Chapter Text
Chapter 23
The glass falls from his hand.
It’s supposed to be their worktime, where they continue finding clues about Makoto’s whereabouts, where they huddle together, speculating and strategizing and planning on finding Makoto during the Dark Hour. Ryoji is supposed to go out with Kotone and Mitsuru right about now – to visit Chidori, upon his request, during the Dark Hour – in hopes that she might be able to find something.
But he’s suddenly overcome with flashes and bursts of memories he does not remember, of time spent wandering the universe, leaning against the unbreakable stone of the Seal and watching Erebus closely as it tried to break the Seal (Makoto) apart.
…Erebus.
Erebus.
“The name,” Ryoji mumbles, a hand pressed against his eye and another stabilizing himself against the wall. Kotone is beside him in and instant, and he gasps, eyes prickling with tears and fear and dread. “The… the name. I remember now.”
“Name? What name?”
“The god that’s the source of all of this,” Ryoji murmurs, being steered towards the nearest chair and seated upon it. He can’t see in front of him, too absorbed and too overwhelmed by memories of time that he has forgotten – time that might as well be longer than what he remembered as Ryoji – so absolutely it feels like these recollections are not his own. “…We forgot its name before. For me to suddenly remember it means that—”
“…Makoto-nii is meeting the thing?”
“There may be some other alternative, but this didn’t happen until now, so I’d assume so,” Ryoji mutters between gritted teeth. Even if he is partially a god, the rush of long years spent watching the Seal still overwhelms his senses easily. If this happened to Makoto, too, he— he doesn’t know what will happen. He doesn’t know what Erebus planned, but he cannot let this go on. “We have to—”
He tries to get up, but finds that his arms and legs barely have any strength in them. If he tries hard enough, he can recall watching as the Seal stood, looming above him, with Makoto on the other side, unable to communicate. He could still feel the other boy, back then, the thread of their bond always stronger than the price the Seal always demanded of him. He can remember looking over Elizabeth as she bested Erebus in combat, blowing it up with the power he gave her – with Thanatos – and eased the assault on the Seal for just a moment longer.
Then he remembers waking up as the Dark Hour consumes the world, remembers Makoto looking at him, lost and scared and wearier with each and every repeat.
They never remembered the time spent between each reset, not until now. As if that was Erebus’ intention from the start.
There must’ve been a proper reason as to why, but that isn’t important right now. If… if even Ryoji is so weakened by just remembering what he assumes to be time spent watching the Seal (Seven years, he watched, helpless. As Maruki Takuto’s blunder allowed Erebus’ power to grow, allowed the thing to turn time back, unable to stop it), he cannot begin to fathom what Makoto would feel.
Makoto is human before he is the Universe. And humans aren’t supposed to remember all of it, especially not all at once.
(Could Makoto see the world like Ryoji did within the confines of the Seal? Or is it no more than one long dream he’s trapped in?)
But the years spent watching the Seal doesn’t match the number of times they’ve repeated this year, which means some of the timeline repeated much sooner than the first time. Or simply because the flow of time inside and around the Seal itself fluctuated and caused him to perceive some cycles as much shorter than the other.
Whichever the case, he needs to move—
“Ryoji-kun, sit down,” Kotone says in her rare commanding voice, both hands pressing on his shoulders to keep him seated. He can’t fight her right now, though, much to his frustration. “It’s clear you have to rest for now.”
“But—”
“He’s my brother. He’s important to me, too,” Kotone says coolly. “I’ll go with Mitsuru-senpai today, ask Chidori if she can find him. Even if she can’t, I’m not going to stop until I do.”
Ryoji looks her in the eyes, and she stares back, stubborn and unyielding. He feels so useless and so utterly weak, being unable to hold himself together like this. He presses his lips together, looking away with his brows furrow and something boiling deep in the pit of his stomach. The Dark Hour still looms over them all, cold and unforgiving. It never felt as crushing as it is now.
“…Alright,” Ryoji finally relents, sitting back. It’s only then that he notices Koromaru, who finally hops into his lap and offers him a little nudge and his fur to hold. He smiles a little, taking Koromaru’s snout into his palm. “Thanks, Koromaru. I need that, I think.”
“Alright, I’ll hop onto Mitsuru-senpai’s bike. It shouldn’t take too long,” Kotone says, giving him her best smile as she leans forward, calling Fuuka. “Fuuka-chan! You can connect to us from this distance, right?”
“Of course!” Fuuka says instantly. “Godspeed, Kirijou-senpai, Kotone-chan.”
“…Thank you, Kotone-chan,” Ryoji murmurs.
Please, help us, he doesn’t say.
The windlessness of the Dark Hour becomes even more unsettling, considering that Mitsuru is riding at, what, 100kph?
Kotone hangs onto her senior’s waist tightly as she navigates her way through dead traffics and even up the sidewalk sometimes, swerving at dangerous angles and tilting the bike so low her knee almost scrape the asphalt. But she knows this is for the better, considering their situation, blinded and muted from all sides with no information they can work with. If anyone aside from Fuuka can help them, it’ll have to be Chidori and her Persona, Medea.
From what Makoto said, Medea is much stronger than Lucia, in terms of detection. In previous timelines where she didn’t exist, Medea was Strega’s cornerstone, with the power to interfere with Lucia and hide the rest of them away from prying eyes. And the reverse is true, too – it is she who pinpoints the location of everyone in what Makoto only told them is the moment that leads to her death and Junpei’s awakening.
“I am nervous, too,” Mitsuru suddenly says, her voice slightly muffled by the wind and the helmet. “But we all know that we cannot move recklessly. As far as we’re aware, Makoto should remain safe, at least for a short while.”
“He isn’t safe so much as he’s alive,” Kotone corrects her, the knot in her stomach twisting and turning almost uncontrollably. “I don’t want any of this to happen.”
“I know. Me neither,” Mitsuru murmurs. “But there are still things we can do. Not just that; isn’t Makoto quite a tenacious one? He may have had broken down times before, but that does not mean that he isn’t strong in heart and spirit.”
“That’s… true,” Kotone mumbles, hugging onto Mitsuru a little harder. She thinks she understands a little of how Makoto and Ryoji must’ve always felt, now that she’s been rendered no more than an observer, unable to change a thing and intervene what they speculated could’ve happened. “Still, this feels really horrible. It’s probably thanks to Makoto-nii and Ryoji-kun that nothing happened to us.”
“He seems to have garnered quite the ire from this god, Erebus,” Mitsuru comments, swerving particularly hard around an intersection. So hard, in fact, that Kotone feels like her soul is going to leave her body with the centrifuge force (thanks, science), and almost missing Mitsuru’s next remark. “We’ll ask Mochizuki for details after we’re done with this. It seems it’ll take a while before he can gather his thoughts.”
“I don’t think it’s just a few years’ worth of memories. Even if he’s partially a god, it seems like he’s still affected quite a lot by it,” Kotone murmurs, dreading just what kind of memories has he recalled, and how much pain it would give Makoto. She decides to shake her head against Mitsuru’s back, electing to not think about it any further. “Well, not like thinking about it’s going to change anything.”
“You have a good point,” Mitsuru agrees, slowing down. “That’s where we keep Chidori as of now. After this, I’ll contact father to relocate her once again. It seems necessary.”
“Yeah. Just to be on the safe side,” Kotone agrees. “…When I met Ikutsuki-san for the first time, I never really thought he’d be capable of… this.”
Mitsuru remains silent until she parks the motorcycle in front of a rather secluded building. Kotone sees two men in suit, with rings Mitsuru told her are the Kirijou Group’s products that allow a person to remain awake under the Dark Hour, stand guard in front of the door. Once they see Mitsuru, though, they quickly bow and clear away.
“If you don’t count Persona-Users, the Dark Hour is a place where your secrets are safest,” Mitsuru says as she leads the way into the building, dark and eerie under the green light. She turns to Kotone just a little before biting her lip, looking back ahead of her. “…I’ve been working with the chairman for two years. More, if you count the time before SEES is formed.”
“…I’m sorry.”
Mitsuru shakes her head. “This is not your responsibility to take. Besides, I’ve always known that chairman Ikutsuki is sly, just…”
“Not villain-like sly,” Kotone offers.
“…Yes, that.”
Kotone lets silence linger for a while longer before she skips to Mitsuru’s side, giving her a reassuring smile even though Makoto’s situation still nags at the back of her mind. He needs them, but right now, they will do what they can – and it’s her job to keep everyone together. Mitsuru must’ve felt most responsible, since she is the Kirijou Group’s heir. But she knows Makoto enough, and Makoto will never blame anyone (but himself, she thinks darkly) for what happened this time.
“I mean, I trusted him too, so it’s not just you and your father who’s fooled by him even before Makoto told us about him,” Kotone says, shrugging a little as Eurydice hums in agreement. “…It’s not like we can blame Makoto, either. I doubt any of us would’ve believed him if he had told us.”
Mitsuru bites her lip, but reluctantly nods. “…That is true.”
“Let’s focus on what we can do now,” Kotone murmurs with finality as Mitsuru stops at where Kotone assumes to be Chidori’s room, at the end of the corridor with a few coffins standing about. “We’ll have months to lament once we get him back.”
That is a promise; because she won’t be able to live with herself if anything happened to Makoto. He might not be the old brother she’s acquainted to, but he is her brother still, so awkward but soft and gentle unlike anyone else. He had been protecting her all these times, even when he tried to push her away and made her hate him; it’s her turn to return what was given to her.
“…I agree,” Mitsuru nods, knocking on the door. “Chidori, are you awake?”
Mitsuru opens the door without waiting for a reply, and is greeted by Chidori, wide awake with Medea floating by her side. She’s looking out the glass pane that makes up one of her room’s wall, lips set and focused solely on the moon, now dyed red like blood. She doesn’t turn back to them, but acknowledges them with a little noise at the back of her throat.
“…Do you already know what happened?” Kotone asks, walking closer carefully. She’s visited Chidori with Junpei only a few times, so she doesn’t know her that well. But Makoto came in a lot more frequently than she did, so if anything, she should care about him like a friend or something similar. “Chidori?”
“It’s murky,” she says, disregarding Kotone’s question completely. Medea’s flame flickers briefly before it stills, like the wind has suddenly gone silent. “I noticed Takaya and Jin doing something, but… I didn’t realize they were aiming for Makoto. Are Junpei and the rest of you alright?”
“We are,” Mitsuru says. Kotone rolls her shoulders briefly, the stiffness from being unknowingly drugged clinging to her shoulders tightly. “Are you?”
“They lost interest in me, I think,” Chidori says quietly. “I… felt them came by here last night. But they didn’t try to come in, didn’t try to break me out. Just left.”
It’s… certainly strange, but the security of this place and Makoto’s promise must’ve convinced Strega that trying to take her by force won’t be worth it. Even now, Kotone can still feel the trace of Hassan’s shadow lying underneath Chidori’s feet, a steadfast protector who does not yield. “…Also the fact that Makoto’s been protecting you.”
“…Mhm,” Chidori hums. It seems like she’s already aware that he’s been doing that, even though he is still weak and in pain. He cares too much, and talks too little, taking all the burdens onto his own shoulders without sharing them – she likes that about him as much as she hates it. “…When I felt the… other one in my shadow left, I tried to find the Persona again. I couldn’t, so I tried to find him, and…”
“Did you feel anything at all? Like a gap where there’s a void in the air or something?” Kotone asks, walking closer until she’s standing beside Chidori. She turns to her, eyes sad and facial expressions only barely hiding her worry. “It’s fine if you can’t. We’re not stopping until he’s safe.”
“…It’s… a large area,” Chidori finally relents, looking up at Medea. Medea turns to her and Mitsuru, finger drawing the fire out of the cup and painting the tongue of flame into some sort of map on the glass. “It’s like, when I tried to reach into it, I just… can’t. It’s as you say; a void, where not even light can go in.”
Her map is crude, but she gets the general idea. She remembers some rough landmarks, like the Mall and the road that leads up to Naganaki Shrine. And the ways beyond that – she just needs to memorize this, and find a map of Port Island to cross-examine.
Mitsuru thinks the same, because she nods, taking a long look until she’s satisfied before speaking up. “I appreciate your help, Chidori.”
“Let me know if he’s alright,” Chidori murmurs. “Junpei’d be sad if he isn’t. He doesn’t like Makoto like he does you, Kotone, but they’re still friends. He is mine, too.”
“I understand,” Kotone agrees, smiling through the tears threatening to fall. “Thanks.”
Chidori only offers her a small nod.
This is all that they have, and Kotone will make damn sure they do not waste the chance given.
It feels like dying and living and dying a thousand times in a span of – he doesn’t know how long. A few seconds? Minutes? Hours, at most?
It, however, takes him a long time for his senses to return, every piece of lost memories coming back together as one opaque beam, without clear beginning and definite end. It takes him a while more to notice that his breathing is ragged, all his senses dulled by the scalding cold that seeps into every corner of his body. This feeling – he has forgotten this feeling, and that’s supposedly a good thing, even though it’s by no means what Erebus had initially planned for him.
Makoto doesn’t know if he’d have continued creating the Seal so relentlessly if he remembers what being the Seal felt.
It was… cold. Alone. No voices that can reach him, no hands to touch, completely alone except for dreams that weren’t his, except for ghosts of memories that he never saw seeping into the cracks and filling him with shapeless sludge. Like a never-ending nightmare he cannot fully remember but also doesn’t truly forget. It’s a solitary cell that no man is supposed to trespass, which is also the domain that gods cannot destroy – the Seal he designed was for the sake of keeping Erebus and any gods that have the same intention as it at bay. It worked, almost too perfectly, even to him; if nothing is going to cross it, it means that he – the pillar that made the Seal, with his soul at the center and his bonds holding everything in place – also cannot communicate from within, either.
A long, endless, meaningless dream. It doesn’t hurt so much as it feels maddeningly lonely, because he’s threading in between two domains that do not welcome him, between Nyx and the Sea of Souls. The cold isn’t like the arctic’s, but something… something else. Like a magic casted to freeze his thoughts and slow down time as he floated endlessly within the confines of the Seal; it was not as painful as when he stretched his own soul across the stars, but it was a feeling of being constantly horrified, seeing lives that are both his and not his own mingled and combined into one long strips of memories under the sun’s blinding ray. It was a feeling Makoto had no proper name for.
He was truly alone, left to wander the void and to dream the long dream, and any and all bonds he’s ever made were all trapped at the borders of the Seal without a way for him to ever touch them.
Ryoji is no exception to this rule, even though they share their souls.
“What a merciless thing you did,” Ikutsuki’s voice comes from somewhere in front of him, handclaps so loud he feels like his ears would burst. He groans, trying to move his hands to cover his ears, to find that he cannot even lift a finger to save his sanity. “Using your soul and these so-called bonds to isolate yourself from the rest of the universe so you can prevent any gods from getting close to Nyx? Only fools like you will ever think of doing that!”
Even if Ikutsuki makes it look like he’s laughing, there’s a degree of unrest under his voice. It’s like he doesn’t like what Makoto had managed to accomplish. Whether he sees into Makoto’s memories or observed from his ramblings – he’s sure he must’ve said something, judging from the fact that he must’ve been screaming his throat parched at one point – he doesn’t know, but he’s going to be damned if he doesn’t make this as hard on Ikutsuki and these crazy assholes as much as he can.
“What?” Makoto asks, coughing out a laugh as he tries to breathe. “You scared?”
Makoto can’t quite see what kind of face Ikutsuki is making – frankly, he also couldn’t care less – because he’s too busy trying to focus on getting his breathing right and trying to sort out all of these crashing memories. Most of them he’d rather not revisit, but if there’s a clue to help him with sealing Nyx or Erebus for good without Erebus being able to do this again, he has to try.
But then, his thoughts are cut short when something – a foot – crashes into his midsection, expelling out any remaining air in his lungs and forcing him to cough until he can barely breathe. But, despite all this, he laughs, even though his laughter sounds like he’s hearing it from outside of him and not within; he’s managed to tick Ikutsuki off with just a few meaningless words (and feels like he’s looking at himself over his own shoulders), even at the cost of some of his health. Why would his health matter, anyway, when he’s going to die no matter the ending he would reach?
“You impertinent brat,” Ikutsuki whispers mostly under his breath, a snarl ripping out of his throat like an animal. Fitting, when he thinks about it— “Maybe I should just kill you right here.”
Then why don’t you? Makoto wants to ask, because it makes no sense for Erebus to keep him alive just to make him suffer (to dream the long dream, to remember what it is that he cannot recall), when just killing him would be the safest course of action. Even if Erebus doesn’t really care about it, it’s also not in a god’s nature to allow humans to thrive and come out victorious. Why not ensure its victory instead of doing something it can only finds joy in and nothing more?
There’s only one answer to that; it’s keeping him alive for something.
“…You’re very keen,” Ikutsuki comments, and Makoto finally looks up to see a displeased look on Ikutsuki’s face. He can’t see either of Stregas from where he is, chained to the rafter in some abandoned corner of this building, but he doesn’t think they had already left, either. “That’s right. He’s keeping you alive for his own needs, but you don’t need to know more than that.”
“The Kirijou Group will find us eventually,” Makoto says between coughs, fingers cold and staticky from his removal from the Sea of Soul. They won’t be so idiotic as to forget force-feeding him those Suppressors either. “You think this will last?”
“What can they do?” Ikutsuki taunts him back, smile sharp. “Do you think they’ve rooted out all of our allies? You can’t possibly be so naïve, can you?”
“Do you think… Kirijou-san would be that stupid?” Makoto retorts. He knows Mitsuru and her father, and he knows how careful and capable they are. They only thought Ikutsuki was on their side simply because he had been playing with them for ten damn years. Kirijou has his own group of trusted subordinates, he’s sure, and he never once doubts Mitsuru’s ability.
Not to mention that there are still others who can help him. Now that he’s forged his bonds with them, old and new—
“Haa… really,” Ikutsuki sighs, rubbing at the back of his neck and hunches down in front of him. His lungs still feel like they’re on fire, and his vision is blurry around the edge, so he can’t help it when he’s pulled to face Ikutsuki by the hair, the roots pulling at his scalp painfully. “Are you sure you’ve lived hundreds of years’ worth of lives? You can be really sharp but also extremely foolish at times, huh?”
He shivers against the phantom cold biting into his skin, and uses his strength for something that, when he will look back upon some weeks later, is utterly stupid even by his standards;
He spits into Ikutsuki’s face.
The man glares down at him darkly, but he can do nothing but smile. If he can’t kill Makoto anyway, that means Makoto can make his life as hard as he possibly can.
Even at the cost of his pain and blood.
(Even when he has to fall into the long, Endless Dream.)
“Are you alright?”
Ryoji finds himself visiting Akinari, almost a week later, where there’s nothing to be found but empty promises and lies. Makoto isn’t dead yet, he’s sure – which is both a relief and a surprise – so Ryoji can only assume he’ll be kept that way for some unknown reasons.
He feels so damn powerless and angry and—
“Mochizuki-kun,” Akinari calls him softly again, pale hand finding his knee and patting it softly. They’re sitting on the bench Makoto told him about, the one Akinari often occupied in his free, painless time. If he focuses hard enough, he can see Maiko laugh from here. “I… do not know if there is anything I can say to help you, but you mustn’t lose hope.”
He sighs, nodding once. “I know,” Ryoji murmurs, looking down at his hands and sees Thanatos’ shadow within them. If he can just use that power freely outside of the Dark Hour, the search would’ve ended much sooner. They would be able to stop Ikutsuki’s followers from messing with the rescue attempt much sooner, and— “Damn it, I can’t think of anything.”
“Being powerless to stop an event is such a scary thing,” Akinari says softly, and isn’t that what the entirely of his private bond with Makoto been all about? About inevitability of death and making the most out of the time given? “But Makoto-kun is a strong one. I’m certain he’ll be alright.”
“I wish things were that simple,” Ryoji whispers, frowning. “…We’re fighting the unknown, and we— no, I was aware that this might happen. I should’ve been more vigilant, shouldn’t have let—”
“Hindsight is always clear,” Akinari offers gently. “I… cannot claim to know how devastated you must have felt, but if I know him enough, there is no way he would’ve blamed you.”
Of course he wouldn’t. He never did, Ryoji almost says, but stops himself and instead nods, trying to not appear hostile against one of the few people Makoto still keep within his heart. He never blames Ryoji for anything, internalizing it all into himself until he exploded and murdered everyone repeatedly to the point that he’s too tired to move anymore, only to fight his way to the end of the world himself, still wrought with guilt, over and over and over.
“…How is this… android friend of yours?” Akinari says, probably in an attempt to change the subject. But he doesn’t know how close that hits, how foul it muddles his mood. Still, Ryoji keeps his mouth shut, because Akinari doesn’t deserve any of his anger. “I heard… I asked Kotone-chan, and she said that, uh, Aigis was successfully repaired?”
“…Yeah,” Ryoji nods, voice rough and throat dry. Aigis – he doesn’t even want to begin thinking about her. He knows it isn’t her fault, but still, it’s her damn fault that this happened. “Makoto’s… he stabbed her in such a way that her memories are preserved, and easily repaired. If he had stabbed harder, or an inch too deep, or an inch too far, she would’ve been irreparable.”
“I see,” Akinari hums softly. “He really is kind, even like that.”
“Yeah,” Ryoji sighs. “He is.”
The conversation naturally dies down after that, Akinaki seemingly sensing Ryoji’s lack of interest, and Ryoji unable to hold the conversation any longer, fearing that his fury is going to show. But, despite his initial fear, the atmosphere doesn’t turn awkward and hostile; it is peaceful, more peaceful than he’s ever felt. He understands now why Makoto instinctually came to Akinari, not wanting to abandon this bond. It’s not just because Akinari would join him on the other side, but also because Akinari is a really warm and understanding person despite his circumstances.
He wishes that serenity could help with this whole mess. It, sadly, cannot.
They simply stay like that for what feels like hours to him, with the clouds lazily crawling across the sky and sounds of birds and kids playing filling the background. One can almost assume that everything is normal, had they not the knowledge of what is actually happening behind this façade of peace. Ryoji can’t help but think that things are starting to go wrong at a rapid rate, and all of it starts simply because he doesn’t have the foresight to prevent it from happening—
“You’re thinking in circles,” Akinari suddenly says, and it comes to his attention that he’s clenching his fingers over the edge of the bench hard enough for the wood to cave in the shape of his fingers. He flinches inwardly as Akinari hums softly beside him. “You two really do share the same soul. Makoto-kun is often like this too, you see.”
“Yeah, I know,” Ryoji murmurs, rubbing at his eyes and trying to calm himself down. “He always told me I’m better at keeping myself in check, but I digress; the only difference is that I’m indifferent to all things except for him,” he pauses for a moment, sighing. “Am I a bad person?”
“Of course not,” Akinari denies in an instant. “You simply have different but clear priorities from other people. As long as your priorities don’t involve harming others, there is no indication that you are a bad person.”
“Haha,” Ryoji laughs a little at this. “Somehow, talking to you makes me feel a little better. Is that weird?”
“I’m not sure if I should take offense in that,” Akinari responds with a soft chuckle. It feels… nice, like this, even if the severity of the situation still leaves most of his emotional capacity hollow. “I’m glad I can be of help, though. Is there anything more I can do?”
“…Not that I can think of, no,” Ryoji shakes his head. “Just this is enough for now, Akinari-san. Thank you.”
Akinari smiles. For now, this will have to be enough.
Ryoji isn’t sure if he’s glad or angry that Aigis has been given the clear to return to duty so soon.
Even if soon is a whole week after the incident, it still feels too quick, too rash. Besides, even if he might look the part, Ryoji is not a forgiving person; he rarely finds offense in anything, be it being called names or belittled or cursed. But what he finds offense in, he never learns to let go, holding grudges deeply and for a long time despite his reasoning knowing that he shouldn’t be that way.
He sighs, stares at Aigis who’s standing right in front of his (Makoto’s) door, and speaks as curtly and as to the point as he possibly can. “Can I help you, Aigis?”
They have narrowed down the search radius to less than two kilometers already, but there are so many places Makoto could’ve been held at that they cannot afford to take it quicker than this. Too quick, and they might miss him. Too slow, and they (he) are going to lose him, and that is something Ryoji refuses with his entire being.
“…I am not certain,” Aigis articulates, for once after shooting Makoto looking like she’s feeling guilt. Ryoji almost bares his teeth, but schools his expression into something blank and passive. “Kirijou-san and Mitsuru-san told me what happened. Yuuki-san… avoided my memory core on purpose?”
“Yes,” Ryoji answers, feeling irritated more and more as seconds tick by. “What of it?”
“I…” Aigis trails off, looking away from his eyes and at his hand, already half-crushing the poor doorknob. “Have the Kirijou Group and the polices found him yet?”
“Ask Mitsuru-senpai or someone else. I’m as clueless as you are,” Ryoji snarls darkly, stepping back into the confine of his shared room and ready to slam the door into her face. “Is that all you have to say? If so, then excuse me. I’m too tired to talk right now—”
“What was—” Aigis pauses at this, tilts her head to the side as though unsure of which word she should use, only to settle on something that makes his blood boils. “What am I to Yuuki-san?”
“You only ask me this now, when you’ve had the chance to ask the same damn question to him months before?” Ryoji snaps back instantly, the cold in his veins overtaken by the bubbling rage that boils over him from head to toe. Emotions are something Ryoji lack in some aspect, and he thought himself above anger until this particular cycle, where everything has toppled over and nothing is fine. “What? You can’t believe the man you see as a danger is capable of care?”
Aigis remains silent for a long while, and Ryoji is tempted to slam the door shut in her face. But before he can move, she places her hand on the wooden frame, preventing him from destroying the already cracked door by slamming it shut. Ryoji hisses, only for her to look at him, eyes filled with determination and life he’s always seen at the zenith of the world, all those moons ago.
“I will not make excuses for my past behavior,” she finally admits, dropping her eyes down to the floor and staying as physically unthreatening as a machine of war can be. Ryoji’s fingers twitch. He has half the mind to push her off of his territory and get this over with, but he stays and listens. Because, as much as he hates to admit it, this isn’t entirely Aigis’ fault – not that she’s not to be blamed, either. “But I wish to correct as much as I can. You know him better than the others do, so I hope that you could enlighten me.”
Ryoji glares at her, but finds only sincerity, not lies. Whatever Kotone did must’ve instilled some sense of humanity into her, because this isn’t something Aigis is capable of two months prior.
He heaves out a sigh, combing his hair back and pulling his hand off the doorknob. “…Fine. But understand that my view of you isn’t going to change anytime soon. Actions speak louder than words, after all.”
“Understood,” Aigis replies compliantly. “Are you available at the moment, Ryoji-san?”
I’m not, he almost says, but corrects himself with a cough as he pushes his way past her, closing the door behind him with some force he’s sure Koromaru would whine at him later. “Yes. I’m not going to talk to you in our room, though. And I can’t give you more than the basics, because Makoto knows you better than I do. He’s your friend, I’m not.”
They were enemies for most of the time he remembered, light and dark that belongs on the same coin but not the same side. They can never coexist before Ryoji became human and alive; she is the very being created to combat Shadows, and he’s born as one, after all. But now that he’s tangible, real flesh and blood and not comprised of darkness and death, they can be friends.
He never considers her one in this timeline because of what she did and had once promised to do.
“…I see,” Aigis murmurs from behind him as he leads her downstairs. It’s still early into the night, so they are not alone, but that is the point of him seeking others; Ryoij cannot be left alone with her. As long as Aigis retains her stance, as long as he cannot figure out what being a Seed of Chaos truly means for Makoto, he cannot allow himself to act rashly. If he’s alone, he fears what he might do. “I hope to mend that, someday.”
“…Yeah,” Ryoji murmurs. Me too, is a lie as of this moment, and to say that he doesn’t want to mend what scraps of relationship they share would be a lie, as well. They’re at this… delicate balance that is set to detonate itself upon one simple disturbance, and Ryoji refuses to be the one to push it. “Anyway, why do you ask now instead of months ago? Were you not interested in mending your bond with him?”
Aigis is the Chariot by herself, as well as Makoto’s Aeon – the bullheadedness of hers has always been perceived as something to be admired, although Ryoji digresses after Yakushima onwards. Being steadfast and refusing to back down and an idiot are two entirely different things with but a thin line to separate them, and Aigis has already crossed that line on multiple occasions. He’s always hated that he never saw it coming up until that point, when she flashed her guns at Makoto without mercy—
“After a period of introspection,” Aigis begins, awkwardly shuffling her way around a sleeping Koromaru and finding her seat at the dinner table. Yukari, Kotone and Fuuka flashes him a glance, with their faces turning into a range of expressions from worry to outright fear, so he gives them a reassuring smile – as much of a smile as it is a frown, he would assume – before turning back to Aigis. “I… have not been fair towards Yuuki-san. I know my programming built me to view anything I sense as Shadow-like as enemies, but I also have the capabilities to comprehend further.”
“Which you didn’t,” Ryoji states.
“Which I did not,” Aigis nods. “My sensors… told me that he is dangerous; his readings are a mixture of Shadows and Personas. I did not understand, and my directives to protect and make preemptive strike to cut down any dangers compelled me to choose to view him as an enemy.”
Ryoji sighs again, this time to contain his rage. “…Really? That’s all the excuse you have? Just because he had strange readings, instead of watching the situation, you attacked him first with the intention to kill?”
She told him herself that he had the readings of both Shadows and Personas. Even if she is a machine, she also has an individuality that sets her apart from others, that makes her capable of calling forth Athena. And Personas are the representation of one’s soul, which translates to Aigis also possessing one. Why would a being capable of thoughts and individualities do something without even fucking thinking?
Ryoji comes so close to grabbing Aigis by the neck and throwing her out of his sight, but stops when something warm brushes against his leg. He looks down and sees Koromaru whimpers up at him. For a simple dog who has the ability to summon a Persona, Koromaru seems far more emotionally intelligent than he is. It makes him laugh, self-deprecatingly.
“I’m not going to do anything, Koromaru,” he reassures, sitting down and patting his lap. Koromaru barks at him once before hopping up onto his thigh, nuzzling into his arm and resting his muzzle on his hand, as if to make sure he keeps his words. “Did I scare you?”
Koromaru tilts his head briefly before shaking his head.
Ryoji busies himself with Koromaru for a while, and when he’s sure enough Aigis is not going to reply to him with anything, looks up. He doesn’t know whether her look is shame, guilt, or simply fear, but he decides to not think too much into it.
“…So what now?” Ryoji asks. “What do you intend to do? Are you going to try to kill him again at the next chance you get?”
“Of course not!” Aigis raises her voice defensively, catching herself doing so when the little chatter from the lounge dies down. She quickly looks away from him, and for an android, she sure has all the niche of a human with her. “I’m… I wish to ascertain for myself whether my distrust of him is justified or not.”
“And if it’s not?”
“Then I will spare no effort to correct my mistakes.”
Ryoji looks at her for so long that he can faintly see Athena’s shadow from here. There is nothing but sincerity, even if her promise isn’t something Ryoji can trust. But Aigis has always been there for Makoto where he cannot, always provided him with trust and presence when he’s trapped inside the time-worn seal of Nyx’s light.
“…Very well, then.” Ryoji sighs. He will trust her, just one more time. What she does from here on out will be what makes or breaks their relationship. “I will hold you onto that.”
The conversation just falls apart afterward. But it’s a given, considering what their stances are.
Since he’s down here anyway, he decides to just… hang about, watching, observing; he doesn’t have the information he needs to find Makoto, and certainly not in the position to go out and cut down everything in sight to try and find the only one that ever made him whole. And it might be because he’s down here – or maybe not – that the atmosphere is so gloomy and heavy like this.
Ryoji gives Aigis a look, convincing her to go away and do something else; and she does, slowly and almost reluctantly moving away from him. His eyes follow her as she creeps along the edge of the room and goes stand not too far away from Kotone. He remembers this scene almost as if it were from yesterday, of Aigis protectively standing guard over Makoto like she’s her shadow.
How quaint and disturbing it is, that what was thought as a given is something hard earned.
“Aigis! Are you alright now?” Kotone greets with a strained smile, clearly catching onto their conversation but trying hard not to intrude. “Anything weird with the repairs?”
Aigis shakes her head. “There is none, Kotone-san. Damages to my cranial area have been limited only to the conduits between my memory core and processors. There is no major damage to any of my important facilities.”
It takes this much for her to have a different opinion on Makoto, which makes him furious. Why does it have to come to this before she sees him as even close to an ally? She isn’t even considering him a friend at this point in time, and it annoys him as much as it infuriates him. Isn’t all of Makoto’s sacrifices before now enough to convince her that he isn’t a bad person? Why does it need to take more to affirm to her that Makoto is her friend than it takes her to stop nagging Ryoji when he was neither alive nor human?
“That’s good to hear, Aigis,” Fuuka beams, glancing at him once before returning her attention to the android. Even if she doesn’t show it, her hands are shaking just slightly. Everyone is afraid of him, and for once in his existence, he does not care in the very least. “Come, sit! There’s vacant spots for you. Even if you don’t feel tired, you should just sit and talk with us.”
Aigis blinks before nodding stiffly, taking her seat between Kotone and Ken.
The conversation drones on in the background soon after, and Ryoji only gives it half a mind; after all, he has been dampening their conversation for a whole week now, with how wound up he is. But, strangely enough, they do not blame him for it – just as kind as they always have been, far too kind for their own good – only giving him space (and avoiding him in the process) to sort himself out.
He has always been good at keeping himself in check. But this particular year proves that he is far from it; that he is too emotionally dependent on Makoto, too invested in his suffering. Makoto will probably scold him for this afterwards, he knows, because it’s taking them too long to find him when Port Island isn’t even that big and he’s powerless even as a god of death.
Thinking… is probably the last thing he should be doing. He should try to do something, or just sleep it off (weren’t he kidnapped because you fell asleep?) until he can think of other topics that does not involve his anger or Aigis or—
“Mochizuki, your face is really fuckin’ scary,” Aragaki calls him, and he turns to see the man leaning against the entryway to the kitchen. He gives Ryoji a raised brow before snorting. “But hell, I don’t know what to say, either. She’s never been nice to Makoto ‘til now, yeah?”
“…Yes,” Ryoji sighs, silently glad that Aragaki at least understands him in this. “I’m sorry if I terrify you… or anyone. It’s not my intention.”
“No one minds,” Aragaki shrugs again, rolling his eyes just slightly. Then he makes an obvious change in subject. “So, what’s this about memories of time between the loops? You wanna talk about it?”
It’s not so much as wanting to talk about it than needing to talk about it, but there is no need for Aragaki to have to discern that. Ryoji drums his fingers against his knee, reluctantly recalling all the memories that feel like blotted parchments being laid out underwater. There is something strange about it, and whether it’s because time flow differently or because something else remains to be seen.
“It turns out that after Makoto died, time didn’t reset right away,” Ryoji explains. He has done this with Akinari briefly after the first time these memories come back to him. He would rather not do this if he can help it, but he needs to talk to someone who knows deeply of Personas and Shadows if he’s going to make heads and tails out of it all. “…the details are his to share and not mine, but there’s something that’s bothering me.”
“Do tell,” Aragaki nudges. “I ain’t him, I know, but it’s better you talk to someone than mull over it yourself. And, before you say it, I know that’s hypocritical of me.”
Ryoji laughs dryly at this. “It’s fine, Aragaki-san,” he trails off, watches as Aigis settles down, still awkward but no longer reserved, before he continues. “The numbers of years I remember doesn’t match with how many lives we’ve lived. It’s… strange. As if…”
As if some of the timeline never continued beyond the Great Seal.
“…Hm. Maybe the changes in what you guys did shorten the time in between, I guess?” Aragaki shrugs after a moment, sitting down and resting his cheek on his bent knuckles. “You think this have something to do with Erebus?”
“Possibly,” he confesses, bowing his head slightly. “There’s only four people I can talk to this about, but I’m more concerned with Makoto than finding the truth, at the moment.”
Aragaki watches his expression for a while, and does something entirely unexpected; he gets up and puts a hand on his head, as if he’s not Death, but just another teenage boy who’s too rattled to think rationally. Then, with a huff, the Aragaki grumbles. “Just focus on getting to Makoto first, I guess. If it ain’t gonna end the world this month, then it can wait.”
“Mm,” he hums noncommittally. But hearing this, it feels… nice, like a validation Ryoji doesn’t realize that he needs so desperately. “…Thank you, Aragaki-san.”
“Don’t fret it, kid,” Aragaki snorts, pulling back and coughing awkwardly. “Now stop making that fucking terrifying face and go to sleep or somethin’. You don’t need to mingle until you feel a little better.”
He smiles. He never intends to mingle with the others today in the first place. “Alright. I promise I will.”
Makoto learns three things during his stay at these lunatics’ mercy.
One, Ikutsuki really, really, really despises him. He only heard of the stories from Erebus, and one-sidedly decides that Makoto is a mortal enemy he would rather kill than let live.
Two, is that Erebus is a very capable storyteller, manipulating the words into its favor and riling up these three worshippers. Many wars in history, too, were like this, born of greed disguised as righteous war to liberate the mass from hands of their enemies. Erebus manipulated them, and what’s worse is that these people willingly allow it to.
For power, if he has to guess. Or an eternity in hell, whichever works.
Third, is that he learns after painstaking days of eavesdropping between behavioral correction therapy, or so Ikutsuki called it, that while Makoto is insignificant, he also is the anchor and the main power source Erebus can draw upon. Sure, he is just a human, but he’s a human blessed with the Universe, and a human who lived despite being destined to die.
Erebus changes that into something more – he’s kept alive solely to hasten its completion. Unlike Death, who was reborn as soon as Twelve Shadows are destroyed, these Shadows were not originally sprouted from Erebus’ shadowy flesh. If Makoto has to guess, it must mean that Erebus is stealing what was supposed to be Nyx’s, using him as some kind of conduit for the transfer. And, as far as he’s aware, that isn’t the only thing it needs him alive for.
And he knows Erebus knows he’s heard it discussed this with the others. Is it that confident? Or does it not care at all whether he knows its intention or not?
“Why would any of those matter to me?” Erebus snarls low, voice rumbling and biting and grating every single fiber in his being. He opens his eyes only to be met with jagged, sharp, bloodstained teeth. “You knowing the truth and being deaf to it matters little. You will never get away from me, boy.”
“Want to make a bet?” Makoto taunts, even if his broken arm and the phantom of a burning steel’s brand are still engraved into him. It doesn’t hurt like when he ripped his soul apart for the Seal – he can endure it, for as long as he need to. For the sake of those he holds dear. “I’m not alone. Not anymore.”
“Are you not?” Erebus, instead of being annoyed or any other thing he was hoping it would it, seems more delighted and even entertained than anything. That sense of continuous dread grows stronger with each passing second, and he’s reminded that this thing is what would end the world, not Nyx, when it brushes its claw against his cheek and creates frostbite on his skin. “Can you hear their voices? You cannot, no? Even after they acted so loyal, so full of promises, don’t you think it pitiful that they cannot reach you, now that you need them most?”
Makoto wants to spit back. But he realizes now, after many days of pointless banters, that he would be the one more bothered at the end of the conversation than anything (he knows it isn’t their choice to disappear, but it still hurts and—). So he opts to remain silent instead, turning his head away from its touch, only for the claw to dig itself into his neck, just right above his jugular—
“Just a tiny pressure, and you will die. You humans are just insignificant little things,” Erebus laughs at him, pressing harder until he can feel each beat of his pulse just under its mercy. But, to his surprise, it pulls back, licking a droplet of blood from the tip of its claw and making every fiber in his being crawl with disgust. “Quite inconvenient, however, that killing you or letting you go now will complicate the process. But then again; what is months in the face of centuries?”
It doesn’t make sense; leaving him alive will only delay the inevitable by a few months at most, so what is the damn point of keeping him here—
“Ah, you needn’t worry yourself with the reason. That is a question I will never answer,” Erebus grins, all teeth and eyes and decay. “And it’s pointless to try escaping from me, boy. We are connected, you and I; in essence, we are one and the same.”
The Dark Hour slowly recedes, the sickly-hue of its void-light burning apart at the edges of his vision just like a part of the Endless Dream, consumed by the illusion of what the Dark Hour used to look like. Erebus’ form slowly turns into something he’s more familiar with; a mass of Shadows with two heads, red eyes like dying suns sitting atop of its bowl-like skulls. It gives him one last chilling laugh before it falls apart along with the Dark Hour, leaving the little claw mark on his neck the only evidence of its existence.
Ikutsuki watches where the god he worships once stood before turning to him, hands clasped behind his back and something terrible brewing on his tongue. Makoto watches as the man moves oh-so-slowly from where he stands towards him before sitting down on the chair these bastards have been using to observe his every reaction like psychopaths that they are. Everything is quiet, and then—
“You think your friends will find you, after all this?” Ikutsuki says, oddly calm to the point that Makoto can’t meet his eyes. “It’s been over a week. No matter how loud you scream, no one will ever hear you. Why don’t you just give up and behave like a good boy?”
Makoto just laughs.
He’s been worse, seen worse, felt worse, done worse. He left his bonds to rot, he abandoned all of him to the harsh decay of the time loop before. He let himself and his bonds wither and fade away carelessly before, so he’s used to feeling alone. He’s used to wander the realm of dreams without end on his own, used to being unable to remember but unable to forget.
But this is different; he knows that there are people out there that care for him, love him as much as he loves them. A simple taunt like this does nothing but makes him look back on his past just a little longer than necessary.
“You can’t kill me, can you?” Makoto says between breaths, shifting his weight so that he can lean into Ikutsuki’s view just a little more. “There’s no logical reason to keep me like this. You can’t kill me, and not because it’s inconvenient. There’s a reason for it.”
He doesn’t know if that’s true or not, but fishing for information using his life as a gambling chip doesn’t sound all that bad, considering the circumstances he’s in. Everything makes much more sense like this; why Erebus is biding its time. If they’re connected, then maybe there’s more to this. Maybe there’s a reason why the memories of years spent as the Great Seal (the memories of years wading through the Endless Dream) doesn’t match up with the numbers of lives he’s lived through.
Maybe, after a while, it didn’t really matter if Erebus wanted to create another loop or not. After a while, maybe there’s a complication that forces time to reset no matter how things ended—
And he’s proven right with the face Ikutsuki makes, so full of disdain and discomfort.
“Would Erebus’ plans be thrown astray if I die now, I wonder?” he wonders aloud, and with Ikutsuki jumping under his skin, even minutely, he knows he has hit the bullseye. “It will, won’t it?”
Ikutsuki’s brow twitches almost imperceptibly, but he schools his expression in soon enough. Erebus is a god, after all, and even though common logic does not apply to it, it doesn’t mean that something so grand will leave the end of the world up to chances. If he manages to threaten them with ending his own life before this process Erebus spoke about in passing is completed, then it’s—
His thought is cut short when Ikutsuki grabs him by the throat and lifts him up just enough for his feet to find air instead of ground.
“Don’t think I’m going to let to have your way so easily, brat,” Ikutsuki growls, his pleasant gentleman mask slipping away. This is different from the Ikutsuki he knew, Makoto thinks idly even as his airway is almost press shut by the man’s hand. He seems more sinister, more vindictive. “Do you think we’d be afraid if you commit suicide now?”
He smiles despite his vision dimming around the edge, because as good as Ikutsuki is at deceiving people, Makoto is better at reading a person’s expression. Just a little twitch is enough to confirm his suspicion, and pain isn’t something he’s afraid of; he’s been living in pain for centuries (and has dreamt of pain for longer), so what difference does being in pain for a few more days or weeks is going to make?
“Do you want to try me?”
His right arm might remain somewhat only semi-functional after Takaya’s Diarahan, but it can still move. With a grunt, he reaches for the gun resting at the man’s belt and puts it under his own chin before Ikutsuki has the chance to react.
But before he can even think about pulling the trigger, the gun is shot out of his hand.
Takaya.
Ikutsuki’s retaliation is as harsh as he expects it to be; the shackle around his wrist is pulled off roughly, and he’s slammed into the ground with a foot on his head, keeping his cheek pressed against the floor. There’s a little shift before his right hand is crushed by his other feet. Makoto can’t see much from this angle, but he can feel how angry the man is just from the sound of his breathing.
He tries his hardest to breath and keep the throb of his wounds to a minimum, but with how far he’s been pushed to the point of his body almost breaking apart, he doesn’t think it possible to run. But he’s achieved what he had aimed to do; making them think that he can and will reset the timeline again if needed be.
(But he cannot, he knows this. He didn’t even put his finger into the trigger; he’s far too afraid to undo all that he had achieved in this timeline, too afraid that he won’t be able to accomplish what he had done if he is to be forced into reliving this year again.
Too afraid and too tired to go back to the long dream.
As long as they do not know this, then he’s managed to buy himself a little more time, forcing them to be a little more cautious but still making them rush more.
Forcing them to make more mistakes.)
“…I must applaud you for your bravery, truly,” Ikutsuki sighs from above him, heel crushing into the back of Makoto’s right hand hard enough for him to hear his own flesh strains underneath the weight. He feels Ikutsuki pull the foot he put on his head away, only to kneel down and press into his back, limiting his oxygen. “But now, you’ve made it quite clear that half-baked measures will not pacify you. Are you perhaps a fool?”
He keeps quiet, trying to look around and find out as much as he can. He can force them to make more mistakes, but he doesn’t think he has the leisure to wait for the others to arrive; he will need to do what he can, too. And now that they’re more invested in keeping him tame than keeping him here, he knows he can find something, can make something work—
The weight on his back is lifted, only for him to be flipped onto his back. A second later, a foot is pressed against his throat, completely cutting off his only way for air.
As he tries to gasp for breath, Ikutsuki peers down at him, eyes a strange hue of gold that shines almost like Ryoji’s own, far too vibrant for them to belong to a human.
Ikutsuki then raises the iron rod he’s been using to torment him high into the air, and hits him hard enough for his vision to black out almost instantaneously.
Waking up has never been more unpleasant waking up is better than falling back into the Endless Dream.
Which means that he made the right move means that he can do something instead of floating away inside the Dream’s unrelenting tide.
It’s not unpleasant because his arms arch so much they feel like they’ve already fallen off of his body, or because his whole body simply hurts from flame and bruises. It’s unpleasant because of the rush of voices coming back to him, like water breaking out of a high dam, filling up every inch of his soul with their soft whispers and reassuring promises.
It’s still weak, though, that much is a fact. But being able to hear even faint whispers is enough to tell him that he now has a chance to get out of this mess.
What happened, boy? Longinus asks, sounding concerned but still put together.
It’s too hard to put what exactly he learnt into words, so he tries not to. He doesn’t reply to Longinus right away, though, because he has to pretend that he’s not awake yet, even though he hears no breathing from his immediate surrounding, no sound of echoing footsteps from further away. The prickling feeling on his skin is here, signaling the arrival of the Dark Hour (and the reminder of the Endless Dream).
He has only one shot. If he screws himself over, he’ll not get another chance like this.
…I see, Longinus hums from somewhere within him, a note of understanding resonating with the Sea of Souls. I am sorry that we cannot…
It’s fine, he reassures, cracking his eyes open just enough to see the three of them in the middle of this place, chatting quietly among themselves. The moon shines through the window on the roof, waning but still as bright as ever. He still can’t feel Ryoji, and he assumes it’s because he is still partially affected by the Suppressors forced into him.
It comes as no wonder that the drug would be so potent, considering that Erebus is interfering directly in earthly matters. How long have they planned this? Erebus must’ve regressed at a different point in time than he did, since all of this isn’t something that can be prepared within the scope of a year. He found an answer to a question, but is faced with ten more.
Can you move? Orpheus questions, warm flame running under his fingertips. He can barely feel anything, though, since he’s chained in one arm, and the other broken. His legs—
Oh.
It takes him so long to notice, because everything just hurts equally. But now that he takes a good look, he can see that left ankle is swollen, but not that much deformed. Moving only hurt enough for him to wince, so he supposes they’re only contused and not shattered.
Still, his ankle being this black-and-blue and warm means he won’t be able to run.
You need someone that can protect you and fight for you, Longinus comments quietly as the air starts to cool down. The Dark Hour will come soon. I am not capable of protecting you while moving.
And I’m not strong enough to call for someone big, he finishes with a scowl, shifting his weight and is forced to take a sharp breath as pain shoots up his spine like lightning.
“You’re awake.”
Ikutsuki’s voice is easy-going, as if nothing can go wrong, as if he’s already made sure Makoto cannot run from whatever plane of existence they want him to be. He looks up, feels every muscle in his body scream at him in protest, only for a hand to find his hair, pulling his face up until he’s look at those crazed eyes again. There’s something dark brewing under Ikutsuki’s gaze, and it reminds him of Erebus.
“If you had kept quiet and not tried to pull any stunts, this would’ve been a lot less painful for you. But I suppose Takaya is right; you crave pain, don’t you?” Ikutsuki snorts, letting him go and walking back to the fire burning inside a steel barrel. The Dark Hour needs to come soon, or he won’t be able to focus enough to call for someone. “Why would you do such a thing?”
“Because… making your life hard is my job,” Makoto remarks, shifting his weight again so that, when the moment comes, he can get to his feet, at least. He can pull his left arm off the chains if he can handle having a degloving injury, and in this instance, he has to. “Why would I let you do what you please?”
“Defiant to the end, I see,” Ikutsuki sighs and shakes his head, disappointed. “I thought you were smarter than this, Yuuki-kun. I was hoping you might cooperate.”
“Your god took my death from me!” he snaps, unable to contain the bubbling anger (and the deep-seated fear). Cooperate? With that thing that threatened to consume all the bonds that he cherished, all the lives that he loves? He would rather die a thousand more deaths than to let that happen. “It took my bonds and my peace from me! There’s no way in hell I would ever forgive that thing!”
“You are the one who abandoned them, not him,” Ikutsuki retorts, smiling eerily back at him. “The time loop is his doing, but aren’t you the one who chooses to abandon your oh-so-precious bonds?”
He opens his mouth, ready to retaliate, when the world shifts on its axis.
Now, boy!
There is not much time to think, because when Erebus arrives – as it is doing, rotting the very earth and bubbling out of the tar-like darkness formed from the shadow casts by the containers in the room – it will know that he is connected to the Sea of Souls. There isn’t many names he can think of that will get him out while being able to fight whatever they need to, but someone comes forward on his own.
He braces himself, then calls for the name; “Heracles!”
He feels something in him shatters at the name, and the edge of the Endless Dream brush across his face as the world begins to spin. The white mane comes into his field of view at the same time as Erebus rises from the ground (at the same time when the Endless Dream beckons him), its eyes and white teeth baring at him with first surprise, then anger. The pain of forcing out a summon through the haze of the Suppressor explodes through each and every inch of him, and it takes everything he has to bite back the scream as a large, armored hand finds his bound wrist and pulls it free.
He’s then cradled like a child in a giant’s arm, his vision swimming with ferocity like how he felt in that love hotel, months ago. He feels no strength in his legs, and his only working arm is barely able to move, but he trusts his companions. They will protect him, just like they always had, and always will.
Makoto shifts his head up a little, and is met with bright blue eyes coming from an armored lion’s head, the plates of steel silver and the mane white like snow. Heracles’ body is full of muscles and decorated with scars, the mane that spreads down from his visage to his chest and covering his back so warm and gentle despite him being the fearsome champion of Olympus.
He holds Makoto a little closer, gauntlets warm against whatever part they touch despite its metallic make.
“I am Heracles, your Chariot. ‘Tis a pleasure to meet you at last,” Heracles gives a brief greeting as he takes a rumbling step back, greaves creaking with the movement of his legs, shattering the earth and vibrating the air. Makoto follows his eyes to see Erebus snarling at him, all malice and darkness. “Remain awake, boy. If you lose consciousness now, I will have to return, and we will fail.”
“Boy!” Erebus bellows at the top of its lungs, clawed feet stamping on the ground and tail whipping and cutting everything in its path to shreds. “You cannot run from me!”
He should’ve been able to talk, but everything is just too much and too overwhelming (everything reminds him too much of a dream he can barely remembers). Heracles holds him closer, white mane fanning out around his head and covering everything he can see white. Heracles then moves, punching something out of the way, followed by sounds of explosion and the rush of air that brushes against his skin.
“He cannot, but we can,” Heracles says with a note of amusement. He takes a glance at Makoto once before giving out a roar. “See if your lizard-like body can catch us!”
And with a great leap, he finds himself flying through the air, leaving the place – some kind of abandoned warehouse – behind them.
“I will protect you,” Heracles whispers the very words Aigis spoke to him on that day up on the rooftop, with his head in her lap and her hand lovingly cradling his own, ages ago.
He really is a Chariot, pure and true.
“You needn’t worry.” Heracles whispers. “Just rest for a while, yes?”
Makoto nods, and relaxes back into the soft, warm mane, watching silently as tides of Shadows follow them.