank page to the very back, finding a folded, coloured material torn at the edges. He pulled it out and unfolded it, being greeted by a face; Goro’s mother. The missing piece of the painting. Akira closed the book and placed it back on the shelf, emotions reeling. He stared at Goro’s mother’s face, seeing the kindness in her eyes that would be gazing back down at child Goro. He could feel how she cared, could feel how she adored her son, despite the pain she suffered.

Akira blinked back tears.

He hoped Goro knew just how loved he was. Hoped that it could alleviate even a little of the pain he carried under a mask. Could heal the child he hid.

“…I should go.”

His legs wouldn’t move, heavy on the ground where he kneeled, pants stained dark by blood.

He looked around the room once more, the warmth still there despite the warring emotions brought forth.

He’d help Goro grieve after this. Even if he refused Akira’s touch, his heat that he’d provide without question if asked. He wanted Goro to understand, to finally let go. Whatever help he could give, he would, no matter how long it took. Not to satisfy himself – he knew Goro would blame his sentimentality, his so called ‘saviour complex’ – he just wanted Goro to no longer carry this weight he didn’t need to. Goro should know just how his mother cared, how she loved, just as he loved her.

He needed to properly mourn, now that that disgusting man was stuck behind bars for life.

A wave of determination flushed away the war, heating him with the remaining warmth of love coating the painting piece and room. He grabbed his dagger and stood. With one last look around the room under the flickering light, Akira marched to the door and yanked it open, third eye activating to guide him back to the painting. Left and right, over shattered marble and torn-up carpet, he followed the glowing blue steps. The painting in his hands pulsed, and he knew he was close. Around a corner, the steps neared their start.

He stepped into the hallway.

“Kom hit, lille fugl~”

Akira jumped and spun sharply, freezing as he saw Loki standing mere metres away.

“Thought you could escape, did you?” The Persona laughed cruelly, the sound caressing his ears, gentle as his pearly fangs. Sharp golden eyes flicked down to the painting piece held tight. Those eyes narrowed, and grin quickly closed as gold met silver. “Let go of that, magpie.” The unusual seriousness created a think tension, and Akira gripped the piece harder. Loki’s eyes grew sharper, as did his voice. “Let. Go.”

Akira ran.

Akira ran and Loki chased, yelling at him.

Just a few more steps.

Just around the corner.

If he could just put the painting piece where it belonged.

The hall felt so long, Loki so close, painting piece slipping from his fingers. His heart pained his chest, lungs aching, and he ran.

He turned the corner and threw his arm high, slamming the piece into the empty spot and spun, dagger held high and ready to defend in what he knew would be a losing battle.

Loki rushed around the corner, clawed hands reaching out to slash him, but faltered just short as a glow, hot against his back, shine bright red from the painting, Akira chanced a glance, watching the painting stitch itself back together, the loving gazes now connected and heat overflowing and warming Akira to the bone. The love, the softness, the gentleness, he could see and feel it all. He felt himself relax, and turned back to Loki, only for a fresh wave of absolute horror crush the warmth that stayed despite the cold fighting back. Akira stepped back, pressing up against the painting, wishing he could get further away from the writing striped glitch mess now in front of him.

Loki twitched and glitched as his head severed and torso split into broken chunks, limbs bending and contorting in feasibly impossible ways. The segments cut back, then away and back again, limbs shattering apart and back. Loki yelled, his voice warbling and shaking in distorted tones, words incomprehensible as his being flickered about. His chest split open, green and red piercing through black and crawling all over his shuddering body, thorns tearing into skin, spilling black. Red bloomed all over, flowers now recognisable as roses sprouting through shoulders jumping about, curling around fingers breaking apart and back.

Green encircled broken horns, thorns scratching down his face contorted in agony and rage. He screamed, thrashing and prying at the vines and roses, tearing them off and spilling more black as he broke his glitching skin, claws slashing through his arms and legs and over his face, and Akira could do nothing but watch as black poured from his fanged mouth, white quickly growing black. Loki glared, but Akira could only see the pain and fear, but even that soon left as red sprouted. Loki’s whole body segmented right and left, roses bursting through his golden eyes, huge and leaking black, ripping screams loud.

A broken arm reached forward, trembling and jittering about.

Desperate.

Akira reached out, his fingers touching black claws trapped by vines, but he couldn’t do more as the painting behind him moved, and he fell through the empty space.

“Loki!” He yelled, but the painting quickly returned, and he found himself stuck behind it. Akira felt frozen, gazing up at the wall that glitched and formed smooth grey, the painting indent gone. His mind had stopped.

What was that?

What does he do now?

What—

“Magpie?”

He jolted and turned his head, wide eyes meeting gold upon a bewildered face. No horns, nor black either. White suit like that of a superhero, cape brushing tall boots.

Only one Persona fit the image, and Akira weakly called out, “Robin…?”

Chapter Text

Goro groaned as he opened his eyes, blinking out the bright light that greeted him. He pushed himself up and grasped his head as a bounding headache bloomed. He stilled for a moment, feeling the headache pound before it began to lessen slightly, enough for him to look around and gauge his surroundings; the neon pink-ish-red was still annoying and harsh on his eyes. Haven fallen through the Palace proper, he found himself within the basement, filled with all sorts of props and broken merchandise. He grabbed his fallen sword and gun and attached them to his belt – the Metaverse can be quite convenient at times, the swords length ignored despite cutting into the floor – as he stood up, staggering for a moment as his legs fully woke, and started searching.

Posters along the wall depicted circus acts, each jittering about, tearing, and restoring. Cardboard cut-outs of Joker grinned at him from their toppled place over broken tracks, the metal glitching out of place, playing cards were either stacked like pyramids or scattered about; the jokers, aces, and kings were the only ones flipped to face him. Only the jokers seemed free from the glitch, as the kings and aces jumped about.

He mentally noted that down and kept looking. Crates piled most of the cramped space, the typical park games poking out from holes growing bigger and spilling before shrinking and back. One caught his eye; filled to the brim with plushies of various shadows, all at some point owned by Akira. A force pulled him towards it, and he kneeled and started digging. Pixie, Jack-Frost, Nue, Oni, even the Treasure Demons were there – he did his best to ignore the Mara, but the disgust got to him and he tossed the damn thing as far as he could – before he pulled out a Joker. His infuriating smirk was ever present, stretched wide on his plush face. He pulled out Arsene after, and his smirk of flames was much the same as Joker’s.

No wonder, being his heart and all.

But the pull was still there, so he kept digging, his hands grabbing something that practically pinged in his mind that this was what he needed. He yanked it free, scattering the plushies, and found himself holding a plush Akira. Removable felt lenses, a plain uniform so boring compared to the bright plaid pants signature of Shujin. The biggest difference was his smile, or lack thereof. The smirk was gone, replaced by an almost invisible line, a frown so subtle, but his eyes only highlighted it; half lidded and blank, despite Joker viewing sparkles.

“…This isn’t him…” Goro murmured, clenching the plush. He glanced back to the Joker plush, the one he recognised to be his rival. “What happened in these last few months?” Considering his previous criminal status, he can take an educated guess.

He gritted his teeth.

Goro grabbed the felt lenses and pulled them from the plush. They flashed blue, and the soft material grew harder and longer. The light died, and he fiddled with the now formed frame, glass and all.

The exact pair that Akira wore.

“Interesting…” Goro pushed the lenses on his nose and turned left and right before he paused. He flipped the glasses up, then back down. “Well, isn’t that annoying.”

In the back right corner, a spot otherwise as ordinary as the rest of the glitching neon wall glowed blue with the glasses on. He placed the plushies back on the pile and stood, approaching the door-like shape with caution. With no handle to grab, he slowly opened it, revealing a long, dark hallway, so starkly different to the rest of the Palace. Goro stepped in and began to hear an unfocused buzz. But the hall itself was empty. Nothing else shone blue, so he lifted the glasses, and was immediately hit by a cacophony of sound and pressure.

“-̵͖̀͘Ǵ̵͎̭̕E̸͓̰̅͒ṯ̵͂̾ ̴͔͑͝O̵̬͑͝ṷ̸̀͋T̶͍̔͝-̵̮̂͑ ̷̤̲̈́̚-̷̦̬͂M̴̝̯̓U̴͖͜͝ȓ̵̥͙D̸͕̯̀́E̴̟̪̕̕-̴̢̘͋-̸̖̂̏ ̷͙̂-̶̛̠̬̔F̴̜̠́r̵͕͐e̷̞̳͌͝A̶̻̔̉Ķ̶̛̩͂-̸͈͗ ̴̖͓́́-̸̳̣̃D̷̥̽͜Ọ̶̈́n̸̫̒’̷̺͛T̵̰͠ ̵̪̫̏͐G̴̨͍͗o̴͔̦̕ ̷̲̚͝N̶͍̓E̷͇̗̍̄ä̸̟͎́̄-̵̫͊̈́ ̵̛ͅ-̸̭͑ċ̷̮̋R̸͕̓̍Í̸̛̳̭m̶͔͆̾î̷͚̼N̵̲͓͐Â̴͎̪̐-̴͍̭̊ ̸͍̤́-̸̨̈́̊P̵̝̜̐̃I̵̞̍̑e̷̢̎Ć̶̢E̵̗̋̚ ̶̛͍͗Ọ̸̟͗̚F̴̯̅̾ ̴͙̈S̴̞̀͆Ḧ̴̠́ị̸̢̛͛ẗ̸̙͠-̴̖͒ ̵̟̈-̶̤̺̌͒Ḻ̴̘̈Ì̸̩̽͜Á̴̙̐r̴̩̎͜-̵̪̩͛ ̵̱̟́-̴̫̕S̸̖̎̑t̴̯͎̄͝A̴̲͗Y̴̻̼͘ ̶̘͙͂A̶̠͓͋ŵ̷̪̥a̸̹̲̐Y̶̭̊-̷̼͉͌ ̸̢̂͗-̸͒͜S̸̯͕͝C̶͇͚̏̊ű̶͚̟M̶̜͌͝-̵͉͛̃ͅ ̵̝̬̃͊-̴͇̊H̸̛͓̺Ë̷͚́’̵̹̞̃l̸͈̒͌͜L̸̢̗̾ ̴͇̤͑͐K̵̘̈i̷̫͎̿Ḽ̸͆Ḻ̴̐́ ̷̛̪͋Ỹ̷̜̍ó̴̭̇Ủ̶̝̆-̶̛͎͑ ̶̂͜-̸̙̔͒ͅẂ̶͓͌Ȟ̴͉̽ý̵̧̜ ̵̞́͂Ị̶́̆S̷̗͈͌͝ ̷̭̹̚H̸̲̼͗È̵̖ ̷̣̑ấ̵̬͜L̴̠͋-̸̲͝ ̵̜͔̂-̸̙͍̈́K̸̞̐i̶̙̞͌l̷̰̲͊̃L̷̡͗̽É̴̮͉͠R̴̢̓-̵̬̈́ ̶̧͌-̴͈͔̀͝n̴͚̿O̴̰̿ ̷͎̭͆̚O̴͈͚̽͝N̷͇̑E̸͉̿̽ ̴̫͍̓̇W̷̨̊͋ä̵͇́̍N̷̖͌T̵͍̙͋s̵̲͒͜͝ ̶̺͠Y̴̜̤̕O̵̰͊-̴͕̐͋ ̷̧͒̋-̶̹͛̍Ȃ̸̢̝̚S̸̪̪̉͘s̷̝̼͗̔a̶̱̩͊U̵̧͖̍L̴̳͎̎t̸͚͒̍ͅE̴͉͑̔R̸̳̈́-̷̞̐͜ ̶̧̄-̵̛̠͒R̵̪̋͊Ṙ̴̨Î̴͓̈́e̶̱̎ͅS̵̝̫͂̏ ̴̇ͅA̵̩͛͊ ̴̩̳̈́̀K̷̬̪͊N̴̻͂I̶̘̓͠f̷̨̺͐e̶͉̼̐-̷̪͐ ̸̟̿-̶̖̕͜͠G̵͈͐Ō̸̙̯̏ ̴͉́̇k̷͚̯̈̇Í̵͕̮̈́L̷̙͇͋̀-̷͈̎͆ ̴͍͝-̶̪̪͋D̶̥̹͑Ì̸͚̈Ẽ̸̠̇-̴͚̀”

A heavy oppressive pressure pushed down on him, like iron on his shoulders and chains on his ankles and wrists, pulling him down. Coldness froze him to his bones, seizing him and sending shivers running throughout his whole body. His hand dropped from the glasses to grasp at his arms, the frames landing on his nose and flushing the noise to a whisper, the pressure lifting and coldness seeping away. The shivers died, and Goro quickly pushed the glasses up his nose before they could slip.

Tightening his scarf, Goro cautiously began walking down the long hallway. He stepped over sudden gaps, doing his best to ignore the buzz and pressure that slowly grew the further down he walked. Posters started to appear, sporadically placed down the hall; Akira, his face blacked out, in different settings. From when he was a child, playing with other kids, doing gymnastics in others – that explained his flexibility and daring acts within the Metaverse – Akira grew up until the posters reached high school. Then, they suddenly changed to that of Joker, his face no longer blacked out and now proudly showed off his signature smirk.

His entourage joined him across posters that began glitching out when Queen joined. Goro thought back to his days observing the thieves, so oblivious to his movements tailing them that he had scoffed at the time, thinking them incompetent and powerless against his own strength. How foolish he’d been back then, in multiple senses.

In his reminiscing, he remembered his first meeting with Akira.

“So the oddity is me,” he concluded, eyeing the rest of the posters that continued to jitter about.

Oracle joined, then Noir, and finally, himself. He stopped before his royal attire and grimaced. To think this is how he once saw himself. It’s pathetic. And ironic how Joker wore the red gloves, while he, white.

He shook his head and continued walking.

“How much longer is this hallway?” He mused aloud, watching his breath start to fog as the temperature grew colder, and the voices louder. “Seems these glasses aren’t perfect.” The floor started to give, pieces falling away. Goro leaped over the holes, quickening his pace. “Just how annoying can one Palace get?”

As he jogged, he noticed that the posters grew sparser till there was only one left, torn from the bottom and leaving only Akira, his face blacked out once more. Staring at the poster, Goro felt a heavy weight; grief and guilt. He looked back at the previous few posters, and saw depicted was the final battle against the therapist. 

“…Such a sentimental fool…” he muttered, though the words were heavy and held no heat. 

He continued moving. 

Finally, an end appeared with a door, bright light streaming out from the cracks. It glitched for but a moment, and a handle formed. Goro decided he’d had enough of his hall and ran, stumbling as the noise and pressure got louder and heavier, pressing down on him and threatening to drag him down and through the decaying floor to the void below where he once rested unknown.

“Fuck this stupID PALACE!”

He grabbed the handle with so much force that he went crashing through, tumbling to the floor. The glasses clattered away, and the door behind him slammed shut. He rolled to the back, eyeing the door that now sealed him off before he watched it merge into the wall, becoming one with the annoying neon. Goro groaned, flopping back as his heart calmed from the sudden rush.

“I’m going to strangle Kurusu the next time I see him,” he grumbled.

From his position, he looked around; a corner of stuffed animals; cats, rabbits, dogs, another with letter blocks, children’s books, and a chest. Between them nailed to the wall was a warped mirror. On his left was a large set of drawers, photos lined the top, with a smaller bookcase beside it where three vases sat, though he didn’t recognise them. Grabbing the glasses, he put them on and the needed information became known to him; anemones and asters, evening primroses and lavender heathers, and marigolds surrounded by dead leaves. He felt uneasy looking at them, and forced himself back up.

Just as he took a step, a glitching speaker burst to life, static on each word.

“Hello! Welcome, mon petit détective! I hope you’ve had a pleasant time,” the voice laughed, and Goro bit back a growl he’d usually attribute to Loki. The void within him felt larger at that, but he ignored it. “But, I am pleased to announce that you’ve reached our escape room! It’s sadly unfinished, as it was never a popular attraction at this park. I hope you can still find enjoyment here though. Thoughhhhh,” the voice drawled, the static distorting it so much that the emotions within were hard to discern. “If you wish to leave and continue your little perusal, you’ll have to complete it.” The grin was hard to miss as the voice mocked, “I wish you allllll the luck, Chéri. Bye-bye!”

The static ceased with the voice, and circus music replaced it. Goro clicked his tongue and gauged the last few things that sat behind him; a delicately designed white table holding five knives, each with a unique carving on the blade; a rose, a cat, an owl, a moon, and a star. They varied slightly in length and handle, but the carvings stood out under the glasses. He grabbed the moon, feeling the light weight. Looking back around, he first noticed how the warped mirror didn’t present a warped image of himself, but instead a dark hallway lined with torches and a red carpet. Though curious, is turned, as there was only one use for these knives he could think of with this being an escape room.

The stuffed animals stared back at him innocently as he grabbed a pink rabbit and lopped off its head.

He found a card within, and made a move to grab it, before it shot out, cutting his cheek and lodging itself into the breaking and repairing wall. Goro threw the decapitated animal away and dropped the knife and grabbed Hinokagutsuchi, wielding the long, glowing blade, facing the card that began to warp and shift, before bursting into the shape of Lakshmi. Not giving the Shadow time to move, Goro cut her down, his sword slicing cleanly through the Shadow which cried out. But the dissipating smoke glitched and returned to Lakshmi, forming her back together to send a chilling ‘Ice Age’ that froze along his body, up to his neck and burst with sharp pain.

Goro gasped, fighting to keep the scream in as he clenched his jaw. It hurt like hell without his armour to protect him, but he swung his sword nonetheless. He dodged as another burst of ice shot out, stepping back and grabbing his gun to shoot. Bullets tore through the Shadow, freeing black smoke, but she healed once more. Feeling a vein pop in his temple, he jumped back in, swinging his sword with vigour. He swung and swung, ignoring the ice crawling up his legs and burning his skin with frostbite. Black smoke jumped and scattered in strange shapes and dissipated, no longer returning as it froze and burned, until finally, the Shadow cried one last time and faded. Goro heaved, clutching his side as pain ached despite the adrenaline coursing through his blood.

“Fuck…” he staggered back, lowering his sword but far too on edge to relax.

“Akech--?”

Goro spun, swinging his sword high and glared, but soon lowered it, blinking.

“Kurusu?”

Akira blinked back, just as confused. “How…?”

The mirror now displayed Akira and another figure that wore his own face; the white attire and cape identified him as Robin Hood, his words only further proving. “Little prince? You’re alright. That’s good.”

Goro scowled, ignoring him. “Our Palaces are connected?”

“I…” Akira hesitated, looking around as what Goro could only assume was the mirror on his side. “I don’t think so? Not necessarily, anyway. I mean,” he pressed on the glass. “I can’t go through.”

“That’s one salvation in this mess, I guess…” Goro muttered, clipping his sword back to his belt.

“You’re feeling alright, right? Nothing’s… changed?” Akira cringed at his own words, and Goro quirked a brow.

“The fuck happened on your side? What, did you accidentally kill a Persona?”

Akira was quiet.

“Kurusu.”

Akira stuttered, “I-I, I don’t think so? Robin says I didn’t but it sure felt like I did.” He waved his hands around, his face distraught. “Loki just… bloomed?”

Goro turned to Robin.

“Loki is alive; you don’t have to worry, prince.”

Goro clicked his tongue. “Why the fuck would I? Loki would be pretty pathetic to lose to someone who’s practically defenceless.”

Robin smiled, quick as it flattened back to neutral. “He’s currently incapacitated. We weren’t sure if that’d affect you in any way, and it seems not to have.”

Akira visibly deflated with a heavy sigh. “I hope that doesn’t happen again. Akechi, your Palace feels like a horror movie.”

Goro scoffed, but he was smirking. “Despite their predictability, horror is quite the fascinating genre.” He then sighed. “But getting back on track, this may prove quite beneficial. Kurusu,” he walked over to the knives and collected them all and brought them to the mirror. “Which of these has any meaning to you?”

Kurusu hummed, and pointed to one. “The owl. My mother loves them. Something about how grandma compared her to one when she was younger.”

Goro tossed the rest and grabbed the stuffed animals instead. “And these?”

“Oh!” Akira’s eyes lit up, through Goro could also see some sadness in them as his brows drooped. “Sprinkles! The black cat!” He pointed to the smaller, fluffy cat.

Goro scrutinised it. “Sprinkles?” He raised a brow.

“Look,” Akira started, wilting under Goro’s stare. “I was five, and I found that toy covered in stains. What else is a five year old gonna think?” Goro rolled his eyes. “It’s been so long since I last saw it.” Akira’s voice grew softer and quieter. “I don’t know what happened to it.”

That sadness now made sense. Goro felt a pang, remembering his own toys now lost to time and fate. The Neo Featherman R gun his mother had worked so hard for, that he couldn’t fully appreciate at the time.

He cut those feelings away, just as he did the cat’s head. A golden key sat inside, and he pulled it out. “I have it from here. Keep going so we can be done with this.”

“Yeah, sure,” Akira’s voice sounded so distant, and when Goro looked, be barely caught a glimpse of blank eyes before they hardened. “I hope my Personas haven’t been too annoying.” He lightly chuckled, though there wasn’t much humour to be heard.

“Oh, far from it,” the sarcasm was heavy, and Akira could only sheepishly smile. “They have been quite lovely, what with letting me fall through the whole fucking Palace since apparently, the walls don’t work.”

“Sorry,” Akira apologised, but Goro just waved him off.

“Just move on. I’m sure we can talk more later.”

Akira nodded. “Then I’ll see you later.” He ran off.

Robin hung back, looking Goro over. Goro crossed his arms.

“Stay safe until we’re back, little prince. I’ll take care of our magpie till then.” He then followed after Akira, leaving Goro alone.

Dropping the animal, Goro took the key to the chest and unlocked it. Inside sat a small Tamagotchi, the screen lightly cracked and the colour fading and scratched in places. He pulled it out and turned it on, hearing a little jingle as the little character appeared. It smiled and waved before walking off screen and bringing back a book. A crude drawing of what looked like a dog was on the cover, and Goro looked to the books scattered around him. He found the one with a juggling dog called ‘Be Happy’. He opened it up, and the pages started turning. Letters rose, ‘C’ ‘O’ ‘S’ ‘M’ ‘O’. The book closed, and Goro turned to the blocks.

The Tamagotchi cheered and a heart appeared, before the toy shut off, the screen cracking and breaking. The whole device broke in his hand and fell to the ground. He dropped the remaining pieces and grabbed the letter blocks, finding the needed letters. He stood and arranged them on the table, and the table started shaking. Then, the whole room began to shake like it was experiencing an earthquake, taking Goro to the floor with a grunt. The room tilted left and right, and it started to move higher like an elevator. Once the shaking lessened, Goro stood and watched as a ghostly figure of a fluffy cat appeared.

It leaped from the table leaving stars in its wake, and bounded over to the drawers. Wiggling its butt, it jumped and soared to the top with expert ease, rubbing up against one particular photo; one of two people holding a baby. It then dropped to the lower bookshelf, padding over to the vase of marigolds and dead leaves.

CRASH!

It broke, shattering to a million pieces, and the petals aged and died.

“God dammit, Akira! Get that thing out! I’m done caring for such an ungrateful, stupid fur-ball that keeps destroying my things!”

“B-but m-mama…”

“No! Get rid of it!”

A little figure, barely at Goro’s hip, appeared and held out his arms to the cat that readily jumped to him. The figure, Akira, sniffled, as he pet the cat.

“I’m sorry, Cosmo…” his voice was so small. He began walking, heading towards the locked door. “Mama does not like you.”

The cat meowed, snuggling deeper.

Akira reached the door and reached up with his stubby little hand and fingers.

“I’m sorry.”

The figures disappeared in a ‘whoosh’, and Goro felt a slight wind breeze across his face. He moved to the broken vase, moving the shattered pieces and decayed petals and leaves. And underneath a larger shard, he found a still living petal, its orange-yellow colour bright and shining through the glasses. He gently picked it up than moved to the photos, grabbing the one the ghost cat touched. He turned it over and removed the frame, finding a small, folded up note in the corner.

Unfolding it, it read, ‘Mama looks so happy here. But she doesn’t look at me like that anymore.’

Unintentionally, Goro thought back to his own mother, how her eyes looked gazing at him. He was smiling. He loved her so much.

But did she? 

Goro frowned and shook his head to try and clear his mind. He looked at the marigold, feeling the glasses fill him with meaning, meaning which Akira must’ve learned through his florist job. The petal shone orange and blue, and he placed it inside the frame. He attached the back and set it back down, hearing a shift and squeak. The door began to open, and Goro rushed to it, leaving and entering the Palace proper once more, right in front of the four theatre rooms, each with lit up words above, where shadows mingled and manoeuvred, voices intelligible. He heard the door shut and turned, seeing nothing but the neon wallpaper that jittered before settling.

Deciding to not linger further, Goro made a move for the first theatre; solitude.

“Ah, ah, ah! Stop right there, mister cheater.”

Goro was spun around by hands delicately dancing along his shoulders. Akira’s face greeted him, but fire burned from his mouth, and his golden eyes lidded as he trailed a finger across Goro’s collarbone up to his chin and flicked off. He grabbed the glasses, prying them away and they reverted back to felt and burned up in a breath of flaming smoke.

“I thought the detective wouldn’t use outside help, but I guess you still have surprises left,” he chuckled, stepping away on his toe tips as Goro swiped his hand away. “Now, now, lose the fangs, chignon au miel. Despite you being a little cheater, we’ve graciously decided to allow you further patronage. And as you can see, you’re just in time for the theatre show. Please, take a pick. You’ll be sure to enjoy.”

“Drop the pet names and maybe I won’t take a blade to your throats once we’re out of here,” Goro growled, but followed nonetheless as the Persona, Raoul as the glasses, before removed and burned, had helpfully supplied. He was more familiar with Arsene and Satanael, the demon king quite useful against the megalomaniac therapist.

Raoul chuckled more, and Goro took notice of the mechanical, yellow wings that stretched out and folded with practiced movement as he walked. “If you’re having a hard choice,” he easily ignored Goro’s words who clicked his tongue. “Then, might I suggest starting with this one.” He took a deep bow and gestured to a pair of doors, the lit up words spelling ‘Soul’. “It’s quite the experience, but our reviews are top-tier.”

“I’ll be sure to criticise it heavily then. Can’t have this fuelling your already inflated ego further.” Goro pushed open the double doors and stepped in.

“I’ll look forward to it, chéri. Please don’t hesitate to be as mean as possible. Every criticism is a means to improve.”

The doors shut, engulfing Goro in darkness for but a moment as rows of red lights lit up, showing him the way down the rows of seats. They pulsed, beckoning him forwards, and he followed down to the front where an open seat awaited him. With caution, he sat, and the lights went out. The curtains were lifted, and a spotlight dawned on the lone figure in the centre, Arsene. Black wings wrapped tight around him, his face downturned and cast in shadows.

“This, is the story of one, Kurusu Akira.”

A splotch of black crawled out of the floor’s cracks, building up and pulsing with life as it formed a figure, the figure of Akira, drowned in black. Arsene moved, spinning on his impossibly sharp heels to wrap his arms and wings around the figure, almost protectively.

“An existence so lonely and born to loveless beings. And that lovelessness grew inside him, forming a hole.”

Where the figure’s heart would be, a massive hole formed. Arsene plucked a feather and placed it delicately in the hole. The thick black liquid spider-webbed around it, trapping it in place.

“And in that hole, formed-“

The figure stretched, warping and leaking black across the stage, dripping down the sides and growing on the floor, touching Goro’s shoes that he hurriedly pulled up. The audience started talking, overlapping and in unknown tongues as they gathered the sludge. Goro’s eyes followed the trail back up to the being, so elongated and full of holes. It shifted so unnaturally, arms dropping to the floor and neck twisting and drooping, head hanging low. An eye, black iris and dripping more black, opened huge on the face.

Arsene grabbed the figure’s long arms and spun it around in a crude mock of a dance. 

Eyes opened all along the form, arms, legs, chest, pupils rolling and shaking and pulsing, then stopping.

They paused.

One second.

Two-

Squelch.

They stared, all locked onto Goro, and through the holes, golden eyes shone and followed direction, meeting his red, wide and filled with unease multiplying to what he’d forever deny to be fear.

“M̸̖͙̍̒͜e̴̱̖͂.”

Chapter Text

“Robin…?”

The sturdy standing Persona, wearing a face that wasn’t his own, reached out a hand, a soft smile upon borrowed lips. “Are you alright, Magpie? You seem quite shaken.”

Akira shakily grabbed Robin Hood’s hand, his other barely holding on to Paradise Lost, letting the Persona pull him back to his feet.

“What happened to Loki?” He frantically asked as the gentle fingers left his hand once he had steadied. “Will he be okay? Will this affect Akechi?” He shook out his arms as they began to tremble. He felt his breath quicken.

Robin placed his hands upon Akira’s shoulders, comforting. “It’s okay, Magpie. Loki will be fine. Something like this could never stop Loki. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“Then what was all of that?! He just-“ Akira made an aborted hand motion, feeling his breathing grow faster.

Robin Hood moved his hands to grab Akira’s, rubbing his thumbs soothingly over his skin. “Easy now. That’s just a factor of this Palace. You know each Palace is unique. This is just one such case.”

Akira tried to ease his breathing, but his inhales stuttered. “You’re sure? He’s not dying, right?”

“I’m certain.”

Akira felt his shoulders sag. He focused on his breathing as relief overwhelmed him, though it couldn’t shake the constant unease that had attached itself since this whole ordeal started.

No.

That’s not true.

It’s been stuck longer than Lavenza’s sudden call. He just didn’t want to think about it.

But he could feel it growing.

Inhaling and exhaling, Akira calmed his beating heart. “Okay. Okay...” In and out. “Let’s… just continue. I need to continue.”

Robin nodded, letting go of Akira’s hands now that the trembling had near stopped. He stepped aside and gestured down the long dark hallway lit by torches lining a deep red carpet that stuttered about. One torch fell, hitting the carpet and lighting it up, fire climbing high in an instant, before it snuffed out as the torch jittered back into place upon the wall.

Akira gulped. Wasn’t that comforting?

He put his dagger into his pocket and began to move, one foot in front of the other. “How big is this place? I’m kinda on a time limit before who knows what happens.”

Robin fell into step beside him, his cape swishing with the movement, and tapped his chin in thought. “It’s hard to say exactly. Due to this Palace’s strange… predicament,” that was one way to put it, for sure. Akira felt his arms weigh him down. “I’m not as connected as a Ruler should be. None of us are. As such, certain factors are just as unknown to us as they are to you.”

Akira sighed. “Great…”

“I apologise for not being a helpful guide. However, knowing your track record and how you’ve already solved a part of this Palace, there shouldn’t be anything to worry over.” Robin reached over and lightly ruffled Akira’s messy curls, eliciting a surprised squawk. “The Little Prince, and all of us here, knows how competent you are. And I’d be glad to lend you my aid to the extent this Palace allows.” He retracted his hand and Akira gazed at him for a few moments before focusing back in front of himself.

“Thank you. I-“ he stopped, noticing an object standing out like a sore thumb. “A mirror?” Stepping up to it, he looked within and gaped. “Akechi?”

Akira huffed a bone deep sigh.

His arms lightly shook, steadily and slowly growing.

Leaving the connecting mirror, and thus, Akechi, behind, Akira continued down the dark hallway. He fiddled with his fringe, missing the weight of his glasses, as he listened to Robin’s heavy booted steps quickly follow behind him after saying his final words to Goro.

He could feel his heartbeat.

“Robin,” Akira started, tugging on his fringe harder before he turned his head to face Robin Hood.

His lungs were starting to constrict.

“What is it, Magpie?” Robin asked, his subtle smile worn on Goro’s face reminiscent of the Detective Prince, but without the plastic force.

Akira shoved his hands into his pockets, biting his tongue. “…Will anything happen to Akechi?”

A terror he wished were unknown crawled over his being.

Robin cocked his head. “How do you mean? As I’ve stated, Loki’s fine. Unless you manage to kill one of us, there’s nothing to worry about.”

“That’s not…” Akira glanced away, eyes following the patches of carpet that glitched and jumped about in strange patterns.

He felt about the same.

“Yes, I’m still concerned about Loki, but that’s not… I…” He sighed again, his brain struggling for words, throat struggling over breath. “You saw how the Phantom Thieves targets changed. What if-“ He stopped, turning sharply to face Robin. “I don’t want that to happen to Akechi. I can’t force that on him! Not like-” the words didn’t want to leave, but he pushed through the clogging lump in his throat, the words feeling like a curse on his tongue. “Not like I almost did!”

Robin’s eyes widened. “Magpie, what brought this on?”

“Just- seeing him again. Like that.” Akira vaguely gestured. “Not the Detective Prince or the Black Mask or anything! Free from that asshole God and free from Maruki! From my stupid wish!” He took a few deep breaths, his heart pounding, and stared into Robin Hood’s eyes, the false eyes now golden instead of red. “Just Akechi.”

Just him.

Nothing more, nothing less.

Nothing he needed to be.

Robin was silent for but a moment before his eyes softened, a fond smile settling on his lips. “It’s no wonder you managed to affect the Little Prince’s heart. Yes, the Prince doesn’t agree with you and your thieves’ methods. However, this is a special case. It’s necessary.”

“Even so!” Akira cried.

His head felt hot.

“Doesn’t that make it even worse?! This isn’t like normal, so how can I or you know how this’ll affect him? I already messed with Loki, what if I keep doing that, to you, to whatever is in this Palace? I don’t-“ he choked, cutting himself off.

He stepped back, shaking his head to try and clear his thoughts, but it wouldn’t work. His arms moved, crossing tight over his chest as his back hit the wall, breathing growing faster and faster.

This didn’t- he couldn’t-

He didn’t realise he was shaking. Couldn’t feel the rush of blood through his veins as his heart pounded, how his arms tightened further as if to protect from something unseen.

“I can’t…”

His breath hitched.

His head ached.

His lungs burned.

He needed his heart back.

He needed Raoul.

His fiery smoke a soothing wreath wrapped around his body, like a warm embrace that burned pleasantly along his skin.

He needed air.

He needed Satanael.

His dominating presence that gave him such confidence, that nothing could harm him. His force so intimidating but so welcomed and embraced within.

He needed to breathe.

He needed Arsene.

His comforting feathered hugs, physically there or not. The voice always in his mind, burning fire and charcoal and so, so warm, a reassuring calm in his ears that soothed his being.

He couldn’t breathe.

Rapid but shallow.

His eyes teared up, hazy and unfocused.

He couldn’t breathe.

He blinked, once, twice, tears dripping and breath fogging as the room grew hotter and hotter.

He slid down the wall, hands grasping his chest.

He couldn’t breathe.

A hazy white figure crouched, a warbled voice meeting his ears.

Hands settled on trembling arms, touch gentle but felt so searing.

He cou̴l̶̿d̵̢̔͝n̸̏’̴̳̆̊t̶̗̺́ ̶̍̈́͝ͅb̴̧̀R̸̺̯͋̈́E̷̢̦͐͘Á̶̪̯͝-̸̨̲̆̋͂

Thump—thump—

“Try and follow my breathing. In…” His hand was placed over a calm heartbeat. He felt the chest rise and he instinctively tried to match, but his throat clogged and he sputtered. “And out… In… and out…”

A soft breath tickled his damp cheeks.

His breath stuttered as it slowed. The steady beat underneath his hand pulsed up his arm. His eyes started to dry, the few tears left rolling down his cheeks.

He felt Robin Hood’s hands rubbing up and down his arms.

“There we are. Just keep breathing. Everything is okay, Akira.”

Akira barely managed to nod his head.

He desperately wanted Arsene.

 “Just try to focus on me, Akira.” Robin’s voice was soothing and warm. “There’s no need to worry.”

But not the right one.

“H-How can I not?!” He choked out. “This doesn’t feel right. I know I have to do this, but still…”

He felt as Robin’s hands moved, one to his hand and the other to his cheek. He rubbed a white gloved thumb under his reddened eye and squeezed his hand.

“Maybe it doesn’t now, but please trust in me that this is necessary. I promise, if anything happens to the Prince, I, Loki, and Hereward will take care of him.”

But how could he trust that?

Trust that he won’t fuck things up beyond fix-ability?

The hands holding his tightened slightly, grounding him.

He clenched his teeth.

Robin shifted, standing up and helping Akira up with him. “Even if you can’t believe my words, we cannot stop.”

Akira nodded.

He felt his legs waver as he stood, threatening to crumble him back down. But Robin held him secure until his legs stopped trembling and his heart stopped pounding, bruising him inside. His breathing grew quieter and lighter, occasionally shaking, but much steadier.

Robin lightly squeezed his hands and started walking again, gently tugging Akira along with him. He followed without protest.

Robin Hood hesitated for a moment. “You know,” he began. “it’s strange to see you like this. The Little Prince would be shocked.”

Akira easily latched onto the new topic and huffed a humourless laugh, making no effort to resist as Robin pulled him along. “More like disappointed his rival isn’t as he expected me to be.” He stared at the glitching carpet, eyes tracing loose threads.

“No.”

“No?” Akira repeated, blinking back to focus to try and focus on Robin.

“He wouldn’t be disappointed. Just surprised. To see more than the infallible Joker you wish to be seen as.”

Akira hummed, gazing back at the floor.

“You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself. I’ve said it enough times to the Little Prince, but maybe I’d have better luck getting through to you. Please, heed my words.”

Akira didn’t respond. But he started thinking.

About how he was before, during, and now, after. It wasn’t a circle. Just a line of change he didn’t ask for. Something he, his friends, Akechi, was dragged into by a false God set on destruction through such a convoluted method that brought the ruin he wished for upon individuals instead of the whole. His own life wasn’t the greatest, but he didn’t wish to compare it against others, knowing that there are people who always have a worse life.

It’s funny, how the one year spent away from his home town, from everyone he knew and who grew to resent him for the false charge, was his best year. Friends, excitement, fear, a new found thrill for danger, grief, vengeance, happiness.

Falling for the person anyone else would warn against.

Family.

So much change within one year, a year he otherwise wouldn’t have gotten had the malevolent God not interfered.

He snorted, surprising Robin.

Guess he should thank the God for something.

“I wish I was Joker again. But… it’s hard without everyone. Even with Mona.” He took his hand back from Robin Hood’s grip and stepped ahead, looking up and down the torch lit hallway again. Seeing it again. “It’s hard when everyone hates me.”

Robin cocked a brow, golden eyes flashing. “Hates you?”

“You know,” Akira gestured around with his hand and shrugged. “The whole false charge thing.”

Robin ahh’ed.

Akira kept walking, seeing a door not far away. The only one he’s seen in this long, long hallway. “Shujin at least had my friends. And it was only Shujin that hated me. Not the whole city. It still sucked, but, less so. So, once I graduate, I’m going back, so long as Sojiro will accept me,” he chuckled lightly, feeling the unease shift and lessen as he talked. Robin huffed a short laugh beside him, and he gazed over at him. “And,” they locked eyes. “So long as I can see Akechi again. Alive and safe.”

They stopped at the door.

“It really is strange just how similar you are to the Little Prince,” Robin stated, reaching for the golden handle and pushing it down. “It’s a shame you couldn’t have met earlier. Maybe then, all of this could’ve been prevented.”

He pushed open the door.

Akira was instantly struck with a cold foreboding. It was dark, the sights only illuminated by dim, crooked street lights. The lights flickered and buzzed, shining over a small, brown-haired boy facing away. Akira stepped forward, feeling coldness envelop him completely.

“Despite what he says,” Robin said, and Akira turned, only to find the doorway gone, only a street where it once was. The white clad Persona was nowhere to be seen, his voice just an echo in his ears. “He needs connections.”

A speck of snow landed on Akira’s nose, alerting him to the sudden fall of light snow. He turned back to the boy, thin and lightly clothed, and staggered as a large black shadow towered over him. Its form shifted and stretched, warping unnaturally around the boy as he walked, holding a small, fraying doll in his trembling fingers. He seemed oblivious to the shadow following him and walked up to a faceless cognition, who near ran at the sight of the child. The previous streetlight went dark, the next one overhead lighting up over the small, frail boy. The child’s outstretched hand fell, and the shadow seemed to shake with laughter.

Akira felt his heart clench as the boy moved, the lights flickering out and turning on as he walked, to the next faceless cognition who pretended not to see him, striding fast away. Akira stepped forward, following after the child as he continued to walk, the shadow wrapping around him in a mock of a safety blanket. It distorted, its form breaking but never receding. He couldn’t tell if it had any features within its inky blackness, but he couldn’t help but picture it wearing a smirk, so wide and full of sharp teeth dripping vitriol.

He found himself running before he realised it, chasing after the boy as he turned down a street, walking to cognition to cognition, each fleeing fast. The street lights flickered, all but one going out, the singular light shining on the boy, looking so small and frail. Akira skidded, kicking up freshly fallen snow just steps away.

The snow hit the shadow, and it turned, growing huge and towering metres over Akira. The boy didn’t react. Faceless, but Akira could see feel a hateful, burning gaze searing his being. Akira stiffened, grabbing Paradise Lost from his pocket and brandishing it just in time as the shadow swiped.

CLANG!

Akira stumbled back before dodging the next attack, grabbing Nataraja and aiming. He fired three shots, bursting holes in the shadow. It writhed, no sound escaping, but it jittered about. The boy finally reacted. The shadow split in two, each half folding around him as he turned around. Akira froze as he saw the boy’s face, or rather, lack thereof. Where his eyes should be was just a pitch black shadow, coming down over his nose and leaving only his mouth visible.

Akira lowered his gun as, despite the lack of visible eyes, the boy stared. He suddenly jolted, mouth opening wide, and he hurried over to Akira, clutching his doll, a dirty, old Feather Red doll, tighter.

His mouth opened and closed, but no sounds came out.

Akira paused for a moment before he tucked his weapons back into his pockets and kneeled down.

“Hey there. Are you okay?” Akira asked.

The child continued to “speak”, waving his arms about. The shadow around him shuddered.

A bead of cold sweat rolled down Akira’s neck. “Do you need help getting home?”

The boy stopped his rambling, his mouth hanging agape. He then rapidly nodded. Akira smiled softly, and outstretched a hand, which the boy eagerly grabbed. His hand was so small, tiny fingers curling over two of Akira’s. He stood and began to walk, slow enough for the child to take the lead. The shadow wavered, its form flickering about in jagged, geometric shapes, but stayed down as they walked. Akira eyed it cautiously, but it seemed more docile now, or at least, no longer as aggressive.

He could almost hear it growling.

Snow started to fall faster, drops touching and melting on his skin, bringing a shiver down his body. He adjusted his hoodie, before looking down at the child happily swinging their connected hands. His long sleeve was thin, sleeve ends frayed and slowly breaking down, his shorts barely reaching his knees, and shoes old and properly a size or two too large. Akira tugged on the boy’s hand, bringing him to a stop with a questioning tilt of his head. Akira kneeled and let go, moving quickly as the child’s mouth opened slightly to a frown. He pulled his hoodie off, the cold immediately digging in, and wrapped it around the child’s shoulders. He helped him thread his short arms into the sleeve and pulled the hood over his short, brown hair.

“There. That should keep you warm for now,” he said, smiling as he zipped the hoodie up.

It was so large on the boy’s small form, swallowing him up.

He took the boy’s hand once more and stood back up. “Let’s keep going.”

A huge, bright smile split across the boy’s face. He began walking again, swinging their arms and “talking”. If only Akira could hear. He just hoped the child didn’t mind when he didn’t respond. Though, he figured it was most likely Featherman related.

Down a street, right, left, the boy led him through the town slowly becoming white as the snow began to fall faster. Their steps started crunching as the streets grew white, the shivering shadow a stark contrast. The streetlights overhead kept lighting up and dying as they crunched forward, their steps slowly slowing down as the snow grew higher and higher. The boy didn’t seem to notice or care as he tugged Akira down another street, the houses growing farther and further between. The cold was really settling in, Akira shivering as snow coloured his hair and undershirt white. Only the tiny hand holding his fingers emanated warmth.

Akira focused on that connection as they walked, wishing he could hear the boy for another focus point. But he didn’t need to worry, as the boy soon stopped at a house. It was old, the walls stained with age, wooden sills on the verge of decay. The boy pushed open the door with effort, the door struggling on its rusted hinges. Akira followed inside, careful to not step on the split shadow, and closed the door behind him.

“Thank you so much, mister!”

Akira jolted at the sudden high-pitched voice. He turned on his heel and faced the boy, seeing ruby red’s staring up at him with a blinding smile. His eyes flashed gold for but a moment before returning back to red.

Akira’s eyes softened and he kneeled. “No need to thank me, Akechi.” He reached out and ruffled Goro’s short brown locks, electing a giggle.

“Goro!”

“Hm?”

“Call me Goro!”

Akira blinked, bewildered. “But you don’t even know me?”

Goro pouted. “That doesn’t matter! Mister is nice, so call me Goro!”

Akira huffed a quiet laugh. “Alright, Goro.” Goro beamed. “Then you should call me Akira, okay?”

“Okay, Akira!”

Akira ruffled his hair some more, unable to resist. “Is your mum home?”

Goro shook his head.

“Then,” Akira tapped his chin. “How about this… Do you wanna play some games till she returns?”

Goro gasped and quickly lead Akira further in. Akira watched as the shadow receded, not completely, but now only wrapped around Goro’s ankles. Akira followed, taking in the small house. The kitchen and lounge were one, and the small bedroom he was led into was beside another, seemingly smaller bedroom. Even calling either of these bedrooms was generous. This small room, with the thin futon in the corner, the rotting bookshelf, the breaking desk and scattered toys that glitched about, breaking and repairing. With a pang in his heart, Akira sat down and took the toys Goro handed him.

“I’m Feather Red, and you are the bad guys!” Goro declared, waving his fraying doll around. “Stop right there, bad guys! I will defeat you!”

“Oh, no you won’t!” Akira got into character, moving the toys. “You cannot stop me from destroying this city!”

Goro’s eyes shone. “In the name of the Feather Rangers, Feather Red Hawk will stop you and your evil plans!”

It was easy falling into character and playing with Goro, just like he remembered doing as a child himself. They waved the toys around, bashing them together and following Goro’s story, the two bad guys in Akira’s hands falling to Feather Red. Goro cheered in victory, running around his small room. Just then, the front door struggled open, and Goro jolted, his smile growing impossibly wide.

“Mama!” He cried, rushing out and to his mother.

Akira stood and followed, watching as Goro’s mother knelt down and embraced the boy, who happily returned it. His mother stood back up, and Akira could see just how thin she was, but beautiful regardless. With her gentle gaze on Goro, Akira saw the love she felt. He could almost feel it himself. This frail woman, who gaze everything she had to her son, no matter what others thought of her. He remember the picture book, and Goro’s words about her, how he felt in return.

His heart clenched.

She opened her mouth, but Akira couldn’t hear any words.

It seemed, however, that Goro could, as he eagerly nodded his head and responded, “I learned a lot! And, and!” He spun and pointed at Akira. “This nice mister- ah, Akira! - played with me!”

Akira waved, feeling a little awkward as he stepped forward. “Hey. Hope I’m not intruding.”

Goro’s mother waved a hand dismissively, “speaking” back.

Despite that, Akira felt he knew what she was saying. “It wasn’t a problem at all. But I should probably go now.”

“Awe, really?” Goro whined, bounding up to Akira and staring with huge eyes up at him.

Akira crouched. “Yeah. Sorry, Goro.”

Goro pouted. He moved to unzip the hoodie, struggling to get it off before he presented it back to Akira. “Then you should take this back.”

“Thank you.” Akira pulled it back on, warming some of the chill away. He ruffled his brown locks again and stood up, adjusting the hoodie as he did.

He stepped around Goro and towards the door. Bowing slightly to Goro’s mother, who bowed back, he opened the door and stepped out into the hilling snow, white reaching high up his legs.

“Wait, Akira!”

Akira turned.

Goro stood at the door, his mother just behind him.

“Will I see you again?”

That gave Akira pause. He bit his cheek, before smiling sadly. “Sorry, Goro, but I don’t think so.”

Goro looked down, clutching the hem of his shirt. “Oh…”

“I’m sorry. But,” Akira crouched and held out a pinky finger. “I’m sure we’ll meet again in the future. I can’t say when that’ll be, but I’m certain. Can you wait?”

Goro visibly brightened, nodding as he hooked his finger with Akira’s. Akira smiled softly, lightly shaking their connected hands, before letting go and standing up.

“Bye, Goro.”

 “Bye-bye mister!”

Akira waved and began trudging his way through the growing snow until the house was no longer visible through all the falling snow. But as he kept walking, he realised that no other houses appeared, despite walking what he assumed to be the same path. It was all white.

Unnervingly so.

“Robin?” He called.

No one answered but the snow.

Until he heard a roar.

A shiver crawling down his spine, Akira had no time to react as darkness suddenly took over, wrapping all around him. Tight and constricting, he clawed at the darkness, choking on a shout, fingers ripping through solid mass that writhed and jittered about. He scratched and punched, grabbing at his dagger and slicing at the darkness that fought back. A jab to his side, hit to his shoulder, restriction around his neck. He grabbed at his neck, at the shadow that slipped through his fingers but stayed, choking him to near breathlessness.

Tears beaded in his eyes, he slashed and shredded, beams of light filtering in, glitching and distorting as it hit his eyes. He tried to gasp for air, vision failing and fading at the edges. He swiped Paradise Lost once more-

-Until he was violently thrown aside.

Suddenly hit by golden and crimson light, he crashed against a wooden floor thinly carpeted in red. He gasped, coughing and spluttering to regain his breath.

“Oww…” he groaned, coughing the last of his breathlessness away. He pushed himself up on newly aching limbs, knees holding him up as he gazed around him.

His eyes widened.

Mouth dropped.

A rugged scream met his ears, so visceral and intense, it felt almost inhuman. Blood splattered the carpet, mixing in the red carpet and darkening it. It rolled in rivets down a pale face, a mask, two halves, red and black, held in trembling hands, the tremors stopping at his wrist in sheer determination.

“ROBIN HOOD!” He screamed, voice cracking with rawness as the blood burned up, turning blue and licking up his face. “LOKI!”

The mask lit up blue. And it spread.

His whole body burned blue, his clothes gone and replaced in royal regalia, white, black, red. It sparked in the remaining flickers of blue as Robin and Loki burst to life. Loki lunged forward, blazing sword at the ready and poised to strike, and only then, did Akira realise who was across the room, and just where they were.

Shido.

His ship.

The podium he stood at, the rows of seats filled with faceless cognitions all still and watching. The giant daruma missing an eye.

How could he forget.

Loki’s sword reached so close, but with a simple snap of his fingers, Shido summoned several shadows; Cerberus, Titania, Baphomet, Narcissus, too many for a just awakened Goro to beat. Loki was pushed back as Robin Hood defended against the shadows rushing towards Goro who staggered but resisted, standing strong despite the agony Akira knew he’d be feeling so undercut by the rush of adrenaline.

Akira pushed himself to his feet in a hurry and rushed over, stumbling as he dodged and slashed at the shadows. In his peripheral vision, he noticed Loki suddenly snapping his head around, and with a deep, guttural growl, he was suddenly in Akira’s face, hateful slits glaring at him.

“Shit-!” Akira managed to raise his arm, but was launched away, his back hitting the wall and cracking it. He gasped, breath forced from his lungs as he dropped. But he didn’t have time to recover, Loki charging once more. “W-wait!” He rolled, Loki’s blazing sword slicing through the wall like butter. “I’m not your enemy!”

“Who are you?!”

It seemed Goro heard, as Akira looked over to meet his deep red eyes.

But behind him, the shadows grew in number, Robin Hood unable to fend them all off.

“Dodge!” Akira yelled, stumbling to his feet and rushing to Goro who spun before dropping to his knees.

Loki’s sword swiped overhead in an instant, throwing the shadows away, destroying the pews and dissolving the faceless shadows. It gave Akira the chance he needed to grab Goro, pulling him back up, and rushed to the elevator, slamming the button to start it up. The doors closed with a ding and the elevator descended. Goro’s mask reappeared upon his mask, half Robin’s, half Loki’s, signifying their return.

Akira huffed a sigh of relief and pocketed Paradise Lost.

“Why the fuck did you do that?! Who are you?!” Goro demanded, brandishing a sword that appeared with the costume.

Akira held his hands up, feeling sweat roll down his neck. “Woah! I’m not your enemy! I just didn’t want you dying back there.”

“Like hell I would!”

“Okay, sure, you wouldn’t. But you’d be hurt. Shido’s Palace is hard.”

Goro’s eyes narrowed. “Name.”

“I’m Kurusu Akira.”

Goro blinked, taking in the name, before his eyes widened. His sword lowered, eyes roaming across Akira as if to confirm something.

“Wait… Akira…?”

Huh?

Did he…?

It clicked. This isn’t separated.

This is the very same Goro.

So alone now, with a single, stupid goal in his fifteen year old mind.

DING!

This is how he first joined Shido.