Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

10/7. Morning

They crowded themselves into a nook between houses, crammed between chain-link fences at a distance just barely within the Palace’s radius, as far from the Kurusu household as possible. It wasn’t as far as they would’ve liked, but it was the best they could do to avoid a potential landing in the middle of a police squadron - especially when they were expecting to come back dead on their feet. 

Akira took deep breaths as they entered the Metaverse, trying his best to steady himself. He needed to keep it together, today of all days.

The air in the Metaverse thrummed with warning, the unmistakable weight of a Palace on maximum alert. Akira melted into his trench coat, wrapping the fabric tightly around himself. He took a final deep breath before standing up straight, putting his hands in his pockets, and striding forward. 

“Is everybody ready?” Joker asked, turning an appraising eye over his team. “We’re not running a reserve team today, but Skull and Noir should take the front row with me. I don’t know how long it’ll take before we find the Treasures or the Palace Rulers, so we need tanks out front to conserve everybody else’s stamina.”

Ryuji and Haru nodded, stepping forward, and the rest of the team fell into formation behind them. They encircled Futaba, keeping their navigator - busy reading through Al Azif’s scans - protected from all sides.

“We should be good to head out,” Futaba directed, “but I’m not getting clear readings on where any Shadows are. Max security level’s scrambling my sensors a little, and I’m pretty sure your parents are doing something fucky, Joker, so be careful, everybody. Our previous path still feels clear, so we should head there first.”

“Got it.” Joker saluted and stepped forward, sweeping his coat out to its full width. “Everybody? It’s showtime!”

Joker slipped silently through the corridor, grimacing at a dried blood splatter on a nearby wall as he waved the rest of the team through. The Palace itself was near dead silent, the klaxon alarms screaming outside the walls reduced to a mere whine. From inside, it was barely loud enough to cover his lightest footfall. 

Strangely enough, they hadn’t so much as seen a single Shadow as they trekked through the Palace. Even a secured infiltration route would typically have a few weak Shadows respawn - to use Futaba’s nomenclature - just to cover empty ground. These halls were abnormally dead, and something about it made Akira’s skin itch.

They passed by the ex-Safe Room, Akira keeping his gaze forward the whole while, and finally stepped into new territory. More alert than ever, Joker swept forward, melting between shadows as he watched for Shadows…

But there weren’t any. Even though his Third Eye indicated worn treads in the ground, clear signs of a Shadow’s patrol route, it was empty - the same oppressive silence that bore down on them seeping into every crevice of the Palace.

“Oracle, are you picking anything up?” Akira asked softly, tracing his hand across the ground. 

“Nothing near…by…” She was uncharacteristically quiet, audibly hesitant to speak. “There’s… something powerful I can’t quite make out over that way,” she pointed to the wall, straightening up a little, “but it’s not close enough to worry about. I’ll yell if it moves at all.”

“Hold on, hold on-” Futaba clapped her hands together and the group stopped as one. “I’ve got a reading up ahead.”

Akira took his hand off the door and turned, looking at Futaba warily. “Is it the thing from earlier?”

“Nope, that hasn’t moved,” Futaba answered, “but… two readings up ahead, both really strong. And I can feel Treasures, too.” She took a deep breath and looked Akira in the eyes. “I think you know what it is.”

“This feels like a trap,” Yusuke announced from the back. “Oracle, do you feel anything else, or are the two readings alone?”

“I can’t detect any Shadows in there, so even though it totally feels like a trap, I think they’re alone,” Futaba confirmed. 

“There’s only one path forward,” Akira breathed, not quite forcing the words out. 

Before the others could respond, Akira closed his eyes, steadied himself, and pushed the door open.

“Aki-tan,” came a voice, prompting him to stop. “You’re back.”

The room stretched forwards, dioramas torn from the floor and shunted to the walls to form a clearing. A few plaques still lay on the ground where the dioramas once stood, titles scratched beyond the point of legibility. A set of stairs stretched up to a bone-white marble stage that stretched from wall to wall.

A woman in a gold dress walked down those stairs, her husband clad in platinum just a step behind her. The lockets at both their breasts shone with ethereal light, lit from within.

“It’s them, alright,” Futaba muttered from behind. “Everybody, get ready.”

Ren stepped forward, but Joker cut his hand backwards and hissed “Skull, hit them with a Maziodyne,” as soon as he opened his mouth.

Ryuji tore his mask off with a cry of “William!” and storm clouds coalesced above the pair, crackling with electricity. Ryuji stamped his foot against the ground and lightning shot down, arcing towards their jewellery.

Joker watched Sato’s face twitch, a spike of fear running through Sato and himself simultaneously, before her fear vanished and she raised a hand to the sky. The lightning slammed into her hand with a crash and rippled across her body, dress twinkling, and dissipated.

“It looks like she drains elec-” Futaba started, before Sato’s laugh cut her off.

“That won’t work this time, Aki-tan.” She held her hand forwards and a sound like a gunshot echoed through the room, a flash of light and heat slamming into Akira’s chest and knocking him backwards. 

Somebody grabbed him before he hit the ground, a gentle touch that ran a Dia through his system immediately. “Are you alright?” Ann asked, hoisting him back on his feet. 

“I’m fine,” Akira winced, hand going to his chest and patting out the sparks on his shirt, “Just wasn’t expecting it.”

“I thought we taught you better than to interrupt people while they were talking,” Ren growled, voice unnaturally loud in the large space, “but I’m not surprised you never learned.”

Sato toyed with the locket on her chest, twirling it between her fingers as she spoke. “Of course, if you learned anything at all, you never would have become a Phantom Thief, would you? The leader, even, of these criminals.”

“What didn’t you understand?” Ren asked, voice shifting back to an almost normal tone. “What have you missed, Aki-bō? Why won’t you listen to us?”

Haru slammed her axe into the ground, cleaving the stone and sending dust through the air. “What have you said that’s worth listening to?” Her voice was full of steel. “What have you ever done to earn his obedience?”

“I’m his mother,” Sato spat, “so I’ve done a damn sight more than you ever have. All any of you have ever done is tarnish him. It’s probably all your fault that he didn’t learn his lesson after his probation - filled his head with bullshit ideas of self-serving insurrection!” 

She pulled her hand away from her locket, but the locket distended and warped, following her hand down through the air and stretching to the form of her naginata. It glowed in the light, new ripples of colour covering the polearm’s silver sheen.

Beside her, Ren’s bow took shape, the same ripples spread across the gold of its arms. 

“Shit, they’re powerful,” Futaba warned them, stepping back and calling on Al Azif. “Don’t get cocky just because they look human - those weapons are gonna pack a punch!”

As Futaba called her Persona, Ren lazily nocked an arrow and fired, a quick twang echoing before a sound like a gunshot went off. The arrow tore through the spaceship and Futaba staggered backwards, hitting the ground with a thud and keening in pain as Al Azif exploded into nothing above her.

“Oracle!” Sumire yelled, stepping back and throwing a Diarahan through her. “Are you okay?!”

“Ow, ow, ow, ow,” Futaba half-whispered, “not gonna summon Al like that again, ow, ow, fuck that hurt.”

“Oracle, how are you?” Akira asked over his shoulder, shifting to Fafnir and watching his parents carefully. They weren’t moving, but he could tell they were about to hit the end of their patience.

“Violet fixed me up, but now I’ve got a killer headache and won’t be able to buff anybody. Should still- shit, ow-” Futaba got to her feet and rubbed her temples “- still be able to navigate, but… ow.”

“Don’t push yourself,” Joker commanded, swinging his knife to the side, “but stay behind us and do what you can.” He walked forwards, staring dead at his parents. They watched him in return, a smirk on Sato’s face as he approached.

“I can’t imagine you’ll take our offer this time?” Sato asked mockingly, readying her weapon. “It will hurt far less than doing it the hard way, you know.”

“Shut the fuck up,” he hissed, ignoring the dull echo of “this time?” from Ann behind him. “I’m not listening to-” and mid-sentence he dashed forward, cutting himself off and tearing his mask from his face. Satanael bloomed into existence and slammed a Megidolaon down, the ground fracturing at Joker’s feet as the air exploded with blinding light.

“Now!”

The rest of the Phantom Thieves scattered behind him, spreading around the room with the brief window of opportunity granted by the explosion’s smokescreen. Not wasting even a second, he dashed over the small crater and sped towards the enemy, mask burning back onto his face as the light faded.

Half a second later, he hit Sato’s naginata away, the tip nearly catching in his coat, and ducked below an arrow that detonated in the ground behind him and knocked him off his feet. Joker fell forwards and hit the ground with his hands, pushing sideways and rolling away. The thunk of a blade embedding itself into the ground echoed through his head and he jumped to his feet, already swinging his dagger out defensively and flipping through his Personae.

The hull of a ship cut in front of him, William swinging wildly and forcing the Shadows back. “Dude, what the fuck are you doing?” Ryuji called, leaping off his Persona and stepping in front of him, hands raised. “At least wait for some buffs, Joker, holy shit!”

“Thought I could end it quickly,” Akira shrugged, “so I went in. Thanks for the assist.” He grabbed Ryuji and dragged him sideways, firing off a quick Riot Gun from Ongyo-Ki that forced Sato back again, a quiet hiss of pain barely audible over the gunfire.

“Joker, you idiot, don’t ever do that again!” Futaba’s voice hissed in his ear. “Everybody else, capitalise, they’re distracted enough by Skull and Joker we can probably get a few good hits.”

Joker pulled on the cuff of his glove and sauntered forward again, Ryuji groaning and following a half-step behind. A charge ran through both their bodies, Yusuke’s overdue Hyakka Ryouran burning just below his skin.

Neither Sato nor Ren looked remotely cowed, Ren aiming directly at the pair heading their way and Sato holding a hand over a graze on her arm. The graze slowly faded from view, healing over, and Akira cursed to himself quietly before mumbling his findings to Futaba under his breath.

“Annoying as hell, but it’s not very fast healing. Just hit them hard and fast and they won’t be able to keep up.” Futaba relayed her advice to the rest of the team alongside a new set of instructions. “Joker, hold aggro for just a little bit longer, we’ll prep a combo. Skull, make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.”

Joker just put his dagger away and dramatically yawned, looking off into the distance. Ren growled and released his arrow, Joker sidestepping it and retaliating with a burst of wind from Ishtar. Sato lunged forward through the cutting hurricane, but Ryuji smashed her naginata to the side with his club and called William to slam a God’s Hand into her. 

Sato staggered back, her weapon clattering loudly to the ground. Ren roared and shot, arrow landing beside the naginata and sparking wildly.

Akira and Ryuji both backed up, putting distance between them and the incoming explosion, giving Sato just enough time to slide in and grab her naginata. As soon as she retreated, the arrow detonated - and Joker covered his eyes, making sure his parents wouldn’t be able to repeat his own trick.

Chi You caught the next arrow out of the air with a Psiodyne and sent it hurtling back. Ren flicked his hand and the arrow discharged immediately, erupting harmlessly in midair.

Not falling behind for even a moment, Akira darted sideways and leaped on top of the broken remains of a diorama. He pulled out his pistol and fired a clip before launching himself back to the centre of the action, hitting the ground with a roll and springing to his feet.

“Everybody, now!” Futaba yelled.

Ann stepped forward with Célestine burning behind her. She flicked out her whip and cracked it against the ground as a ball of flame coalesced over her head, Célestine’s hands hovering around it. Ann pulled the whip up and wrapped it around the superheated orb, flames catching and igniting her whip as she did, and yanked them both down towards Sato and Ren.

The ball rocketed down like a volleyball and shattered into a conflagration that engulfed the pair in an instant. A burst of cold rippled out from within the flames and they extinguished all at once, Sato holding her naginata defensively in front of her even as a few stray flames clung to her dress.

As soon as the fire settled, Makoto slammed down from above and shattered the ground between the pair with her fist, Agnes flaring to life above her as a blue flare radiated out, rattling the room.

Makoto tore out on Agnes in the daze of the explosion and high-fived Yusuke, who sprinted forward with Gorokichi. The two cut in opposing directions, slicing around and through their targets, both ending simultaneously on the other side of Sato and Ren and striking a pose.

Haru followed up while Sato and Ren were still dazed, the space around the two Shadows growing hazy and pink as the Mapsiodyne crushed in on them, the very air pushing them down and holding them still. She raised her axe and brought it down on Sato’s arm, the one holding her naginata…

And it stopped dead in her flesh. Haru stared dumbly at it and tried to pull it out, but the axe held fast in Sato’s arm. Her skin seemed to seal itself around the axe, and Haru’s attempts to retrieve it were halted thanks to the naginata buried in her gut.

Haru staggered back as Sato withdrew her weapon, axe still sticking out of her arm awkwardly, held steadily like a steel clamp. Silence echoed for but the briefest of moments, broken only by a faint, pained whimper.

Haru hit the ground, one of her hands over the new hole in her stomach, and Mother Harlot shrieked her way into existence. Akira leaped forwards and the air under his feet froze, sliding across the fresh ice to slide as fast as possible to Haru’s side. He launched himself forward, Paradise Lost cutting swathes through the air as he slammed down beside her and an avalanche crystalised above them, hundreds of frozen shards cutting down into the Shadows in front of him.

Agnes roared up beside him, bloody murder burning in Makoto’s eyes, but a nod redirected her to work on checking Haru over and healing her up. Given that the naginata was already removed, it would likely be an easy job - as easy as healing a potentially fatal stab wound could ever be - but Makoto wasn’t the type to leave anything to chance. 

As the icicles sank their bitter teeth into Ren and Sato, Haru’s axe dislodged itself and fell to the ground. 

“Joker, stop!” Futaba called in his ear, hardly audible over the scraping sounds of ice against ice as he slammed frosty tirade after frosty tirade into his parents. “They’re about to retaliate!”

He almost ignored her until a golden light shone from within the steadily growing iceberg, melting the wall enough for an arrow to carve its way out, shooting past his head and shattering their encasement like glass. Akira had to raise his arms to shield himself - and Makoto and Haru - from the spray.

“Guys, keep an eye out!” Futaba panicked. “That mystery presence is on the move and heading our way!” Shit. He glanced aside, seeing Makoto helping Haru onto Agnes, and looked back up just in time to dodge out of the way of an overhead slice. 

“Oracle, how healthy are they looking?” he queried, scanning across their forms for any signs of damage. They looked fine to his eyes, not a sign of damage - 

Hold on.

“They’re… no, that can’t be right…” Futaba muttered to herself as Akira scanned across his parents. They looked… completely unharmed. Not even Sato’s dress was cut, even though not even a minute before he’d seen Haru sink an axe into her shoulder. “It looks like they’re back to full, but there’s no way...”

Joker retreated from a sudden onslaught from Sato, the attacks too fast and fierce for him to parry, and shifted instinctively to Fafnir as he felt himself fall just an instant behind. 

And, immediately, one of her strikes hit home. The naginata glanced off his skin, shock evident in Sato’s face, and he couldn’t resist giving her a smug smirk before calling Fafnir to blast her back with a Cosmic Flare. The explosion knocked her off her feet, and Joker watched Ren draw his bowstring back, aimed directly at him.

Feeling Fafnir’s protective embrace, Joker rolled his eyes and turned to check on the rest of his team.

Ren released his arrow.

“So you’re telling me that your son-”

“That delinquent is not our son anymore,” Sato hissed, prompting Dojima to take a step back and put a hand up defensively. “He shirked that privilege the moment he joined a group like the Phantom Thieves.”

“Alright, alright.” Dojima took a deep breath, watching the secretary retreat to the office and unfortunately wishing he could follow. “You say you found some calling cards in his room. Are you certain they’re legitimate? All the kids these days want to be Phantom Thieves. We’ve had a hundred so-called Phantom Thieves in the past few months.”

“Of course they’re legitimate.” Ren dug a hand into his bag and pulled out a messy handful of metal and twine, which he scattered across the counter. “We found these handmade lockpicks in his room, along with multiple weapons, including both guns and knives. He was hiding them under his bed.”

Dojima bit back a grimace. He had a feeling there was more at play here than either of the two were letting on, but he was legally obliged to investigate if the kid had unlawful possession of weapons.

“Can you believe we’ve had such a criminal under our roof?” Sato asked, turning to Ren but shooting a glare towards Dojima like he was somehow at fault. “Really, he’s lucky he hid all of this for as long as he has. I thought it was suspicious when he went away for the summer and the Phantom Thieves came back, but I was naive to believe our son was still in there somewhere.” She directed her words back to Ren, sickeningly saccharine. “It seems that we’ve been inadequate parents to him-” her gaze slid back across the table, icy, “but he’s beyond our control now.”

Ren nodded. “It’s time for us to hand him over to the police.”

Dojima sighed. “Listen, I know you’re worried, but we’re busy right now,” he lied through his teeth, stepping out from behind the front desk. “This seems like a private matter. Besides, I know Kurusu-kun myself. He tutors my daughter-”

Ren scoffed, and the look of revulsion that briefly crossed Sato’s face was enough to shatter Dojima’s focus. The two exchanged a glance, Sato tilting her head slightly at her husband.

Ren glanced at Dojima, then turned back to Sato and shook his head. “I’m sure he’ll confess on his own,” Ren muttered to Sato, “and we don’t want to bring up… that without proof. If he doesn’t know…”

“If I don’t know what, exactly?” Dojima growled, taking another step forward. “Is there something going on with my daughter that I should know about?”

“Why don’t you ask her yourself, Dojima-san?” Sato asked, viciously bright smile coming to her face. “After all, she’s been associating with such a criminal. Maybe something’s rubbed off on her.”

The words crawled under his skin, and he felt himself bristle. “I don’t know what the hell you’re trying to imply here, but-”

“Oh, Takagi-san!” Ren’s voice rang out across the room, suddenly directed away from their conversation. “Excellent, excellent, you’re just the man we’ve been looking for.”

Dojima followed the direction of his voice to his supervisor’s face, unease cutting into the anger burning in his chest.

“Ren-kun!” Takagi laughed, slapping Ren on the back like an old friend. “It’s not often that I see you around here. What’s the occasion?”

“Chief, I-” Dojima began to explain, but Ren talked over him.

“Unfortunately, we’re here to report a threat to our lives,” Ren stated, voice grave. “I don’t feel comfortable talking freely here, especially when the matter is so sensitive - my wife is really shaken up, you know. Do you mind taking us to your office? ” 

“Of course, of course.” Takagi shook his head, suddenly sombre, slinging an arm around Ren’s shoulders as he offered a polite hand to Sato. “Follow me, please,” he said. He turned back, nodding towards Dojima. “Thanks, Dojima-san, but I’ll take this on personally. You can head back to your desk.”

Dojima shook his head and stepped forward, gesturing to Ren and Sato with his jacket. “I’m sorry, sir, but I’ve already requested to take any Phantom Thief related cases, because of my prior-”

“The Phantom Thieves?!” Takagi exclaimed, looking between the Kurusus with a new eye. “No, no, Dojima-san, I’ve got this covered. I have a few people I’ll need to talk to…” Takagi took off, Sato and Ren trailing behind as he mumbled to himself and tapped notes into his phone. 

Sato flashed him a smirk as she walked off. 

Shit.

Dojima stormed back into the office, addressing the secretary who had taken refuge at his desk. “They’re gone, the Chief showed up and took care of them-” he paused, frazzled. “I’ve gotta make a personal call, so you sit here and tell anybody who asks after me I’ll be back in a sec.”

The secretary saluted and Dojima ran outside, searching through his contacts and hitting call almost before he was alone.

“Naoto-kun, we have a problem.”

The world flashed a blinding white, and Akira realised, belatedly, that he’d heard Futaba scream. He turned towards her, stiffly - but he couldn’t see anything. 

The dizziness hit first, and he sank to the ground, blinking tears out of his eyes until the pain overcame his senses. He fought to stay aware, a scream tearing from his throat. 

“- Almighty element, everybody! If-” Futaba’s words pierced through his head, fading into an inarticulate, distant babble. Something detonated behind him, and he staggered from the force of the impact. By the time he pulled his senses together, a tender arm was hooking itself around his waist. 

“Careful, Joker,” Yusuke warned, hefting him back up to his feet. “Skull and Noir are holding them off, but that shaft pierced through you.”

Akira nodded, the movement pulling his shoulder just enough to make him wince. He followed along with Yusuke, carefully making his way across the fractured ground to an area of relative safety.

“Shit!” Ryuji hissed, a crackle of lightning echoing through the chamber. “Why haven’t they effin’ transformed into monsters already?!” The clang of metal on metal rang out as he spoke, each one punctuated by a grunt. “Monsters are way easier to fight!”

“Why would we become monsters?” Ren laughed, punctuating his statement with an arrow that buried itself into William and detonated, the Persona shuddering and dissipating. 

“After all,” Sato added, naginata gouging a hole in Ryuji’s jacket, “we’re not the ones trying to murder their own parents.”

“I’m not fucking trying to kill anybody!” Joker snapped, whipping around on the spot, Yusuke’s panicked protests going unheard in his anger. “What kind of person do you take me for?!”

“You know exactly what you are, Akira.” Ren slammed his bow against the ground and stood tall, staring down on him from the dais. “You’re the trash of society - a piece of shit criminal. You’re nothing more than any of the rest of them! Thieves, murderers, rapists…” he trailed off, laughing darkly. “You’re just another-”

“Monster,” Akira interrupted, but his mouth didn’t move. “That’s all I am, after all, and all I’ll ever be.”

“Akira!” Futaba shrieked, voice trembling. “The mystery presence is here, and it’s-”

“It’s me, of course,” came Akira’s voice again, and Joker turned.

Akira stood lazily in a doorway that led deeper into the Palace, head tilted away from the action. He tossed Paradise Lost in the air, watching the blade revolve. The metal flashed in the air and his figure flickered around the edges, as though reality itself couldn’t decide the truth. He held out his hand and turned back to the group - as the hilt landed in his palm, effortless and perfect, blood-red gloves solidified into reality. “Terribly drab, I know, but what else would you expect?”

Silence echoed as Akira pushed himself off the frame and sauntered in, face down and watching the ground. He carefully stepped over a few piles of rubble and tiptoed across a few fractured tiles, taking care to step on every crack he could. “Step on a crack, break your mother’s back?” Akira pondered out loud, slamming a foot down and shattering the floor, a river of cracks rolling out from the impact site.

“Honestly, Joker, I don’t know why you’re even trying to take these two out.” Akira danced across the cracks, sliding across the ground like it was made of ice. “You’ve seen it already, haven’t you? They know what we are now-” and Akira whipped his head up, eyes glinting dangerously behind a white domino mask “- so there’s nothing we can hide behind anymore.”

“That’s… Joker’s mask…?”

Akira traced the edges of the mask lightly with his fingers, a grin curling its way across his face. “You know, I’ve really gotta thank you, Joker.” Akira nodded to him. “You’re the only reason I can feel so powerful right now.”

“Me…?” Joker asked, grip loosening on his knife just a hair.

“Of course you, who the fuck else would I be talking about?” Akira sneered, placing his hand on the back of his neck. “Do you have any idea what it feels like to know you’re fake? Some pathetic little cognitive prop playing a part and being puppeteered by his parents’ strings?”

“He knows he’s just a cognition?” Morgana asked, the words barely leaving his mouth before Akira pointed his knife at him.

“Exactly! We all do - and don’t you think it’s weird? How there’s so many of us, and we all play our parts, fully aware of each other?” Not giving time for an answer, Akira swept forward, striding towards Sato and Ren. “Of course, that’s what happens when the thing you’re made from is too smart for his own good. Everything I am I owe to you. I am you, Joker.”

Akira stopped in front of the marble stage Ren still stood on, the shining white revealing a hint of purple smoke wisping from his body. “Of course, I’m kept in line by our wonderful Curators. But… you know there’s still a way out, right?”

“What are you talking about?” Joker asked, watching the expression on his twin’s face morph from mocking to genuine.

“Give up,” he said quietly. “Give up, crawl back to them and beg for forgiveness. Turn in your Phantom Thief friends and give in to the whims of the god you killed, like you should have from the start.”

“Wait-”

“They fucking know about that?!”

“Akira, you didn’t tell your parents about-”

“Oh, shut up already,” Sato groaned, dragging her naginata against the floor. She’d been content to stand and listen silently with all the rest, watching her son with an unrestrained glee in her eyes, but now she just looked annoyed. “We all know what you did. On the day the sky turned red, we all saw it. Every Shadow in every Palace watched our God creating our perfect new world - and you murdered him! He was going to make my museum a reality and you tore that away from us!”

“You think Yaldabaoth was going to grant you anything you wanted?” Joker spat, throwing his arm forward and gesturing wildly at Sato. “That tyrant was going to enslave all of us to a life without free will and you think I’m in the wrong here?”

“Oh, get over yourself!” Akira roared, slamming his foot into the ground again. “It was just another shitty grasp for power, a way of spiting a world that didn’t bend to our every whim and had the fucking gall to demand some level of propriety.”

Joker was struck dumb, just staring at his copy like it had grown a second head. His throat tightened, something on the edge of his mind, but he shoved it off to yell back at Akira. “A grasp for power? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Still playing the fool, I see.”

“I’m not playing anything!”

“No?” Akira raised a hand to the mask on his face, fingers resting on its inner edge. “You don’t call this playing the hero, sauntering around like everybody’s saviour?”

“Joker, he’s…” Futaba trailed off, a muttered ‘what the fuck’ barely audible through the silence. “His power level is rising. He’s so much more powerful than any cognition we’ve seen before. Why is he so strong?”

“Because I’m the Leader of the Phantom Thieves, little girl.” Akira’s fingers tightened on his mask. “And if that wasn’t enough, you’ve all made such excellent… case studies.”

“Case studies?” Makoto echoed.

“I’ve watched you all fight,” Akira said conversationally, a cracking noise emanating from his domino mask, “and seen your powers. Why wouldn’t I have them too?”

He wrenched his hand downwards, his mask cracking down the middle and tearing, half coming away in his hand with a torrent of blood pouring from the space where it had been. The other half still hung on his face, splattered with red.

“Persona.”

The mask shard in his hand ignited, dark flames racing up his arm and engulfing him, blood catching like gasoline and lighting an inferno that climbed through the air, an explosion of heat and light and sound and power that sent Joker reeling, ears ringing from the force. 

“The readings are beyond anything I’ve ever seen!” Futaba babbled, voice trembling through the air. “This power isn’t coming from anywhere except himself, how the fuck is he so powerful?”

“I told you already,” came a bellow from within the firestorm, “who I am. Here, witness what your hero really is!”

All at once the flames died down, fading away with his last word. Akira stood alone in a scorched ring, a manic grin consuming his face as the air around him distorted. He raised Paradise Lost to the sky and shrieked, voice ripping out of his throat. “This is the one who ruined even a god!”

Akira’s form rippled, Paradise Lost sinking downwards and melding into his hand. As the blade disappeared, lines of silver and gold traced their way down his flesh, a black mesh forming between them and covering his skin like a suit of armour. He brought his hand to his chest and screamed, the sound raw and unrelenting as his chest took on the same unnatural hues. The deafening noise continued, filling the room even as Akira’s form swelled and grew, the tiles cracking around his feet.

It was like nothing they’d ever seen before, the way Akira’s body tore and shattered as it expanded. That ear-splitting scream continued unabated the whole time, ever so slowly deepening in pitch as the creature enveloped more and more of the room.

Horns sprouted from his head, golden rods that curved downwards and out, framing his bloody face and half-mask that remained unchanged even through everything. From behind him, onyx wings sprouted, spreading themselves wide through the room and sucking the light from it. Long metallic arms expanded outwards, sharp spines protruding from a silver plating that ran across his body. A crimson streak cascaded down it, stains from the bloody stream embossing themselves into his chest and dripping down his waist.

Joker’s mask burned away on its own as Satanael forced himself out, roaring his own challenge out and levelling his rifle at the growing form.

I shan’t allow this mockery to stand.

The demon lord’s words rang out across the room, and finally, finally, the unabating scream died out, the river running down the creature’s face slowing to a trickle. The room was unsettlingly silent for a moment, until deep red eyes opened behind that half mask and the monstrous Akira’s face twisted into a sharp grin. 

“It seems,” and its words tore into the air like a hurricane, “that a pesky little imp has wandered across the battlefield.” Slowly the creature raised a hand, easily the size of Satanael’s entire form, and as if simply swatting a fly, flicked it down towards the Persona.

Joker’s vision went black, the sudden backlash of pain filtering through from Satanael bringing him to his knees before the Persona dissipated entirely. The raucous laughter booming through the room echoed in his head. 

A wave of green swept over his vision, colours slowly fading back into view, and Akira looked up dazed at Morgana, Diego’s Salvation raining down on the team. 

This battle seems to be lost. Perhaps it is time we make our exit?

Akira mouthed Arsène’s words, struggling to process anything happening around him as Morgana pushed another wave of magic through his body. He pushed himself to his feet, skull pounding, and stared up at their gargantuan opponent.

His team circled around him, Futaba and Morgana standing next to him. He felt worried eyes on him, but held his head high. “Akira,” he said loudly, looking into the Satanael-esque cognition in front of him, “why are you fighting us?”

“Do you mean to appeal to my sense of reason now?” he asked, Joker’s mask shining as he tilted his head downwards. “Too afraid to face me, so instead you try to dodge around, turn me against the Curators that so graciously granted me life?”

“We’re on the same side, Akira,” Joker insisted, looking pointedly towards Ren and Sato standing at fake-Satanael’s heel. “You know we are! You are me, aren’t you?”

“In all ways but one,” Sato stated, leaning on her naginata. “Do you know what that is?”

Joker found no appropriate response, and Ren laughed. 

“He already lost. Unlike you he knows when he’s been outmatched, and he’s decided to crawl back and beg for our forgiveness. You should learn a thing or two, Aki-bō.”

“I won’t-” Joker started, but the cognitive Satanael’s growl cut him off.

“But we will. We always will. You act like you’re so high and mighty, but the moment we have any chance to scuttle back home and hide away we do it. We’re nothing without them. They made us who we are, and as soon as we get over ourselves they’ll fix us again.” 

“Bull-fucking-shit!” Ryuji yelled, stamping his foot against the ground. “That ain’t our leader at all! You’re just making shit up to suit your own agenda!”

“I know Joker better than anybody else!” Morgana added, flourishing his sword in the air. “You didn’t do crap to make him who he is - you just tried to take that all away and replace it with a doll you could control!”

“And what’s wrong with that? ” Sato hissed, stepping forward from the shadow of Satanael’s heel. “We’re his parents - you don’t think we know best for him? Look at everything he’s done - his actions speak for themselves. There’s no redemption for people like him - only surrender.”

“We won’t let you touch him!” Ann declared, cracking her whip on the ground. “We’ll change your hearts and show you the truth!”

“Very well,” the cognition rumbled, footfalls echoing through the room as it strode forward, “then may the best man win.”

It reached upwards, holding both hands above its head. Joker realised its plan a split second after Futaba, her scream shattering the air above them as those gargantuan fists barreled towards them and bashed against a black barrier. Futaba crumpled to her knees with her arms raised above her. 

“Queen!” Joker yelled, hearing a detonation above them as the titan crashed into the barrier again. “Oracle won’t hold out much longer, get her to safety!” Futaba’s Final Guard flickered and she groaned, but she threw another burst of power out as another blow shook the room.

Makoto scooped Futaba up in a fireman’s carry and climbed into Agnes, Futaba still staring blankly at her barrier with arms outstretched. “I should be able to take,” she said, voice unsettlingly dead, “one or two more hits. Scatter after the next one - a direct blow from that thing will kill any of us on the spot. Your Persona might be able to handle it, but don’t count on it.” 

With that final instruction, the barrier over them split, Futaba keening in pain as it restitched over them again, smaller this time. Everybody spread as far out as they could, and Yusuke pulled Gorokichi forwards and sent another Hyakka Ryouran racing across the party’s skin. “Everybody ready?” Joker asked, watching their ceiling carefully. Arsène’s words echoed through his mind, and for a moment he faltered, looking around the Thieves carefully. 

They were determined, every single one of them. Even Futaba, who looked barely better than death warmed up, had her face set, goggles long since burned away thanks to holding Final Guard up for so long. 

They hadn’t come this far just to run away.

Joker steeled himself.

“What do you mean your jurisdiction is blocked?” Dojima groaned, squeezing his phone like he could reach through and choke whatever was causing the issue.

“Takagi-san has powerful friends, it seems,” Naoto answered steadily. “I don’t know who, but our demand to seize the case was rejected. Without tangible proof that this operation involves anything the Shadow Operatives specialise in, this classifies as a terrorist act, rather than-”

“But that’s bullshit!”  

“I know, and we’re working on tracking down whoever blocked us and convincing them to let us take this, but they’ve been resistant for as long as we’ve suspected Shadow activity in Tokyo.” 

“So what do you need?”

“We can’t let them get their hands on any of the Phantom Thieves, but there’s no chance they’ll trust you if you do encounter them. Do everything in your power to keep them safe.”

“You realise what you’re asking me to do, right?” 

“I don’t ask this lightly.” 

Dojima sighed into the phone. “It’s times like this I regret giving up smoking.”

Ann snapped her whip up, diving under an arrow that detonated behind her and yanking Sato’s naginata away from her face. She hit the ground with a roll and bounded forward, a giant dark arm slamming into the ground where she just stood.

This wasn’t sustainable, and she knew it. She threw out an Agidyne, Célestine popping into existence for just long enough to cast the spell and winking out again as a golden arrow pierced what would have been her chest. The Satanael copy slammed its arm into the ground again and swept it towards her, tearing stones from the ground as it hurtled towards her. 

She dashed forwards, putting enough extra distance between the trunk of an arm and her that it could force Sato and Ren to halt their assault, clawing at any momentary reprieve she could find.

As soon as Futaba’s barrier had dropped and the group scattered, it was immediately clear that the tide of battle had changed. With Satanael’s presence, the already really difficult fight they’d been struggling through was close to impossible as the trio focused their assault on her. 

“Metatron!” Joker yelled, blinding light igniting behind her and Satanael’s arm pausing for just a moment. The titan turned away, voice rumbling through the air and saying something Ann was too busy to listen to as she sprinted for some kind of opening, space to catch her breath, anything. 

She found herself on the podium where Sato and Ren started the fight, turning mid-step defensively to block some kind of attack.

She lowered her whip in confusion, watching the trio turn their attention on somebody else - Yusuke, she was pretty sure, judging from the wall of ice that blocked a naginata strike - as if they hadn’t even seen her. 

She needed a chance to catch her breath, so… why look a gift horse in the mouth?

Makoto revved Agnes, Futaba near-catatonic squashed awkwardly in the side of the driver’s seat. She’d retreated, intending to deposit their worn navigator somewhere safe, but every time she tried to come to a stop another golden arrow embedded itself in the wall and chased her out. She had no idea how the Shadow was able to split its attention so well - she’d be envious if she didn’t want to treat him to an Atomic Flare - but it was making it almost impossible to breathe. 

She watched as red-purple flames ignited on Ryuji - the cognition of Satanael apparently having access to Curse magic on top of everything else - and silently apologised to Futaba as she floored it, her tyres squealing as she glided over the cracked and torn tiles.

Ryuji didn’t even have time to yell as she yanked him by the collar and threw him across her hood ornament, a groan emanating simultaneously from Agnes and Ryuji as he hit the angel’s headwings and slid in between them. 

Ryuji continued to groan unintelligibly as Makoto weaved between holes in the floor, a roar sending an earthquake that nearly tipped Agnes through the floor. A titanic fist pounded the ground behind her, a spike of marble shattering upwards into her tires and sending a searing pain through Makoto’s head. 

“Over here, Queen!” somebody yelled. Makoto’s head hurt too much to tell who it was, but she turned Agnes blindly in their direction and slammed down her accelerator. 

Agnes dissipated under her and sent all three of them hurtling forwards, Makoto feeling her body burn from overexertion even as somebody caught her out of the air and held her against them.

“Queen, are you okay?” Ann asked, gently coursing a Dia through her system, numbing the ache of her body and clearing up some of the spots in front of her eyes. “It’s okay, I’ve got you, deep breaths.”

Another charge of Dia through her and Makoto stood herself up, leaning on Ann’s shoulder as she got her bearings back. She looked out weakly from the podium they stood on, something niggling at the back of her mind as she watched the two Shadows and the cognitive Satanael turn their targets on somebody else.

She heard Sumire muttering quietly behind them, and she turned her head just enough to see Ella hovering over a slowly-awakening Futaba. 

“Yoshitsune!” came a distant call, and the familiar voice jolted Makoto back to life. 

“Joker!” she gasped, throwing herself off of Ann’s shoulder and stumbling forward. “Where is he? Are we safe?”

“For some reason, they don’t seem to be attacking us up here,” Ann explained from behind, a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Joker’s the only one who hasn’t made it up here yet, but in a sec we’ll-”

“Trap.” Futaba sputtered, Sumire and Ella both hovering around her nervously. “Trap trap it’s a trap shit shit-”

Makoto didn’t get a moment to ask what she was talking about before a sheet of glass slammed down around them, encasing all the Thieves on stage.

Joker blazed with blue flame, igniting in a conflagration that swept across his form and burned his outfit away the moment the glass cage hit down. The fire caught him off-balance, and Yoshitsune flickered for a moment, Sato’s naginata almost swooping down before the samurai reappeared and blocked the blow again. She didn’t press the attack any further, though, retreating a step into the shadow of the towering cognition at their backs.

“What did you do?” Akira demanded, Yoshitsune fading back into his soul. Satanael pulled forward, and even without summoning him Akira could feel the demon’s presence curling around him. “What the fuck did you do to my team?”

“Language, Aki-tan,” Sato laughed, hooking an arm around Ren’s shoulders. “We just thought it would be nice to show off what, exactly, made you like this.” She waved her naginata loosely in his direction, Akira stepping back defensively on reflex.

“Like what, exactly?” he asked, circling around carefully towards the plinth. He didn’t take his eyes off the Shadows for a second, ever mindful of his father’s bow and the false Satanael with his face. 

“Don’t play dumb, Akira,” the beast hissed, shifting forward a titan’s step. “Like me. Like the monster who got so caught up in his own self-righteousness that even all of humanity’s will wasn’t enough to convince him he was wrong.”

“And you want to blame that on the Thieves?” he retorted, his hand shifting to the knife at his hip. “You don’t even know them and you cast that judgment on them?”

“It doesn’t matter, Aki-bō.” Ren just shook his head, exchanging a mournful glance with his wife. “You’ll be free of their influence now that we’ve put them on display - they shouldn’t mean anything to you now. Come back to us, and I promise I’ll make sure you get back to who you used to be.”

Akira made his way up to the glass cage as Ren spoke, and he cast his Third Eye over it, searching for a weak point. 

Inside, he saw Sumire standing tall, a hand resting on the edge of her mask. She was speaking to the other Thieves behind her, but he couldn’t hear anything she said, the glass too thick for sound to get through. He stepped to the side as Sumire removed her mask, and watched Ella take shape. 

There was a moment of deafening silence as even the Shadows watched Ella step forward, ethereal swords sparkling into existence as Sumire prepared Masquerade. 

Her attack impacted the glass, and Ella shattered, Sumire staggering backwards as every other Thief collapsed, grimaces of pain evident across the board. Sato and Ren laughed, a sweeping echo that made something in Akira burn.  

“Don’t they realise,” Sato asked, watching the pained Thieves with delight, “that everything they do just reflects on themselves?”

Akira ignored her and focused, sweeping his Third Eye over the cage again, searching for anything he could use to get them out. The case wasn’t particularly tall, but it was securely fastened to the ground with metal rivets. Solid all the way around, without a single solitary crack anywhere, even where Ella’s attack had impacted. It seemed impenetrable.

“Aki-tan!” Sato called, waving cheerfully at him. “You don’t need to look so serious - they’re locked away now, and you don’t need to worry about anything they’ll do ever again. Come on back home.”

“Let them out.” 

“Now, why would we do that?” Ren asked, shrugging Sato’s arm off his shoulder and nocking his bow. “You’ll be so much better off without them, you know.”

“I said, let them out.” Satanael burned into existence, his rifle mimicking Akira’s actions as he pointed his Tyrant Pistol towards the silent cognition. 

The false Satanael shifted at the challenge, spreading his wings to their full width. “You’ve already tried that. Or did you forget already how outclassed you are?”

“I won’t let you hurt them,” Akira growled, finger tightening on the trigger. 

Sato yawned, mockingly putting her hand over her mouth. “Do you really want to try and hurt us there, Aki-tan?” she asked, tilting her head towards his gun. “I think it might reflect poorly on the people who did this to you.”

Akira hesitated. 

“Just come back to us, Aki-tan!” Sato urged, stepping forward with her arms spread wide. “We can fix you!”

“So you’d just forgive me?” Akira asked, taking a few steps around the glass case. “After everything you say I’ve done, you’d just forgive me?”

Ren nodded, hanging his bow off his shoulder and reaching his hand out. “Just be our son again, Akira, without any of this acting out, and there will always be an exhibit for you. We’ll always be here to help you improve.”

“You really would?” Akira asked again, dropping to his knees and placing a hand on the metal rivet beside the cage. He mumbled below his breath, shaking his head from side to side, before looking up at his parents again. “As long as I did what you said, you’d let me back into your home?”

“We already told you that,” Sato groaned. “Don’t make us repeat ourselves - yes, we would. Just abandon all this bullshit and come back and do what we need you to instead of whatever the fuck else you do.”

Akira straightened up again from where he crouched beside the glass cage, a bit further back than he started. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” he asked, with surprisingly little bite.

“Excuse me?” Sato snapped, bringing her naginata back up into battle position. 

Akira gestured up to the towering demon behind them. “You see me as that thing and you would take me back? You’ve accused me of, god, the worst fucking thing I’ve ever been accused of in my life - and I’ve been accused of MURDER - and you would just accept me?” Akira stamped his foot into the ground, metal crunching under it. 

Sato nodded. “It doesn’t matter, Aki-tan. As long as you aren’t going to do it again, and you just let us help you, then you won’t cause problems for us ever again.”

“I really can’t believe…” Akira shook his head, and turned to the glass, placing a hand on it gingerly. “What do you guys think?” he asked the glass, looking from the Thieves inside to the ground meaningfully. 

Inside, Yusuke - who was talking over his shoulder to the rest of the group - grimaced, pointing to Futaba, who was still lying in Sumire’s lap on the floor, sipping water slowly from a water bottle. He held up a piece of paper which had “We need to get out of here” scribbled on it, and Akira…

Akira looked back behind him, to where his mother was clearly growing impatient, the cognitive Satanael watching him silently with a smile fixed in place. Purple smoke wisped around him again, melting in and out of the blood-red stream cascading down his chest.

He recognised that smoke, could almost place it, and he was sure there was some way to win here, an answer hidden that if he only tried a little harder he could reach… but he looked back at Futaba, who was coughing weakly, and at Ryuji, whose head was being gently bandaged by Ann, and Makoto, who was swaying from side to side and didn’t even seem to notice. 

Even he was reaching his limit, spell after spell after spell burning away at him, draining him of energy he’d barely had a full night’s rest to regain. 

They couldn’t keep this up. He burned to fight, but their position was untenable. Even if the mockery of Satanael wasn’t nearing the strength of a God, his parents were already dangerous beyond belief with tricks he was so close to pinning down - but Futaba was out for the count, and he couldn’t do it on his own.

He looked back through the glass and met Haru’s eyes - stony, burning with furious determination that would fight and fight and fight for him until her final breath, but… He didn’t want her to draw it. He didn’t want any of them to draw it. 

“Okay,” Akira said aloud, stepping away from the glass case. “You win.”

Ren’s eyes opened wide, and he took a step forward in shock. “You’re giving in?”

“I won’t steal your Treasures,” Akira bit out, Satanael chafing in his soul at the words. “You beat me.”

Sato waved her naginata away, rippling and reshaping itself back into the locket that pinned itself to her breast. She opened her arms wide, encouraging, and the false Satanael took a small step backwards. “Come and join us, Aki-tan,” she smiled, more affection than Akira could ever remember seeing for him before, “and we’ll make you the best you can be.”

Akira raised a hand to his face, and turned one final time to look at the new exhibit. “Vacuum Wave,” he whispered, and he heard a yell from behind him as a hurricane slammed into the metal rivets - the only weak spot in an otherwise impenetrable trap - tearing them out of the ground and destabilising the glass entirely. The wind tore at the bottom of the glass, digging under it and slowly, slowly lifting it up off the ground, high enough for Morgana’s Garudyne to add to his attack and tip the case back. Akira’s costume burned back into existence as it crashed down, sending shards of glass everywhere as the case collapsed in on itself. 

“Everybody, link hands!” Joker yelled, pulling on a Persona he’d never used before. Reaching out and grabbing onto Haru’s hand, he spared a moment to check that everybody was together - they were, even Futaba on her feet now and nodding at him - before ripping his mask off. “Nodens,” he intoned, feeling the unfamiliar Persona tear itself into reality, the once-Shadow’s power channelled into something he knew instinctively how to use. “Trafuri.”

Reality warped, and Ren’s arrow scorched through the air and past where Akira had been, cutting through what would have been his heart and detonating harmlessly just beyond.

“After them!” Ren roared, feeling their Palace shift and warp unnaturally just a room over. “Don’t let them escape.”

10/7. ?????

Akira pulled the stunned group forward even before the world solidified in front of their eyes. “We need to get out,” Akira hissed, dragging them all behind him. “I barely got us out of danger - come on, let’s go.”

Makoto shook her head from side to side as if dislodging water, but nodded. “Oracle, can you navigate us to the exit?”

“Y-yeah,” Futaba stammered, looking around quickly to regain her bearings after teleporting -   because that was a thing Akira could do now, apparently. She’d noticed the power in the Persona the last time she examined it, but it was unharnessed, untrained, not so much a spell as potential. “Down this hall,” she pointed, “but all the Shadows in the Palace just turned back on.”

Akira nodded and set off, clutching his knife so tight the material of his gloves was beginning to pull. Futaba just followed behind him, the sounds around her muffled behind the ache in her skull, but she sent a pulse through Al Azif’s sensors anyway. “Parent Shadows on the move, big fuck-off Satanael is staying still. We’re on the wrong side of the wall for them to get to us quickly. I’ll keep an eye out for smaller Shadows, since we definitely don’t have time or energy to fight them.”

Ann frowned, placing a hand on her shoulder gently. Futaba distantly noted that the shoulder in question fucking burned, probably dislocated at best, but they didn’t have time to heal it, so she pushed Ann off and followed Joker a little more closely. Besides, she could barely feel it - or anything at all, really - when she wasn’t thinking about it, so she was fine. 

“Shadows up ahead,” Akira reported, coat swishing behind him as he turned to the group. “Oracle, recommendation?”

She closed her eyes for a moment, shaking off her exhaustion again. “We’re gonna just have to make a run for it,” she determined, mapping out the Shadow densities ahead of them. “This is our best bet - there’s no way we get out by any other route before there’s too many to burst through. They’ll raise the alarm, but as long as we stay on our toes we can blast our way out.”

“Is everybody going to be able to handle that?” Morgana asked, looking around the group in concern. His gaze lingered on Futaba for a long moment, sweeping between the multiple cuts and bruises she was steadfast in ignoring, before turning back to Akira. 

Futaba stepped forward, ignoring the twinge in her arm. “We don’t have another choice.” she emphasised, waving her good (better) arm around. Her mind mapped out a thousand possibilities at once, methodical to the point that it was unclear where she ended and Al Azif’s processing began. “There’s not even enough space for your bus form, Mona, and Queen’s so burned out that Agnes is gonna struggle to carry her, let alone anybody else.” Her throat burned, and she stifled back something that might have been the sting of tears, or maybe just the sear of overexertion in her lungs. “Nobody’s-” she choked, hissing out half a breath, “nobody’s fucking coming to save us, okay?”

Her unexpectedly harsh words bit out, Morgana looking at her, shocked. “Oracle, I’ll help with-”

“We need to go!” she barked, feeling the Shadows ahead growing in number. “Just focus on running, okay?! I’ll call out attacks to keep them off our backs, but just run already!”

Everybody hesitated but Joker, who slammed his hands together. She didn’t - couldn’t - quite meet his gaze. “She’s right. Come on,” he said, and turned away.

Joker sprinted forwards, kicking the door in front of them off its hinges and slamming it into one of the waiting Shadows’ faces. It staggered back and he rushed past, stepping around the swung baton of a security Shadow and vaulting over another one. 

“Joker, Blazing Hell the entryway behind us!” Futaba commanded, and he turned in an instant, Surt coming quickly to his call. The wooden frame ignited and a moment later Ann dashed through, the only one who hadn’t crossed over yet. Even as he barreled forwards again, a part of him worried about Futaba, whose voice grew audibly more strained and short of breath as they continued to run. 

They were almost there, though. The twisting Palace hallways were growing wider, the few Shadow-swarmed side doors he’d been able to snatch a glance through showing earlier and earlier exhibits. 

“Skull, prep for a God’s Hand. There’s a door ahead that Joker won’t be able to kick through.”

Ryuji just gave a yell and slowed a half step, a thrum of power emanating from him, before he dashed forward past even Joker and around the corner.

“God’s Hand!” he cried from out of sight, and a scream of shattered wood and stone tore through the building. 

“Nice one, Skull!” Futaba yelled, voice cracking and a cough bursting from her throat, but she was excited. “Just a little bit more to go!”

“The front door’s up ahead! Just take the next left and go straight, and we’re out!” 

Hearing this, Joker doubled his pace, chest aching but the adrenaline washing the pain away. He slammed the door in front of him and burst through, emerging into the main hall of the museum. 

The hall was absolutely littered with Shadows, a horde milling about and covering the entrances and exits. He cut through the Shadow in front of him without a blink and pivoted sharply to the left, kicking the disintegrating corpse out of the way and continuing forward. 

“Joker, the moment you get to the door, rip it down!” Futaba said, a yelp following shortly after as she almost slipped on the sleek tiles of the hall. “Queen, back him up. It’s solid, but a double Atomic Flare from you two should get through and leave a big enough hole for everybody to get through.”

“Noted!” he replied, concentrating his energy as he ran. Agnes roared up beside him.

“You ready?” Makoto hissed through clenched teeth, the strain of the spell she was preparing obvious. 

“Let’s do this,” he grinned, mask shattering as he held a hand out to Makoto. Agnes dissipated and she took his hand, their magic flowing together, mixing and melding into something new he didn’t recognise but knew with all his being. Cybele and Agnes burned into being above them, intertwined, and the spell coalesced.

“NUCLEAR BLAST!” they shouted in unison. The spell crackled in the air, a ball of supercharged energy, before Cybele took one of her blades and cut it in half.

The entire wall in front of them exploded, rock spewing out and tearing into a mob of Shadows outside. The few shards of the door itself that remained were scorched black, burned into pure carbon, but most of it had been vaporised by the explosive force.

Akira and Makoto cheered, the excitement of their newly fused spell rattling between them, before they disconnected - there was no other word for it - from each other, and the two simultaneously sagged in place, their Personae shimmering out of existence as exhaustion hit them both.

Futaba sprinted up beside them, chest heaving but eyes sparkling more than they had the entire run out of the palace. “What the FUCK was that, you guys?!” she asked, awe in her eyes. “You two just combined?”

Makoto raised a hand to the side of her head and winced, knees buckling slightly. “Not sure, but it took,” and Makoto took a deep breath, “a lot more out of me than I thought it would.”

“We still need to get out of here, I know,” Futaba nodded, “but we need to talk about what you two - Joker, behind you!”

Akira turned on a dime and threw himself back, a Shadow’s fist slamming down where he was standing. The Shadow itself was bubbling, about to transform, and Joker swore as he noticed just how many Shadows there were around them. Their spell had done the job, but they hadn’t exactly considered volume before tearing the door down.

Futaba stared out into the mob, the phantom of Al Azif around her. The rest of the group caught up to them, huffing and puffing, a few trailing Shadow goo from their weapons, but Futaba didn’t even seem to notice, fully focused on whatever she was processing.

Finally she snapped back to reality, shaking her head from side to side, and then wincing and putting a hand against her temple. “Guys, Joker’s parents are almost here, and there’s another wave of Shadows coming with them. Our exit is only on the other side of that mob, we just need to get through and we’re golden.”

Ryuji started to say something, but he was interrupted by the sound of something breaking distantly. Joker looked back and watched a long dark arm tear through the back of the main hall like paper.

“Shit!” Ryuji yelped, looking at the same sight.

“Stop gawking and let’s go!” Ann yelled, pushing Ryuji from behind. 

Futaba reached up and snapped her goggles onto her face, face set in a grimace. “I’ll guide everybody out. Get out as soon as you can - we don’t have time to all group up before we get out, and there’s enough Shadows that waiting at the exit is too risky.”

“We’re not leaving anybody-” Joker started, but Futaba hissed at him.

“I fucking know that!” she snapped, swinging an arm back at the fake Satanael breaking through the wall towards them. “I’ll get us all out, but we don’t have time to argue, okay?”

Akira nodded silently, but he could see the sweat beading on Futaba’s forehead, and the ugly bruise quickly growing on her shoulder. She was pushing herself too hard.

“Everybody go now!” she commanded, and they took off.

“Queen, nuke the green one! Joker, psy the one to your left and get between them. Wild Thunder the group but - Panther, ice attack incoming, get out of the way- Skull, Ziodyne to give Violet space-” Futaba fired off rapid commands, commanding them with even more speed and synchronicity than she had used for the Demiurge fight. It was overwhelming to listen to, and Akira had no idea of how she was keeping up with everything going on even while trying to get herself through the mess.

“Noir, Violet, get the fuck out of here!” Futaba yelled, the two lingering on the outer edge just beside the shimmer that was their exit portal. “I told you not to wait!”

Haru hesitated, looking between the group and their exit.

“Shit- Inari, look out!” Futaba screamed as Yusuke tried to dodge out of the way of a rogue Shadow, the momentary lapse in her concentration getting him a glancing blow and a painful cut across his back. “Get out so I can focus, Haru!”

Sumire looked torn, but Haru nodded and stepped through the portal. “I’ll make sure we’re safe outside!” she called, as she rippled out of existence, and Sumire followed suit, distress plain on her face even from a distance.

Akira broke through the crowd with a Megidolaon and barely dodged a club swung by some muscle-bound Shadow. He unloaded a salvo of bullets into its head and it disintegrated, giving him just a moment of breathing room to scan the crowd. He was at the shimmer in reality, inches away from getting out, and he knew Futaba was about to yell at him to get through, but…

Most of the group was already out. The only ones still in the Metaverse were him, Futaba, Ryuji, and Morgana, and he could hear Futaba beginning to falter. 

One of the Shadows - a dog-like creature, more teeth than beast that tried to tear anything it touched apart - barreled towards Morgana, and Futaba screamed at him to duck. 

Akira saw the moment that Morgana did duck, and the Shadow turned, attracted to the loud noise. He didn’t even realise he was moving until after he saw the creature dig a row of teeth into Futaba’s arm - Futaba’s bad arm - and bite down. 

A scream shattered the sky as black and green waves tore out of the wound and disintegrated everything around her. Futaba collapsed to the ground in pain, her Final Guard too much for her to handle.

“Riot Gun!” Joker invoked, a storm of gunfire tearing through the Shadows in front of him and giving him just enough time to force himself into the empty circle Futaba had created. The Shadows prowled cautiously at the edge of it, hesitant to find out if she could do that kind of attack again.

“Oracle, how are you?” Akira hissed, standing beside her crumpled form and pointing his knife towards any Shadow brave enough to step foot in the clearing.

“J-Joker?” she coughed, trying to pull herself to her feet and failing. “You were…”

Futaba gasped in pain, keening below her breath as she tried to get to her feet. “I can’t…”

Akira took a moment to look down and assess the damage, and he regretted it immediately. “It’s okay, Futaba, I’m here,” he mumbled, crouching down beside her. 

“Can you… heal it…?” she asked, voice shaking.

“Not…” Akira hesitated, everything in his very soul aching as he answered, “not right now. Not unless you want to lose it. If I healed it now, I don’t know what would happen.”

Futaba was almost silent, choked sobs her only sound. 

“I’ll get us out of here,” Akira promised weakly, looking around at the surrounding army of Shadows. 

“Just leave already,” Futaba asked, voice barely more than a whisper. “There’s no way the others are getting to us, and you’re not getting me out of here like this.”

Akira just shook his head, even though he knew Futaba couldn’t see it, and stepped closer to her. “I’m not fucking letting you die, Futaba. We can get out of this.”

Futaba didn’t respond.

The Shadows around them got a little bit closer, their safe circle growing smaller as they realised that Futaba wasn’t going to do another Final Guard like that. He could distantly feel Morgana and Ryuji somewhere, trying desperately to get to them, but there were just too many Shadows, and they were too tired. 

“S-Skull, Mona,” Futaba started, and then coughed up something that looked uncomfortably red, “there’s no point, just get out already. I don’t want you two to die too.”

Something broke in Akira at those words. 

He couldn’t hear Ryuji or Morgana’s protests, and the world faded from view for a moment. Futaba was convinced that there was no way out, and as hard as he tried, he couldn’t find an alternative. He was running on fumes, and he just wasn’t strong enough to clear a path. He needed… something. He needed more, but he just didn’t have it.

What was he going to do?

“No.” Akira felt something in him burst. “No, I won’t fucking let this happen,” he stated, taking a step forward. “Nobody’s fucking dying here today.”

Futaba still didn’t respond, curled up into a loose ball on the ground, but she didn’t need to.

Satanael, Akira called, reaching into his soul with purpose. I need more power.

And what is it that you expect me to grant? 

We took down Yaldabaoth with the Sinful Shell. I need something like that again. I’m not going to let Futaba die.

We felled the false god with the masses behind us. That level of power is not easily achieved again.

“I don’t fucking care!” Akira yelled, startling Futaba. “I don’t care how difficult it is, we’re going to fucking do it.”

And what if you cannot? What if even the height of our power is not enough to save her?

“Then at least I tried. I don’t care what it takes. I’m not going to just leave her here.”

Courage, never to submit or yield. Is that what you boast?

“It is.” 

… Very well then. Your resolve is known to me, and I echo it in full. It is better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven. May our will be enough. 

I am the fallen Son of God. Our power is that of the shining one. Speak my name.

“Satanael,” Akira said, voice laden with power. The demon lord burned into reality, the Persona towering over them. The sky above them lit up, the murky clouds suddenly shining bright against the pall of the Metaverse.

“Futaba,” Akira said, and she started at her name being said with such force behind it. He looked down at her calmly, eyes shining a bright pure gold. “Do you have enough in you for another Final Guard? Just a small one, enough to cover the two of us.”

Futaba swallowed, but she nodded, slowly. “I don’t think I’ll be conscious after it, but I can do it. You’ll have to carry me out, though.”

“That isn’t a problem,” he smiled, the kindness in his words discordant against his power. “You’ll know when to use it.” Akira looked towards the sky.

The clouds were blazing white by this point, so bright it hurt to look at. A thin beam of light shone down from above, so strong and clear that Futaba almost felt like she could reach out and grab it. The line slowly thickened, swelling and swelling and burning even more bright until she had to blink away sunspots whenever she looked at it.

Akira stared at it unceasingly, golden eyes still burning and unblinking as the power around him grew even further. The Shadows around them cowered, but a few had broken rank and were stepping closer, closing the distance and almost getting into threat range.

Akira stepped forwards and spread his arms out, Satanael behind him mimicking the motions. His wings spread, casting a dark shadow over the Palace only contrasted by the still-growing beam of light in front of them. He paused for a moment, just long enough for one of the Shadows to decide to attack, and as the beast lunged forwards, he spoke.

“Morning Star.”

Everything stopped for a moment, and Futaba threw up her Final Guard. 

The Morning Star tore at even the ground beneath them, Final Guard spreading under their feet in response to give them something to stand on. She felt a distant screech as what must have been hundreds of Shadows vaporised, the fabric of the Palace twisting itself nearly apart in an effort to maintain something akin to ‘reality’. Blinding white light burned against her vision even through the consuming dark of their barrier, and with every moment the assault continued she felt as if she was about to break into pieces - but she endured, even as she felt her barrier shrinking and the all-consuming star pressed closer and closer and the waves of power radiating from Akira didn’t recede even as she felt his soul buckling under the weight and then everything went dark and he was moving and she felt a warm touch on her back and-

“You can drop the Guard,” Akira hissed out, vestiges of power still radiating from his voice, and she--

Collapsed limp in Akira’s arms, completely and utterly drained. Akira shouldn’t have almost buckled under her near-feather weight, but he did, the backlash from his spell hitting him all at once. He fumbled through his coat and picked something out - a small vial with a label too blurry to read properly - and downed it, an unexpected bitter taste sending a shock through his system and jogging him back to life.

He cradled Futaba in his arms and carefully lifted her, trying to avoid as many of her injuries as possible. Her (much) worse arm was on the outside, a messy red (with black and green scattered through from her costume) that even Maria would struggle to heal, but that was manageable. Everything was manageable as long as they were alive and that’s what mattered.

He ignored the tears burning in his eyes as he heaved himself and Futaba off the ground, dragging himself towards the pulsing cut in the air that led to reality. His eyes were on the mangled, scorched glass that used to be something akin to dirt - he wasn’t sure it was glass, or if it was still just dirt, but it wavered in front of him and he couldn’t tell whether it was the ground or his eyes.

His trudging forward was slow, painfully so, the Metaverse dead silent in the wake of his Morning Star. 

Maybe it was that dead silence that made him forget where he was, why exactly he had to perform such a desperate move and burn every single reserve he had just to keep standing.

He’d decimated the Shadows in the immediate area - disintegrated them, removed any trace of their malice from the area, shattered their connection to the Palace so thoroughly they would never come back - but not all of them.

A rogue Shadow, a wild wolf - barely strong enough to scratch him at his best - bounded towards Futaba, multiple rows of teeth bared.

He noticed it far too late, the haze in his head wavering just long enough for one of his Persona - he couldn’t tell which one - to shout a warning.

There was no way he could stop its attack - his arms were full, and if he dropped Futaba in this state he wasn’t sure he’d be able to pick her back up. So he just did the logical thing-

- and turned, using his own arm as a barrier for Futaba. The Shadow’s teeth sunk in and tore into coat and flesh, its body catching up a moment later and slamming into his back.

He flew forward, and into the shimmer between worlds.

10/7. Daytime

“We can’t just leave them there!” Ryuji shouted, voice cracking.

“I know, but if we go back in right now, we’ll just make things worse.” Morgana emphasised, panic evident even as he tried to both keep Ryuji’s phone away from him and fight off his own desire to run back in. “Besides, you saw what he was doing, right? If we stayed we would’ve gotten hit by whatever that was!”

Sumire clapped her hands together, grabbing the two’s attention. “What are you two talking about? What-” and Sumire’s own choked sob cut off her demand, a painful cough following behind. “Where are they?” she asked, chest heaving as her mind ran wild with possibilities.

Ryuji couldn’t bring himself to speak, slamming his fist against the side of his leg instead. 

“Maybe we should give them…” Ann tried to talk, but she came up short, the lump in her throat threatening to spill out if she continued. 

Yusuke was already clutching his blade close, searching his pockets for his phone and preparing to throw himself back into the fray, when Akira popped into existence with a grunt, twisting himself as he fell to land on his back and protect his cargo. He landed directly on his shoulder, keening a whimper as he did, and a solid thump followed as his head smacked against the gravel.

There was a unified scream from the group as they hit the ground, everyone crowding around them in a panic as Akira rolled onto his back and hacked some spit onto the ground beside him.

“Are you okay?!”

“What happened?”

“Futaba, are you awake?”

“Joker, holy shit, what the fuck happened in there?”

“How are-”

“Give me some space,” Akira rasped, weakly waving them all away, “Futaba needs help right now. More than I do.”

Morgana’s hair stood on end, his entire body tense and curled in tight like a spring. “Joker, you’re hurt too-”

“Fucking look at her!” Akira growled, pushing himself up on his shoulder with a hiss of pain and gesturing vaguely with Futaba still clutched in his arms. “She’s on death’s fucking door, I’m not!” 

Makoto crouched down beside them, a bit more colour in her face than the last time Akira had seen her. “Where is she hurt?” she asked, scanning Futaba’s body and immediately noticing the growing red stain seeping through her shirt. “Holy shit, what happened-”

Akira shook his head and half held Futaba out, offering her to anybody willing to take her. 

Sumire stared with wide eyes, shaking in place as she watched blood seep further and further through Futaba’s sleeve. “How bad is it?” she asked quietly, looking at Akira.

Akira sighed, looking at the shirt now covering Futaba’s arm, as Makoto and Haru carefully lifted Futaba out of his arms together. “Either we get her to a hospital or we get her into Mementos right now and start healing it - and I’m not sure she’ll make it long enough for a hospital. Plus, we’d have to explain- fuck.” 

Akira stood suddenly with a groan and a curse, body jittering around as he spun in a circle to assess their position. “If the police see us like this we’re done for,” he hissed, glaring at a nearby fence. It was low enough that he could jump it, but not easily, and there was no way most of the group would be able to follow if they needed to get away quickly. They were too worn out, too brittle after their fight, and his parents-

“Maybe they’ll-” Haru started, but Akira shook his head, stalking across the alley to check out the other side of the fence.

“If they see me, they’ll take all of us in. My parents,” and he spat the word like blood, Satanael burning in his chest to protect his Thieves, “aren’t going to back down now, because we didn’t change their hearts. Even if the cops here wanted to let us go, they wouldn’t let them leave us alone until they have us under lock and key, damnit.”

“Akira, we know what we signed up for,” Makoto argued, looking up from where she was carefully trying to separate Futaba’s sleeve from her skin without causing more damage. “This isn’t any worse than it was going to be initially, we just don’t know when we’re going to get out of the situation. It’s okay.”

Akira gestured wildly at the group, ignoring the tears beading in his eyes as something hurt more than it should have. “This is okay? Even if we get into Mementos and stabilise Futaba, we don’t know how we’re going to get out safely or where we’re going to go. We can’t just live in the Metaverse, particularly not in this state, and if we try to use it as an escape route then we might pull an officer in and who fucking knows what happens if we do that in an uncontrolled environment. We-”

“Dude!” Ryuji yelled, slamming his pipe against the fence, the metal links clattering at his force. “You’re wastin’ time panicking about this right now. First things first, we get into Mementos and-” Ryuji stopped for a moment, eyes fogging over as his leg almost gave away under him, but he clung to the fence and collected himself. He shook his head and continued, some of the vigour in his voice leached away. “We get into Mementos and heal Futaba, then we figure out what to do after that. We’re safer there than we are out here, so we do that. Figure out the hard shit later.”

“Skull’s right,” Morgana agreed, tail flicking from side to side. “We can plan our next step in Mementos - the surface should be safe, as far as I could tell. Though we could always leave somebody out here as a sentry, to watch our exit - maybe I could stay out here and-”

“No,” Akira interrupted, digging his phone out of his pocket. “You need to stay with Futaba, no matter what. You’re the only one who can get in and out of the Metaverse without the app - if everything goes pear-shaped, you need to stay with her so you can get her out of danger. Leaving you out here would be too dangerous, and my parents would recognise you anyway. They might have told the cops to watch out for a cat like you. They know you’re always near me, so they’ll assume I’m there if they see you-”

“Do they know who the rest of us are?” Ann asked, looking around nervously. “Do we need to like, hide our appearances, or something?”

Akira flipped his phone in his hand, fidgeting aimlessly as he paced. “No, they only know me and Mona. Ann, your name is Shiho now or something, my parents might remember your name, but everybody else other than Futaba is in the clear, and Futaba’s only at risk from her family name. As long as they don’t see me with you,” Akira emphasised with a clap, voice strained from overuse, “then you should be fine.”

“Everybody!” Sumire shouted, startling even herself with the volume. She gave a weak attempt at a smile - which could generously be called a grimace instead - and held out her phone. “We just said we should do this in Mementos. Get over here so Fu-” Sumire stammered, her confidence leaving all at once as something choked in her throat, “so Futaba can stop… so we can heal her. Okay?”

Everybody nodded, moving in close around Sumire’s phone. She turned it on, navigating to the Metaverse Navigator.

Akira looked around again, taking stock of the surroundings. Two exits from the back alley they had cramped themselves into for initial infiltration, a small semi-hidden area between two rows of houses. The area around them was clear at the moment, but even though it was far from his house, it wasn’t far enough that there couldn’t be a police presence when they got out of Mementos. With no leads on where he was, they’d almost certainly go interview people he knew, and Yosuke (and by extension Yukiko) had no reason to lie to the police if they were questioned about where he might be, particularly if they didn’t know what was going on. 

There were too many people in the group to hide out for any extended period of time and not get found out, and he was too public about his affiliations for them to hide in plain sight. Even if he hid while everybody stayed in the Inn, and everybody pretended he wasn’t there, he would just be putting them at danger of being arrested. If he wasn’t there, then it would be fine - they’d be suspicious, but there wouldn’t be any hard evidence - but none of his Thieves would ever leave him behind like that if they had even a sliver of a choice.

“Mementos,” Sumire spoke, and the Phantom Thieves shifted into Mementos. Makoto felt a fresh wave of dizziness, swaying as the sound of a chain fence drummed into her ears and faded away, the dull hues of the Metaverse draping themselves over reality. 

Futaba’s injuries looked even worse revealed, her Phantom Thief outfit torn just as it had presumably been before she left the Palace. Now Makoto could see just how badly Futaba was hurt - not only her shoulder, weeping blood and nearly torn off, but with the many cuts and scrapes and bruises that covered her body. 

“Ella!” Sumire invoked immediately, the Persona sweeping over and gently showering Futaba with healing magic. Sumire moved in with her, face set as she crouched over the girl in Haru’s arms and began to tend to her wounds.

“Joker, can Maria do anything about this?” Makoto asked, staring at Futaba’s shoulder quietly.

There was no response.

“Joker?” Makoto asked again, waving a hand behind her at where she knew Joker had been standing before Sumire activated the app. 

She found nothing but empty air, and she finally turned her body, weakly placing her arms on her hips as she planned to interrogate Akira about ignoring her.

He wasn’t there. She looked around the group wildly, counting heads, the sound of a chain fence echoing again in her ears.

Eight.

Akira wasn’t with them.