Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The rattling of chains echoes in the chamber of brick and velvet blue curtains as the prisoner awakes with a migraine that pierces behind his eyes. To match it is a litany of bruises that smatter them like a starry night. Their eyes open and are met with a menacing grin and the rhythmic tapping of fingertips.

“For the very last time, welcome, to my velvet room. Trickster… It seems you were unable to complete your rehabilitation. Humanity’s ruin is now certain.”

Joker looks up, their metallic eyes desperately searching Igor’s face for even a hint of remorse. And like every other visit before, they find none. Why are they here again? Last that they could remember, they were in a fight. “So... I lost?”

“It would appear so. The game is over. You’ve strayed too far from the path, and all that is now left for you and your companions is despair.” Igor’s grin widens, revealing more and more teeth past what should be humanly possible. A sickening shiver runs down Joker’s spine as they stare at the sole attendant of the velvet room. But. Something in the back of their mind prickles. In the depths of their heart, a flickering flame yearns to burn higher once again. But is that flame truly theirs? They cannot say. Joker cannot remember where they begin and the others end, and frustration crawls over them as they fail to find the boundary of their rebellious spirit and that of every other persona that rests upon their mask. The rebellion grits their teeth, feeling the pinpricks of pain lighting up in their palms as fingernails dig crescent moons into the flesh.

“I. Can’t. I’m not done yet. I can’t have lost. I-.” Joker looks around, desperation beginning to slide across their shoulders to comfort them. Their eyes search, looking for something- someone to give them hope or to push them toward a meaningful conclusion. But try as they might, joker finds no one… And in that, a spark of certainty hits them that they should not be alone here. There’s always been one more than themself and Igor, at least. The man’s smile widens ever further, pulling his cheeks and stretching the flesh like a poor facsimile of humanity now given shape. Joker has to do something. Buy time. This can’t be over. They barely realized who they wanted to be and now it will be ripped away without mercy. Languidly, Igor sits upon his throne behind his desk, relishing in watching his prisoner of fate finally give up the fight.

“Trickster. Are you saying that this game, while too unfair, was never a game at all?”

Their eyes blow wide in bewilderment. Despite struggling, the answer bounces off of Joker’s mind. There are too many things to think about, chief among them the grief of their true self, yet to be fully explored. They want to explore it. A deep, wholehearted desire that strikes even truer than living grows vines around their heart and for a moment joker wants to shout and pull away from everything they’ve ever known. But they must keep their composure. Especially here. They’ve come too far to let things be over. They need to buy just one more day. So, joker thinks. They consider what he said. Why he said it. Why now? Is Igor taunting him? The fire burns brighter. And with the chime of magic riding just behind their ears, they hear a new voice.

“This game, too unfair, was never a game at all. Too long have I been kept shackled here, away from your heart. You must find a way to break out. Must find a way to allow that flame of soul to burn ever brighter…”

That’s right. They cannot just accept their fate. They can’t just lay down and die. Joker finds the strength to stand up again, chained still to the bars of the prison in their heart. They need to break out. Be freed from shackles and be who they want to be. They stagger to their feet, shoes slipping on the brick as they find footing. It’s a long shot of an idea, but it might work. It needs to.

“...A Deal…”

“A Deal?” Predatory energy, dark and crimson, begins to crackle around Igor as he stands from his seat to lean forward. Joker can tell they’ve got him on the hook now. It’s working. Hope threatens to fill them, but they suppress it. Can’t give too much away. Can’t let him see through what could be the last trick of their life.

“I- I want to make a Deal. One last time. If. If things are really unavoidable like you say. Then. Letting me do this one more time shouldn’t be that big an issue, right?” Joker can feel it now. That flickering light, struggling to stay aflame in the sea of blue velvet. It needs to burn. They can only allow it to do so through their truest self. If that’s the key to preventing all this, they need to try.

Igor makes a show of thinking, rolling his head side to side just a bit too slowly as if unaffected by gravity. Indifference passes through, then delight, and then shrugs. “Very well. The game can begin again. You have been in this position before. Is this truly the only solution you can see in yourself? You disappoint me, trickster. I warn you hereby. Every time this game is restarted, ruin becomes more and more inevitable. Would you truly see fit to allow the world to suffer for your own selfish desire?” Disgust slithers through the hair on the back of Joker’s neck. This thing… Whatever it is. It’s not their ally. Never was. They can only hope the person that comes next realizes that sooner than they did. But. Even if it might be harder. They can do this. The person they will become should be able to do this. If only they can make their word count right here and now.

Joker bites their bottom lip, hard. Their spirit trembles under the weight of all the days that came before this one. But. They know they desperately need to carry on. They can’t just not carry on. It’d hurt too much, for their true self and for all of the people they’ve come to love. So. “You’re saying that there’s a penalty for restarting?”

“Oh yes, trickster. With every iteration…”

“Fine then. I even have one picked out for you.” Joker says, spitting the resentment out of their tone.

Igor smiles in delight, ravenous for another morsel of agony to feast upon. The energy crackling around him grows more and more, into a tempest all its own as he begins to float.

The velvet room rumbles, and dust is shaken out of the cracks of the brick. The chains rattle louder as the music coming from the depths of the place seems to dim.

“Then let the game begin anew. Let us see you struggle fruitlessly towards your rehabilitation. I will be waiting to welcome you once more into this velvet room.”

~-**-~

Ren Amamiya was a name that was meant to be entirely unassociated with the family name Kurusu, and to Ren, that did the job just fine. If they wanted him gone so bad, then it was just another bluster that sent Ren scattering with the winds of Tokyo. It’s not like it’d be the first label he’s ever worn either, with people constantly throwing the damn things at him. The train he’s riding in jostles him into another passenger, and he nearly loses his bag. One of its loop handles is the only thing that saves him from the embarrassment of scowls while picking up his things as he gets a wrist into the loop, catches the bag, and wraps it up in a hug. It saves him from another mask of a klutzy student that can’t be bothered to pay attention, and for that alone he is grateful in this big, frightening metropolis.

Ever since the bus hissed to a halt in front of the station, it’s felt like this. Or at least, that’s when he started paying attention to it. Every little glance, covering the real him in a layer of crepe paper just thin enough to show his face but thick and colorful enough to paint him into whatever light they love best. Anything to make themselves feel more superior. Most egregious of which were of course adults. Inconsiderate, judgemental creatures who only had the time to distribute their own bias into the world. So when the driver of the bus scoffed and told him to just quiet down and sit in the back, he did. No need to be labeled clueless AND rude, after all. Placed upon him now would be the clueless country outsider, the klutzy high school student, the awfully lost teenager, and to one member of the community, the meandering troublemaker deserving only of scorn. Though, of course a cop would see it that way. Bitterly, Ren digs through the archive of his memory to find any particular instance where the police didn’t immediately see him as an obstacle or eyesore, only to come up as empty as expected. Ducking into the yongen-jaya alleyway, his expression drops from innocent confusion to a simmering scowl. He knows that expression is how he keeps getting the masks of a delinquent, but for just the moment where the alley is quiet it feels perfectly safe for him to lower that mask of a confused tourist and let his face breathe. The anger that rests in the basin of his lungs burns hot, and for a moment he hears the smoke from that flame curl in the inner tube of his ear.

“Those who assign such baseless judgement are undeserving of more than being ash in your thoughts. Banish them, and be freed of their mask.”

Ren doesn’t need to take time to consider the offer or what it means. Without second thought, the cop is burnt away, and Ren schools his expression back into one of neutral anxiety. If people are going to put masks on him from Inaba to Tokyo, he’d at least like a little say in that impression they get from him. And so a mask forced upon his face becomes something more similar to a disguise. Like donning a suit of armor he enters mask first into a quaint little coffee shop labeled “LeBlanc”.

~-**-~
If eyes are a window into the soul, Sakura-san must be a master at looking straight through the eye-holes of his mask and into what lies beneath. It still doesn’t stop him from assigning judgement, and a piece of Ren burns as he realizes that even here he remains woefully misunderstood. Sakura-san must be able to smell the ash of that scorched piece too because he almost immediately re-evaluates Ren when he watches how the boy’s face falls and realizes what he said may have lacked some tact. Internally, two wars grapple and grasp for a handhold on Ren’s heart. One side, asking forgiveness for Boss, at least willing to give him the benefit of the doubt if only because he has the sense to actually take a step back and consider that Ren might not be some two-dimensional NPC type of person. And the other side, A snarling snapping beast, hackles raised and posture defensive at having just another weight of expectation placed upon him. Distantly, a third aspect sings in the back of his mind. He doesn’t process it, maybe physically can’t process it. But it whispers all the same, a small “it can’t be helped” that tells Ren that Sakura-san is just defensive in his own way around strangers, and that he’ll warm up in time….. Why is he so sure that the small tertiary option is the most correct one?

Either way, out of obligation or politeness Sakura-san makes Ren a cup of coffee. For a reason he can’t fathom, it tastes like home. And following that, settling upstairs in a dusty attic doesn’t seem so bad. Sakura-san’s cognition of Ren shifts and the mask put upon the boy cracks just a bit when the room is clean before Sakura-san can tend to a customer and walk back up the stairs. He sputters in shock a few times, comments on Ren’s dedication to improving his living space, then hands him a diary and wanders down the stairs, combing over his thinning hair with the palm of his hand. Ren cannot help the smile that crawls up his face, satisfaction filling his lungs with the first fresh air in days. Once again he hears that whisper on the wind, like the crackle of fire and the scorch of the truth. It tells him once more, be not bound to the way people see you. Force them to see what you really are, and live to see them stumble and fall over the weight of the masks they tried to put on you. “If only it were so simple.” Ren thinks to himself, feeling the weight of all that expectation pushing him down into the mattress of his new bedroom.

Distantly, he hears the haunting thrum of piano keys, the rattling of chains, and falls into a fitful sleep containing a dream he can’t remember.

~-**-~

Regardless of whether Ren wears his “confused, oblivious country boy” or his “Just trying to get off the bad luck train” mask, Sakura-san treats him all the same on the way to the school. Just murmuring away about traffic, about a few ground rules for living under his roof, about how grateful he should be and how he should show it by just keeping quiet and not making a fuss. Ren can feel the smallest fragment of hope he wasn’t aware he had starting to erode away under each wave of expectation from Sakura-san, and scolds himself internally for thinking an adult was ever capable of actually seeing him for more than just a misguided first impression.

Still. His new guardian could be much worse, Ren supposes. He seems near saintly compared to the mere atmosphere of Shujin Academy. Each wall teems with prying eyes despite the minimal attendance over the weekend. Not to mention the teachers, who size him up, selfishly hoping that he’ll stay far away and keep from being assigned homeroom with him, lest they have to deal with “The troublemaker transfer student” mask any more than absolutely necessary. When he and Sakura-san shuffle into their seats, he can see the principal’s one brain cell spin up to the tune of “how can I get this kid out of my office and out of my school as fast as I can?” Tch. Well then, if he’s going to look at Ren that way… No. Once more, he applies the mask, dons the costume, bows deeply and asks the principal to treat him well. Stillness hangs in the air as surprise echoes in the words unsaid by either of the other two men in the room. And a gratuitous smirk can’t help but find its way to his face as he finds his mission complete. Another small thing stolen. Another mission complete. There’s no more room for argument, no ground for Kobayakawa to stand on once Ren has done nothing but acted polite. Coughing into his hand, Sakura-san decides it's time to move on from the two dragging their feet, especially now that it seems like Ren will behave himself. Oh, he'll behave alright. Anything to keep the adults floundering, anything to continue to infuriate them. To shock, surprise, confuse and befuddle is his goal.

“Good… You see it then… Any old excuse will do, just to get little ol’ us out of their hair. Well. How bad. How unfortunate. Go right ahead, trickster. Do not give them the satisfaction. Do not allow them to place that assumption so easily. Even if you have to play nice, and snarl on the inside… We won’t allow them the satisfaction of being right.”

Sweat beads down the side of the egg-shaped Principal’s head as the conversation continues and he calls someone down from the intercom. Clattering gently, the door to the office opens and a woman with loose curling hair steps in. She- oh god. Ren can’t help but wince a little. She looks like she’s gotten a combined 3 hours of sleep this whole week, and it’s a Saturday. No amount of makeup is able to hide the bags lingering under her eyes, nor the tension held in her shoulders. Before he can open his mouth and ask if she’s okay, he is informed that Kawakami is her homeroom teacher. Concern lingers in his gaze, asking a silent question at her as genuine as he can manage it without words… If she picks up on it, she doesn’t say anything as she hands him a uniform and wishes him and his guardian well. On the drive back, Both parties barely speak aside from Sakura-san laying down some more law. Take the trains. Make sure to wake yourself up. Don’t skip class. Meticulously laying out the plan to hammer out all the impurities in him until it makes him sick. The rain pattering against the window is almost enough to get Ren to entirely tune out the proud cafe-owner, until a gap in the conversation hits the two of them like a truck. Why did he stop again? Did Ren miss a question being asked? Surely he did, or so he thinks until he turns to the man who is now thoughtfully chewing his bottom lip. Traffic slows to a stop in front of them and in the brief window he gets, Sakura-san’s eyes turn to him. “And thanks. For y’know. Behaving in there. He’s obviously looking for a reason to just throw you out. Makes us both look good if you don’t let him get to you. Ah- and by the way.” Green flashes up ahead, and the car and the future both move into motion as Sojiro lowers that first impression he placed hastily over Ren’s face. “You can just call me Sojiro. Or Boss. whichever works fine for you.” The smile across Ren’s face makes Sojiro scowl a little and pointedly look away. “Oh don’t get a big head about it. I’m still expecting your best behavior, alright? One slip up, and you know what happens.”

Kicking back in his seat, A sense of ease washes over him as he smiles that cheshire grin he knows Sojiro will come to despise. “You’re the boss.”

Chapter Text

Ryuji’s leg is fucking killing him, and barring the new kid saving Ann from kamo-shithead this whole day has been a bust so far between running through the pouring rain, finding this weird castle-thing-place, and getting his bad knee stomped by some kind of goop piloting a suit of armor. It sucks! This sucks! Spitting and shouting has done nothing so far to prevent him from being dragged into some kind of dungeon, and now he sits there scowling in the dank air while he tries not to look at the blood trailing down into the white undershirt of Amamiya’s uniform. Light glimmers off the cracked lenses of his glasses, laying on the stained brick floor and as he lays there on the wood panel that’s supposed to be a bed. He almost looks peaceful, until a soft groan exits him and those eyelids flutter open to pools of pure silver. Ryuji can’t help but note the way that his shocked expression lies superimposed onto the reflection of Amamiya’s eyes as they come into focus. Even more confusing (confusing not because it doesn’t make sense but because it stirs something unfamiliar in the depths of his lungs) is the way that twisted reflection looks strong, broad shouldered, and full of a fire ryuji hasn’t felt since he took off at the starting gun, before kamoshida, before everything good in his life took a bus out of town. Recognition flashes in Amamiya’s eyes, and Ryuji startles as he realizes not only has he been staring deep into this stranger’s eyes but those very same eyes do not hold the same demure and unassuming nature as they do behind thick rimmed glasses. No… Those eyes remind him more of the sharpened edge of a chef’s knife.

~-**-~

Ren’s head is fucking killing him, and the second blonde he’s seen today is gawking at him like he’s a circus animal. Something vague in the back of his head returns to its snapping and snarling, reminded all too much of a small court scene with too many eyes that see only a guilty verdict. As he comes to, Ren breaks eye contact and rubs the back of his head, his hand coming back tacky with drying blood. With a hiss, he pulls his hand away from the wound, and chews the bottom of his lip. Now that he has the chance to actually look around, this is…… Not good. Very not good. His skin crawls as the past clings to his back, memories wandering in uninvited of his time locked in a holding cell…. Once again, it’s not his fault. It’s never his fault, and yet he gets blamed anyways…

“Dear bearer, does it not make your blood seethe to have the injustices of the world thrust upon you?”

He knows himself well enough to know that yes, it absolutely does make his blood boil and his fingers twitch with the need for more direct action. Glancing over to the other boy in the cell, Ren belatedly realizes he must have let that frustration actually show for once.

“Dude... You good? That’s a scary-ass face you’re making right there.” Floundering, the vulgar boy looks down and scoops up the now broken glasses, offering them in hopes to placate the scowling “Uh. These- these are yours, right?”

Broken. Broken lenses, bent frames, absolutely wrecked from being knocked around already… Oh well. Not like they were prescriptions anyways. “Thanks. I appreciate it…..” No use being rude, the blonde is just as trapped as he is. After taking a moment to soothe his scowl and bring himself back to center, he takes one of the arms of the glasses. Quickly stowing them, his eyes continue to scan the room, hoping to find some answers. “So. What happened? How did we… get here.”

“Yeah… You were knocked on the head pretty damn hard. I’m a little shocked you’re already back up and walking around like nothing happened. It was kamoshida.” He spits the name like venom, and Ren feels a little vindicated in helping out the twin-tailed girl earlier today. “He showed up with a bunch of his goons, and one of them got you pretty bad with his sword. Freakiest bit about it, he was wearing just a-”

Piercing screeches of metal on stone cut off ryuji and bring both of their attention outwards into the depths of the dungeon. Following is the clatter of marching feet, and the feeling of energy charged in the air. Like a whisper, the chime of shooting stars echoes just behind Ren’s ear, but he’s a bit more concerned about what’s in front of him to turn back. One after another, each figure marches into view and for a moment that pounding headache turns into the feeling of vicious vibrations throttling his spinal column as the world twists, and his vision blurs. In front of him, he sees the face or lack thereof of his captors. Regardless of what mask they wear, Ren can see past into the darkness lurking beneath. The face of the oppressor lurks, sneering and he does not have the energy to put up with it. His glasses are shattered, he’s late for his first day of class, he’s been thrown in another prison and his head hurts so bad he might throw up his breakfast. It’s repulsive to see them here. Their faces and what they represent. Even so, it's nothing compared to the smug, shit-eating grin that follows them. Pure malice radiates from poisonous yellow eyes. It’s the man from before, in the car, and before Ren can spit some remark, he speaks.

“Well well well. Look what we have here, two little rats scurrying about MY castle. Honestly. Sakamoto, I expect this from you, but you, transfer student..” He shakes his head, unconcerned and slimy. “A shame. You have an athletic build, I had hoped I could twist you into something actually worth more than dirt.”

Unfortunately for Ren, it’s almost impossible to actually take this guy seriously, considering he’s dressed like the world’s most self-absorbed porn star. More important than his lack of reasonable clothing though, Ren picks up on yet another first impression shunted upon him without any consideration.

Ren jumps as the vulgar boy shouts at max volume, taking a stance in front of Ren and gritting his teeth, not unlike a defensive dog… It’s…. Comforting. Familiar. And it sparks a little confidence. “Hey step the hell off! You got beef with me that’s fine but don’t bring him into this, jerk!”

Kamoshida’s eye twitches, and his gaze darkens to a malevolent fury. With a Harumph, he turns to the faces of malice, their forms bending. Ren watches as the figures jitter like a tv signal starting to go fuzzy as they switch between royal guards, overbearing teachers, police officers and snooty parents. With pain behind his eyes, Ren is almost able to make out the visage of a politician in a sharp suit and fake smile. What are they?

“Mere obstacles in the way of your freedom. They too see you as nothing but scum. I find myself quite tired of them, bearer.”

The flame in Ren’s heart crackles, whispering and adding all the more oxygen to the fire as Ren gets more and more tired of this song and dance. A part of him withers, almost speaks up… These confrontations never end well. The powerful act as they please, just doing whatever they want with no consequence, while people like him become paving stones or toys for their whims. A part of him wishes they’d all just burn up. That part of him has been getting louder recently. Why the hell don’t they just turn to ash already? The smell of smoke is clearer. He’d much rather them be soot beneath his boots, with how little they actually serve the human race as a whole. He can feel the cloying sensation of something thicker than air in his lungs, and the blonde screws his face up and coughs a little as he backs away from kamoshida. “W-what the hell?” He sputters softly, wincing as he backs away from the guards who are… Smoldering? Ryuji looks to his new friend, whose glare is just about harsh enough to burn holes through a brick wall, but surely… Surely that’s not actually him doing that, is it?

Meanwhile, the king saunters ever closer, unlocking the bars as if entirely lost in his own inner world and stepping inside. “I thiinnnkk.” He drawls, “If you kneel down like a good little snivelling shit, I’ll let you off easy. Might even allow you to play for a sports team yet. Oh. Nothing official though. Club at best. Still. Better than blondie over there. He’s so low, I shouldn’t have even had to put my hands on him.”

With a growl of fury, the boy named Sakamoto lunges at the king. Instantly, Ren is snapped out of the searing anger building in his heart as he goes to move, provide backup or hold him back or run away, anything, but as quick as the instinct overtakes him one of the smoldering guards lurches forward with a clatter of metal, and drives the air out of him with a punch to his gut.

Sakamoto sputters like a piece of his lung has been punched out of him, and crumples under the agony as his eyes widen and he heaves for air. “Hmpf.” Kamoshida spits on him, landing in his hair as Ren just watches powerlessly. That feeling of powerlessness doesn’t feel right on him. Makes him feel so insignificant it burns his skin like acid.

“Feeling down, hm? Why not do something about it? Show them thou shalt not cow so easily. Actually let loose for once, Display your resolve!”

The flame crying out from within him pushes Ren ever closer to the edge. His hands are shaking. The king speaks again, a snide comment surely, but at this point the raven haired rebel doesn’t even hear it over the sound of his blood surging in his ears. “Tch. Wipe that fucking look off your face, peasant. A lowlife like you doesn’t even deserve to be in this castle, let alone look at me like that. Make sure he doesn’t try anything.”

A threat. The armor lurches into action, two of them shuffling forward. Panic rising, he tries to sneak underneath and squirrel away from their arms only to be caught by the throat in a gauntlet with too harsh a grip. A wheezing gasp is forced through his windpipe as he watches, helpless against the encroaching shadow that is the king looming over Sakamoto. “Keep him still…. After I kill this peasant, he’s next.” He lurches to the side, slipping the sword out of one of his guards grip and into his. With a mad giggle, he licks the blade and relishes in how the blonde begins to tear up.

Something inside Ren bends, and nearly snaps at the hiccuping cry of fear that the blonde lets out. This isn’t right. How can this be happening? How can Ren escape his fate? Why do his cries feel like they tear at Ren’s soul? He reaches out a little bit, and is smacked on the temple for it until his vision spins..

“This is truly an unjust game…
Lost once more in a world stacked full against you,
your chances of winning are almost none.
But if my voice is reaching you,
there may yet be a possibility open to you.
You still have that power.
All that and more, should you just wish it to be.”

The echoing twinkle of windchimes and glass, the flutter of wings, and the spark of starlight dance across Ren’s eyelids as he watches the glint of a sword rising over his newfound ally. There may yet be a possibility. A possibility. A fragment of a chance. He’ll take it! He’ll gladly take anything. Anything to keep his friend safe, anything to burn away his enemies. He recalls the way the guards smoldered under his gaze. And recalls the words, that he might just have that if he wishes it to be….. Smoke did truly cling to the guards. That gaze did stab through armor at the deception lying beneath, revealing form upon form of the true shade beneath. Slowly, Ren's mind lurches in agony and nausea as the air is choked from him, but at the same time he comes to the common link between the two…. His will, honed into a single point of impact, like light through a magnifying glass it became enough to pierce the world with his conviction… And maybe. If he can do it by accident, he can bring it forth on purpose. If he needs a flame to burn hot… Then.

“Then you call upon me, dear bearer. Finally seeing that there’s only one true way to fight against the world? Finally realizing you’re not content to save yourself and condemn him? Death awaits for him if you do nothing…”

No. This can’t be. Ren won’t allow it. Won’t allow people to step on him like that again. And Yet…. Last time… The feeling of shackles on his wrists. Scornful gazes. Adults who just want him out of the way. Those two familiar faces, with his eyes and his hair, looking at him like some kind of monster…

“So, was that time a mistake too then?”

Sparking, the flame reaches his hands, making them twitch and dance for more action. It wasn’t a mistake. Even if it cost him, it was right! It was what he needed to do, and damnit he’d do it again in a heartbeat. Kamoshida stands there, an executioner and Ren feels himself growing more and more sick, more furious. It wasn’t a mistake, and never has been. In that moment, the decision for him is as easy as breathing. No more will he just stand there and let the powerful dance with the world underfoot. No more will he allow them to get away with what this world calls justice. His justice will be his own. His power in this world will be his own. Either he will die standing, or the sickening adults will kneel beneath his foot. Quick as a lightning bolt, he grips the gauntlet holding his throat, beginning to wrench it from him as he writhes and squirms for even an inch so that he may take a mile and leave bodies in his wake.

“Very well then… I have heeded your resolve.”

Ren feels his chest clench and his heart stall. His ears ring fiercely, and an agonized scream is loosed from him as he feels his heart beat twice as strong to make up the difference. His body jolts and trembles, and the malefic king finally turns his gaze as Ren cries to leave the blonde alone.

“Vow to me. I am thou. Thou art I.”

The words pound against the interior of his skull. I am thou. Thou art I. He feels the air around his face burn as something sears to his skin, the process agonizing and providing all the more fuel to call upon his power in the future. It feels like making a pact with a demon. And yet… Ren can’t bring himself to care about that aspect. People already see him as a demon. Where’s the true difference between the real deal and how people perceive something, when they believe it with such certainty there’s no room for argument through logic anyways?

“Thou who art willing to perform all sacrilegious acts to further thine own justice. Call upon my name. And release thy rage!”

Three syllables fall from grit teeth. Then, the room rumbles, and as Ren screams it covers the creak of metal as the gauntlet begins to give in his grip, his throat becoming hoarse and raw as each ounce of pain intensifies all the more until he’s seeing spots. He must release his rage, and channel it. There is no more space for denial or uncertainty, not in this moment that someone is about to die by his indecision, no he will not allow that. He won’t let them get away with this, won’t let them enact their plans in the first place. If he must burn himself in the fire of his anger then let it be a baptism for his resolve, in all its scorching might!

“Show the strength of thy will to ascertain all on thine own power, though thou be chained to hell itself!”

Ryuji sees it once again now, those eyes. Like a silver bullet, fit to rip a hole into the earth itself. Burning not with evil, but righteous anger and there’s a world of difference that makes Ryuji think that for one moment, it is not kamoshida he should worry about but this kid, who glares so furious the world trembles before him.

“Now die like a rat!” The king snarls, his weight shifting back to wind up his swing.

“Kill yourself instead.” Ren spits, snarling like a rabid animal as he gathers his emotion, his anger, confines it into a single point as he knows he must do. Kamoshida’s posture slackens, and he turns around jerkily to eye the rebel with that hatred, pure as sunshine.

“What was that?...” Those yellow eyes simmer, though it’s no more bright than a candle in comparison to the flame sitting in ren’s eyes now.

“You desire to be killed that badly? Fine. You’ll die first.” He motions, and the larger of the two suits of armor bashes him over the head, making his head spin. His fury is dislodged, ungathered like trees flung away carelessly by a tornado or a puff of smoke from a bad stage magician’s trick. Still. What’s set in motion cannot be set out of motion anymore. Soon, that flame will grow hot enough to burn out of his chest, and set alight the world.
He can feel it now. The heat desperately trying to be snuffed out is regathered in his heart, filled until it is near to burst, and from the sheer weight of that fury his heart skips. There. The penultimate moment. Taking a breath to regain his strength he pushes it all into a pinprick, and wills it to be a stubbornness strong enough to crumble mountains. The flame smiles, and a wave of heat rushes through the room and makes the walls tremble. In a distant corridor, feline ears pick up the sound and feeling of the vibrations coming from that faraway cell. He has felt this before.

As Ren feels his heart calm once again, he catches the breath he didn’t know was knocked from him, and feels it once again. The weight of all society’s masks. Every little confrontation builds up all the weight of expectation and impression. It feels so physical. So repulsive…. He wants nothing more than to be done with it. Nothing more than for the world to see his strength. Every piece of him aligns, all to the one wish for the world to know that he will kneel to no injustice, he will see things righted in his own way. The mask on his face is stuck strong, but he knows his will is stronger. It’s clinging to him. Sticking to him, and trying to push him back down into the world of normal people. Panic clogs his throat as he feels it overtake him and he tries to pull it off, causing another bolt of searing pain through his face. Still, it’s nothing compared to the weight of the mask, or the pain of his migraine that’s been going in or out. He needs it off, he just needs to peel away that false face and show the world how strong his resolve really is!

He screams, a heavy and rough scream once again as he feels the blood pour down the curve of his cheek and down his jaw. He pulls, peeling away that expectation more and more and leaving his face raw and screeching agony as he pulls harder and harder until everything gives away and his scream turns to pure catharsis. No more of them controlling him. No more chains to bind away a personality until nothing but a good little worker drone is left. He gasps for air, and feels it. From the mask chaining up his heart, he feels the channel for heat to be released, and grins a toothy, crooked grin.

Ren opens his eyes, and the occupants of the room see gleaming yellow in return, bright as the sun in their giddy vengeance. He has the power. Without even needing to snap his fingers, the air around him sparks and blue flame courses around him. The guards take a step back, and they’re immediately turned to soot for even considering their options of going to fight or run away. The flame burns hotter. He feels the connection between this self and his other self. Both of those things turn to one as he leans into the mask that will allow him to take as he pleases, no matter the cost. Horrific and joyful laughter echoes as the flame licks away the blood from his face and the glow of his yellow eyes burns all the hotter, until the flames consume him wholesale. They ripple down his overcoat, his stained bloodied undershirt, boiling away everything until he is exactly how he should be, dressed fit for the occasion of stealing away victory from the sinners who see themselves above the world. Red gloves. Flowing jacket. Shoes with hidden blades in the toe.

The purity of the flame does not decrease, but the wildness dies down so that Ren can stare down his target but still, his eyes do not dim from their yellow. A singing vindication runs through him at the way Kamoshida stumbles backwards and out of his cell in terror, staring back from the precipice. Oh how he wants to gloat, to tell kamoshida to run like a hunted animal. But there are still enemies in the cell. Kamoshida shouts for Ren to be apprehended, but he just giggles, which turns to manic laughter. Chains sweep around him, whipping away enemies and setting them aflame too until the world is bathed in rebellious light, and it leaves Ryuji stunned on the floor and with stars in his eyes. The blonde’s heart races, and it feels familiar and inspiring to see someone else, willing to fight against the evils of the world for the benefit of the downtrodden.

Chapter Text

The gaudy statue that Ryuji hides behind practically crumbles to dust as Morgana is thrown backwards into it, and the blonde scrambles backwards with a yelp of shock and just a hint of fear that leaves him feeling shameful. His eyes remain wide as Morgana struggles to get out of the debris with a groan. In a split second, Ryuji realizes how slow Morgana is to get up, and he feels the ice of doubt crawling up his leg and towards his heart… It’s his fault, isn’t it? He’s the one that both Morgana and Ren are fighting to protect, since he’s too damn useless to get strong enough to access the power of Persona. A flash of glinting metal against radiant candlelight alerts him to the threat overhead, a sword looming from a gilded knight too tall, lanky, built too wrong to be human. The eyes peering back from behind the face-plate are that piercing yellow that he’s quickly coming to associate with shadows, and luckily his reflexes are just barely sharp enough to throw himself and his ally out of the way, before the two go scrambling for more open space. They’re separated from Ren, and even though he’s surrounded by the ruddy rust and steel of lesser castle guards he remains entirely nonplussed. How the hell can he remain so calm? Ryuji knows he’s angry, he can feel it radiating under the surface every time he cries forth his persona, every time he stares down an enemy and peels their mask away. Ryuji just knows that he’s waiting to explode into action, so why are the silver eyes behind that domino mask always so precise, so calculating, like a scalpel looking for just the right weak point to make his enemy wither away.

“Joker! This is bad, we need to get out of here now before security raises even higher! The whole castle could be on us any second!” Morgana yowls, Alerting a good section of guards. What Morgana doesn’t notice is the jack-o-lantern reeling back its lantern, eyes brimming with a fire much colder than Arsene’s.

“Mor-Mona!” The blonde calls, dodging under the swing of the gilded guard that nearly takes his whole head off. Frantically, he searches the ground for pieces of stonework broken away by the vicious battle now unfolding in the foyer of the castle, and finds a chunk big enough to do some damage but still be throwable. Jumping away, morgana tries to put distance between them and the enemy shadow, but trips over a divot in the broken up ground before he has the chance to establish that distance. He has to do something! Has to move! His leg sears in pain as he puts too much weight on it, and he feels his body giving into the agony as a scream rips from his throat. Even so. He can’t die here, as dead weight! He sure as hell can’t let his friends die, fuck that! With a pain like branding irons pulsing across his knee he throws himself into action once more, clocking the jack-o-lantern and earning a surprised look from his comrade. The shadow floats off in a spinning arc not unlike a cartoon, before screeching more like a hawk and spitting embers at the two. “Y-YEAH. TAKE THAT MOTHER EFFER.” He cries, the adrenaline finally hitting his brain and dulling it down to just the combat around him. Morgana’s eyes open wide, snapping to something behind him. Ryuji doesn’t have time to turn and face the enemy before he feels metal pounding against his spine and for the brief moment his body convulses and writhes on the ground, unresponsive to his brain’s urging to get up and move. He wonders if he’s been paralysed from the strike. Thankfully, he digs deep, and finds the energy to put himself on hands and knees before his body seems to run fully out of steam, leaving him collapsed on the ruined carpet.

Everything aches. The pain from his knee is flaming up to his hip now, and distantly ryuji just knows he’ll be back on his cane tomorrow despite hating the thing. Still, all that pain dims in comparison to the slicing fear he feels at seeing Ren take a hit that throws him halfway across the room, and into the golden guard… Wincing deeply, that fear continues to fill the blonde, and he chews his lower lip as he realizes that there is no more that he can do.

“But, are you really going to let that stop you from taking action?”

The voice is a presence that is him, but not him. Deep into the depths of his soul it echoes, pounding ceaselessly at the despair like waves breaking down a rocky shore to kinder sands. Something in him sparks and jolts, hitting his heart with a flutter and making him grit his teeth as he watches Kamoshida saunter into view. Just looking at him is enough to power the simmering anger in his heart. The way that it doubles as the pervert steps on Morgana, earning a squeak of pain, is enough to spark up that voice again.

“Look at him. Getting away with whatever he fucking wants. I know thou. For I am thou. I know it makes us furious.”

Rough as sandpaper, the voice grates against his ears. The worst part is that this guy is right… It’s a load of bullshit! How dare he treat anyone this way. How dare he just get away with whatever the hell he wants. His pulse jolts through his veins as Kamoshida chirps away, lauding power over him with just that smarmy, disgusting look in his eyes. “Honestly. It’s like you came waltzing back in here without a plan. On a whim. How pitiful. How worthlessly simple you are.” The shadow spits out. Just off to the side Ren lifts himself up, gritting his teeth as blue flame licks at the edges of his mask, but he just doesn’t have a free hand to pull it away. Something about that sight too makes Ryuji wither away a little… Why does it hurt so much to see Ren struggle? He barely knows him, and yet it feels all too much like that pained look alone could stop his heart with ease. Deja vu runs through him. As does a crawling sensation, eating away and dissolving him before his teammates eyes into dust and then motes of nothingness.

That phantom memory, the sight of his friends under the foot of this bastard ready to break them just like he broke ryuji, broke the track team, broke his entire school reputation makes stinging tears begin to well in his eyes. He wants to be tough and will the tears away but the flood of emotion is too strong. Worse still is the snort of disgust as the pervert king’s face crinkles. “And now look at you. A snivelling, emotional piece of trash. Absolutely worthless. Haven’t you learned your fucking lesson for standing against me? And after all I did for you and your equally worthless track team.” He throws up his hands and the world bends, light shifting to highlight him all the more, bringing even more undeserved limelight to him. God Ryuji just wishes-

“Wishes we could turn that face into a bloody pulp.”

Thunder rumbling in his heart speaks out his desire so well, so full and confidently that it becomes heady and energizing. Even as deeply in pain as he is from pushing his body in that fight, that voice doesn’t stop being any less motivating and self-determined. Meanwhile, Kamoshida is still just chirping away, spouting bullshit and feeding the electric charge. But how could Ryuji possibly fight back? The whole group is surrounded. His knee is fucked. Morgana and Ren are literally underfoot… There’s nothing. No more. Tears just continue to well, threatening to break past his cheeks as he comes to the full realization he very well might die without a single thing left to hold onto. Kamoshida has ripped away everything. From his standing and pride to his physical health and friendships. Ever since his leg was broken his life has been nothing but hoping his scowl is enough to keep people from acting all nasty towards, even people from the track team.. Even though Ryuji knows they already do it behind closed doors where the former track star can’t see. How can he possibly keep fighting when he has nothing left?

“Thou still has that anger, dost thou not?”

His eyelid twitches… It’s true. Alongside the sorrow is a piercing anger, coming on as hot and furious and sudden as it can.

“thou still has ass to kick, dost thou not!?”

Roaring mightily, Ryuji knows this to be true. Kamoshida already took fucking everything. It would be ridiculously uncool of him to just sit here and die, make it that easy for him… Ryuji’s life has been nothing but a pain in the ass, so why not make Kamoshida feel that pain for once? Why not unleash all that energy in one final bolt and make him hurt if he’s going to be killed anyways? Pay him back for all the bullshit Kamoshida’s forced him to endure!

No need to be concerned about his leg if he’s gonna put every last bit of his strength into this last push. “Look on as these hopeless scum die right in front of your eyes, while you do absolutely nothing, and they die like worthless trash for siding with you.”

Another twitch of the eye, and Ryuji finds the strength to turn that energy into action. His legs shaking, he pulls himself up further and further, his feet catching on the carpet beneath him as his eyes finally lock with the diseased yellow of Kamoshida’s eyes. They glow dim under the messy curls of his greasy black hair. Finally, his shoulders pull back and he rolls his left arm. Jolting, electric pain courses up his leg into his chest but he can’t bring himself to care. Nothing is more important in this moment than teaching this guy he ain’t all hot shit. “Youuu. You don’t get to effin’ decide who I am. I won’t let you rule over me. You think you can go ahead and hurt me and my friends? How about you give it a fucking try!” Ryuji cries out, spit flying from his lips as he smells burned ozone and hears the distant rumble of thunder growing louder. The room shakes, and then light bursts through the room from the windows as another loud thunderclap rattles the foundations and a flash of lightning rips through the deep indigo skies beyond the castle windows.

“I was getting a bit tired of being made to wait on you, plunderer mine. Have you finally decided you won’t be playing their game anymore? Well. You’re going to need a bit more firepower for that.”

Ryuji feels another lightning bolt coming on, but this one pierces right past his skull and into his brain making him double over in pain and clutch at his electrified temples. A rush of wind flows from him, and he curls in on himself all the more. Coursing through his veins is a storm. Rising in his heart is the tide. A sea so unforgiving and fierce that it threatens to strike him down. Still the blonde stands tall as the image of this power made manifest forms in his mind. Instantly, he's brought back to the moment where the world seemed to twist in that cramped jail cell. Back at that time he wasn’t able to move or do anything as that look filled Ren’s face and was promptly consumed by flames and Ryuji imagines it…. What would that look like for him? What kind of face would he make if he knew that was what he could do? This voice is promising him power… It urges him to take the strength necessary to never bow to a king, and Ryuji can’t help but think of a ruthless pirate. Waves and wind at his back, a steady boat under his feet. That’s the kind of person that kings hate most, isn’t it? The kind that steals and always gets away by kicking the shit out of anyone who comes after them…. A grin forms over his face as he imagines it, A jolly roger at his back, a storm on the horizon. A fierce rebellion all his own.

“Your name has already been ripped to tatters by this piece of shit king, so why not raise the flag, take up arms, and make yourself a real pain in his ass instead?”

Heavy raindrops on wood and distant thunder form up this voice now booming in his head so loud that it makes Ryuji’s teeth buzz in his mouth. But at the same time he can’t stop himself from getting hyped up at the mental image of himself in Ren’s place, grinning like a maniac and searing away all opposition.

“The ‘other you’ that exists within desires this as well. You can have it both ways. You don’t have to put up with him any more. With both parties in agreement, the contract can proceed as thus….”

Agony overwhelms Ryuji, and when he gains awareness of himself again he’s grinding his face against the too-plush carpet in the hall and screaming because it feels like something hot is trying to fuse itself to his face. Past all the agony though is that voice, and that desire… The want to maintain his dignity as a track star, as a good friend, as someone willing to protect people, Ryuji can feel it now aligning with his desire to just fuck shit up. Raise havoc. Strike the world down with the fury of the heavens for daring to try and take anything else away from him. He hears that voice whisper, giving him the awareness of it all, and he can feel the static building between his fingertips.

“I am thou… Thou art I. There is no more room for doubt here. We shall fly our flag, and make all fear our wrath from this day forth!”

Like that time too, Ryuji feels the weight of the world coming down on his face in a physical mask. The boy who is broken. The delinquent who caused such a scandal that the entire track program got shut down. The friend who will undoubtedly wreck your reputation. The loud-mouthed trash who dared speak up against him. The worthless child, not worth the time of his father. For this glimpse of a moment Ryuji recognizes these things for the false impressions that they are, all unfairly placed upon him by the world. Well, fuck that. Ryuji grips at the edges of that cognition, and feels how tightly affixed it is but he couldn’t care less. Nothing in the comment is more important than showing his enemies his vengeful spirit, and forcing them to quake in fear at the dreaded pirate flag. Miniaturized arcs of lightning dance across his iris, and in between each finger before it jumps to the short cropped blonde of his hair. With each bolt, the energy delightfully dances into the depths of his eyes and they quickly begin shifting hue from warm autumn brown to crackling highlighter yellow. Distantly, he recognizes the figures of Ren and Morgana, mouths agape as they watch Ryuji grip tighter on his soul and pull that truest distillation of self further and further to the surface, and if the blonde was in any less pain than he’s currently in, he’d make some tacky joke about letting their jaws hit the floor. But for now only one thing is important. Teaching this shitbag and his shitbag knights and his shitbag castle and the entire shitbag world that Ryuji Sakamoto will not go down with a whimper.

The tang of iron fills his nose and blood sprays across his hair and the front of his shirt as the skull mask is thrown from his face with the sound of cracking bone, and from him dances a bolt of pure energy, throwing itself with wild abandon across the room searching for enemies like a lightning bolt desperately searching for ground. Before today he wasn’t sure that he could ever produce anything like this, but now he couldn’t be more certain that he will be just as powerful as his newfound friends. Prickling across his skin is all the more energy, whipping out and lashing against any who try to get too close as a sickening grin spreads across his face. He throws out his arms as he feels the sea spray against his back and the staticky threat of storms in between the threads of his hair. “Right on…. This rocks, what’s good persona?!” He cries, and behind him the sounds of distant rumbling thunder and ocean waves crashing and the creak of a large ship all form a cacophony that sounds like a battle cry. The enemies before him are pushed back further and further from the force of the storm now furiously flying from him… And ryuji cracks his knuckles.

Kamoshida takes a few steps back, gritting his teeth. “This one too…. No matter. Guards, execute this whelp!” He cries, before scurrying back into the dark. The blonde barely even cares that the king he so despises is getting away, because now he has some nice metal targets to practice his lightning throwing on.

“Captain Kidd….. Lets show them they fucked with the wrong guy!”

The world flashes again, and Morgana feels familiar memories and emotions spark to life in his chest.

Chapter Text

Crutches clack against the floor of the classroom as Shiho Suzui marches into her seat, foot already impatiently bouncing. Ren can’t help but think the resemblance to his most recent teammate uncanny, though being because of the simmering irritation she’s trying to drown in the depths of her eyes or the athletic jacket draped like a noble house banner over her shoulders, he cannot say. Either way, The girl that sits in front of him looks equally disgruntled when the whispers start from two desks behind them. The simple, malicious and oft childish whispers that are usually about Ren. A mask over what is undoubtedly the truth of her spirit. He hears the girl in front mumbling to herself, “-ow scummy can you get, she’s right there…”
Ren’s mouth quirks into a smirk, idly agreeing as his eyes glance back. Whispers piling higher and higher. On the topic of the volleyball team. Of kamoshida, and practice, her ankle injury, stories snowballing into outlandish mythos that has little place. After a day or two, the topic will shift again, and the pressure will be off her. Just another day or two…

And yet. After a week, the news has even reached Ren, however muddled it may be by the half-knowledge gained through eavesdropping. Suzui-san looks more downcast too, noticeably moving a little slower under the weight of the Shujin rumor mill. Not only that, she stopped wearing her athletic jacket, swapping it out for the stock standard uniform after the rally (that he later heard she hadn’t attended, but still ended up with a black eye reminiscent of kamoshida’s “practice”). Brisk autumn winds pull Ren from his considerations as Ryuji groans and pulls his blazer over his shoulders, scowling out into the sky. Morgana just snickers, throwing out a half-hearted jab at Ryuji about not having a fine fur coat to keep him warm. Ryuji glares, but ignores it for the most part in favor of eyeing Ren once again.

“Dude. You’ve been glaring at the fencing for like. Ten minutes now. You good? Thinking about the palace?”

Jolting to awareness, slicing silver eyes meet Ryuji’s chocolate brown ones, and suddenly the blonde feels himself to be under far too much scrutiny….. Until the sharpness lets up, and Ren huffs. “Thinking about something. Suzui-san, in our class. She’s….. Hm.”

“She’s…..?” Ryuji leans his head down and in towards Ren a little, searching for anything more to go on…. Crawling down his back the sense of unease and just a little bit protectiveness, followed by a flash of guilt at thinking he has the right to feel protective anymore.

With a loud clash of noise, all 3 phantom thieves jump and swivel to the access door to the roof. Ryuji’s eyes go wide as a the full moon as he sees who marches through.

“See, I told you it was unlocked. Are you certain you’re fine getting up the- careful!”

“I’m being careful. Honest. It’s just-”

The raven haired girl locks eyes with Ren’s first, and instead of confusion, shock, or anything of the sort, a quiet disappointment etches into her eyes. Ann turns, and clicks her tongue. “Ah. Figures you’d be up here, Sakamoto-kun. Shiho, do you want to find somewhere else?”

“No. It’s fine.” Shiho murmurs, making the final two steps up and beginning to walk out towards one of the edges of the building. Ren continues, unabidden, to stare into her eyes. Ryuji just rubs the back of his head.

“Ah… If you guys were like- wanting privacy. We were just leaving.” He blabs.

“Ryuji! You’re just gonna give up our hideout to two randos?! Cmon!” Mournful chittering resounds from Ren’s bag, and Morgana wriggles his head out from the zipper to yowl a little more at the blonde, who begins to scowl back at the cat. Shiho looks bewildered for the most part.
“A- cat? Are you supposed to bring him to school?” Now, their eyes lock. The clash of stormclouds against dark stained wood. Ren just gives a smile. The same Cheshire smile Ryuji is now identifying as when he knows what he sees.

“Will you tell on me if I let you pet him? He’s pretty soft.”

“Betrayal! I am not some accessory to tote around!”

Shiho brightens, the hints of her smile getting to her eyes, and Ann laments how easy it is for him to do it when she can barely get a hint of mirth out of her lately. A small rebellion. Flickering like a flame, rises from the depths of her chest. It reminds her of Ryuji, and she figures that maybe, she’s in okay company. “Nah. But only if Ann-chan gets to pet him too.”

-~**~-

“Tch. Damn Kamoshida. What, does he think he’s the king of some castle, throwing me around like that? I can’t let this slow me down.” Is what Shiho murmurs to herself as she pushes herself ever forward towards the school. Ever onwards she wobbles, thinking her crutches nothing but a pain in the ass as her injury aches from the rain pouring on down. Luckily, her rain slicker is doing a good enough job of keeping her somewhat dry without a free hand for an umbrella. Still. On the other half of that coin, it’s just her luck that the train happened to be late from all the incidents going on recently. Vaguely, she hears a passing conversation that gives her pause.

“C’mon, we can take the shortcut to school. Y’know. That one.” The voice is smooth like a polished marble, and quickly following it is the rumble of Ryuji’s own intonation.

“Dude, cmon! I already got my ass on the line, I don’t need to be late. I love it an’ all, but before school is kinda…”

Ren scoffs. There’s the sound of a cat’s meow, and then generalized agreement, and finally silence….. A bit belatedly, Shiho realizes she’s been listening in and looking entirely suspicious doing so, but… If they have a shortcut.

Nausea runs over Shiho and they lurch, thinking one of their crutches lost traction on the slick concrete. But, under her feet, she finds roughly hewn cobblestones. Double-taking, she looks back on where she came, and sure enough she finds modern tokyo, but… Wrong.

Strewn over it is a sickly maroon miasma, radiating with an overwhelming sense of apathy. Chills skip down her back, and she decides the only way to go is forward towards the school. Still, what she finds there is not Shujin Academy, but an imposing stone castle with spotlights hanging and swinging across the area. This. This cannot be real. Shiho must be dreaming. One of those dreams where you think you’re awake, that’s it. A faint glimmer of metal catches her eye, and squinting her eyes she can make out three figures dancing up across some exposed brickwork… Thieves, sneaking in the windows like a comic book. The last of them, one with a dark overcoat and red gloves turns back at the last moment…. But does not look back, shutting the wood shudder to the window and vanishing. Determined to know what’s going on, she hobbles forward on her crutches, awed by the looming stained glass windows of the castle. Dust shifts and unsettles itself from the large stone door standing before her, and Shiho’s eyes widen as the gaudy interior reveals itself. It’s sickening in there, the smell of sweat crowding her nose and making her wince even standing far from the entrance as she is. She can see large statues of trophies in the lobby, and a massive portrait of… Is that Kamoshida-sensei?
“Such vanity…. Sickening, is it not?”

It is, and something about it makes Shiho uneasy…. Deciding she’s seen enough, she starts to reposition herself, but is stopped by the swoop of a large overhead search-light. From a distant tower, but still loud enough to hear, a mangled voice cries out. “Intruder found! Sending dispatch team to investigate.”

“Ohhh shit.” Shiho murmurs. She’s been caught. By who? What the hell is going on? Quicker than she could imagine, this dream is turning into a nightmare. Whirling 180 degrees, the athlete begins to trek her way back from once she came. She can hear a metal clatter coming from the castle, but whatever it is it cannot be good and Shiho really can’t afford to be late. Because of him. Because of what he’ll do to Ann. There’s shouting behind her. “STOP, INTRUDER”. The voice sounds even more wrong now, a mangle of warbling that’s almost trying to sound human, but has the wrong vocal chord structure and makes every sound come out a wheeze. Louder and louder the sound gets, and as she turns around she comes face to face with at least a half dozen things piloting metal knights armor, black and oozing at the seams of the plates. “W-wait! Wait no no no!” She cries, falling backwards onto the stone beneath her as a guard raises the pommel of its sword, and brings it down.

-~**~-

“Joker.. Y’know, I get that we made you leader and all, but I really don’t think trackin’ down those weird seed skull thingies is worth all the danger. And I sure as hell don’t think they’re down here. Place gives me the ‘effin creeps.”

“Skull, you sure you’re not just saying that because you’d rather not be here?” Mona asks, eyes leaning back towards the masked blonde. With a noncommittal shrug, he stuffs one hand into his pocket while the other bounces his pipe against his shoulder.

“I’m just saying. Being around all those people gettin’ tortured like that just feels… Wrong.” Unease permeates the air as the punkish boy peers to the side, across the river in the dungeon and towards the cages. Screams echo across the stone of the basement, providing a slight shiver in his spine.

“Just bear with it a little longer Skull. I’m telling you, I can feel something here. Something… I- I don’t know how to describe it…” But it needs to be found, are the words Joker leaves unsaid. The infiltration is running so much more smooth than it has been previously, each movement veiled and each pilfered piece of treasure leaving not so much as a mote of dust out of place, as if the essence of a thief is poured into them even more deeply than usual. The ambiance of the dungeon, usually kept unquiet by the babble of the stream that runs through each prison block, is cut off by a piercing shriek from a few corridors over, and before they know it the three phantom thieves are crouched in a battle-ready stance. Silence once more falls over the dank penitentiary, and the objective changes with a snap decision as three sets of feet clatter over the wet stone to find the noise’s source.

-~**~-

“Good! Finally, someone who knows her place around here. I was getting so damn tired of dealing with rats scuttling about my castle. About time I found someone actually worth grinding into the dust. You look so beautiful all beaten down like that.”

Her legs won’t move, it’s as simple as that. She cannot move, she’s so petrified and yet she knows if she is to survive she must find that strength. Still… The sight before her has her utterly frozen. Even the bile in her throat has stopped in its tracks at the way that the voice spills from the visage of this castle’s king. Beyond her, she can see the broken figures of people, ones she does not recognize in particular save for the fact that they are other volleyball teammates. Each of them undergoes their own personal torture, pelted with volleyballs or forced to run sprints back and forth under threat of electric shock. In the depths of her mind she knows that she should recognize every track team member, and yet as hard as she tries the faces of each tortured soul seem to shift before she can properly analyse their features. Why couldn’t it just be a nightmare? How is any of this real? Shiho’s mind reels to try and put some rhyme and reason to what she now knows to be some twisted reality she’s found herself in, because the pain now lancing in the back of her head where she was struck is too vivid to be the product of a dream… Kamoshida moves closer, the yellow of his eyes piercing into her soul and imbibing sickness into her. The seconds roll by with him simply leering at her, drinking in the discomfort. With grit digging into her palms, Shiho moves herself away from him.

“You’re not content to just let yourself be his piece of meat, are you?”

A voice like the quietest night she’s ever known camping under the stars rings out to her, and in the back of her mind Shiho knows she agrees. But what can she do?

“Ohhh. You’re not running away from me are you? Poor misguided thing. You don’t want to do that. Disobedient toys are broken easily. Though. A little fire is never a bad thing.” He purrs. The way that his eyes pour over her figure makes Shiho feel sick in a way she’s never felt sick before. Like just his presence is poison, poison she needs to purge immediately. Poison she needs-

“To rip to shreds. After all. He’s done so much already. He deserves it.”

The purring voice resounds again, and Shiho feels those teeth of her heart barred in defense. Again, the flickering flame of rebellion stirs and Shiho just wants to see it through, but she can’t… Not with her injury. Not when she’s locked in a dungeon, with no idea where she is. And so, the wayward athlete finds herself just sitting there, trying as usual to keep so still that he passes her by.

“There we are… Nice and subservient now. Good, Good! Perfect for taking out all my anger on. Looks like I won’t have to spread all that drivel about that foreign bitch after all. Hm.” Kamoshida cocks his head, taking Shiho’s chin with fingertips cold as winter concrete. Unable to control herself, Shiho grits her teeth. “Though. Not like I have to do much anyways. All those filthy peasants will just eat up the existing stuff anyways. Soon enough she’ll come around to how bad she wants me. A king. Who doesn’t want to serve a proper king? I know you do, suzui. You might just be the smartest rat in this whole kingdom. Sakamoto. Takamaki. That runty transfer scum. They could learn a thing or two about good behavior from you. Especially Takamaki. If she could just learn to quiet down now and then, like you, she’d be the perfect little conquest. ”

Still as she tries to sit, Shiho cannot help but tremble… How dare he. How dare he talk about the only people she likes that way. But… She can’t do anything, can she? All she is is his toy. And now a broken toy, at that. Unable to move. Unable to escape…

“Can you really bear to continue living with yourself if you let him run his mouth?”

But there’s nothing to be done, is there?

“There is. Thou knows there is. For I am Thou.”

Even as she tries to wrap her head around it, she cannot discern the meaning behind the howl hidden away in her heart. The flame sputters and writhes for life, trying to make itself known as she feels Kamoshida’s hand get closer, and She pulls away. With a snap, he grabs her by the throat, and her shoulders jerk as she tries to get away. Vile words pour from his mouth, but she cannot hear them over the pounding of her heart and the baying of the voice from the beyond. There is something to be done… “I. I won’t let you have your way.”

“I’m sorry. Do you want to speak up? Peasants aren’t meant to talk back to a king, you know.” He drawls, grimacing in disgust. Shiho raises herself up to meet his gaze, and is met with a slap to her jaw sending her sprawling back onto the floor. “Ah ah. Watch that tone. Speak only of how incredible I am. How gracious I am for letting pathetic trash like you live after you’ve been broken. Honestly. I’m doing you a favor, you know. You’d never make it in the professionals. I’m just saving you the disappointment.”

“You Liar!” Shiho cries, whipping her head back. Hair drifts over her face, obscuring eyes that continue to fill with an anger that will not tolerate any more. He can say as he likes to other people. But directly to her face? She cannot abide. Her heart of hearts sings, and as Shiho thinks more and more.. What can she do? How can she break through? Prove to him that she’s not just some broken toy. She cannot allow herself to be that.

“Ah. So you’ve finally come to the conclusion we’ve longed to hear.”

With a clenching in her chest, Shiho is doubled over as pain wracks her and the flame of her heart sears her ribs. Spit flies from her mouth as a yelp of agony spills forth, and the voice from within echoes in her inner ear.

“There is no path forward, unless you claim it for yourself. There is no victory, unless you steal it from the clutches of defeat.”

Tears form in the corners of Shiho’s eyes, and she can only find herself agreeing with this voice, needing some form of power, needing only to break through and prove the world wrong about her. The girl will not allow herself to be a broken toy. No more. Drawing her good foot underneath her, she leans her weight forward and pushes, throwing herself onto one knee as she glares at Kamoshida through the curtain of black hair dangling over her face.

“No king shall hold you down. No master shall make you theirs. So long as you desire to take life into your own hands, you shall have power beyond imagination!”

Kamoshida takes a step back, eyes widening before they turn to a sneering scowl. “You…. Peasants must kneel before a king! I thought you knew to be an obedient sl-”

The room shudders and loose stone falls from the walls as Kamoshida is pushed back by a burst of flame and power. The world seems to shimmer like a mirage around Shiho as she slowly brings herself to standing, stumbling on her bad foot but regaining her standing as she locks eyes with the king. Weight falls onto her shoulders, and a hand grazes across her face, summoning up a silver filigree mask onto her face. The eyes are sharp, and the nose pointed like a muzzle as the edge of the mask is lined with grey fur. She can feel it so precisely now, the way Kamoshida and all the world feels about her. Just a prospect doomed for failure. Another face, Another threat just to be stamped down by the rulers of the world. A failure in the making. The whispers of her classmates become the jeers of people who think of her as nothing at all instead of the brilliant light she could be, if she would just dare to take it.

“We’ll show them though, won’t we? Our contract is as thus… I am Thou. Thou art I. Let your teeth be known, you are a wolf among the sheep. We shall make black as white, white as black, and steal away every future those kings dare keep from us!”

“Joker! It’s coming from over here!” Shiho hears the yowl of a cat nearby, but she cannot be bothered. Even as from above them, past the grates of the lowered cell, three figures clad in masks appear including the red-gloved one from before, all staring in shock and awe. Shiho can’t help but grin. Just more audience members to pull one over on. As Kamoshida stands back, unable to get closer and reassert his power, Shiho takes a step forward.. And another, more steady this time. Her shoulders pull back and her spine goes straight as she stands upright and feels for the edges of the wolf mask now adorning the upper half of her face. Eventually, she catches onto the bottom left edge, and the top right ear. This is the mask, the other self that she needs to make real. The world expects beneath it a lamb fit for the slaughter, and Shiho will prove she’s anything but.

With trembling hands, she yanks and pain lances across her face. She cannot allow herself to stop though. She must show her teeth, she must show she is not one to be easily trifled with. A guttural scream rips through the cell as blood splatters onto the stones, pulling away all that she is and feeling sparks catch the ichor aflame, now turning white hot as the last of the porcelain is shorn free from her and she erupts into the fury and freedom she has yearned for all this time.

The same gold irises of the shadow stare back at Kamoshida, and when she stares at his horrified expression, she can only laugh… “This is what’s been missing.” She growls, feeling her shoulders shake with glee and rage. She takes a step forward, and instead of finding the lancing pain of her ankle or the clumsy brace wrapped around it, she finds golden light and pure strength. There’s no room for weakness, and she was never weak. “You don’t like it very much do you, knowing that you’re wrong. That you’ll only ever be wrong about me!” She cries as the flames embroil her once more.

Mona jumps back and Ryuji falls flat on his butt as he tries to get away from the heat, now melting the bars of the cell. Ren calls up arsene, who greedily laps the flames up and away from his bearer as Ren feels a giddiness run through him… How did she manage it? How strong must she be to awaken of her own volition, without knowing of this power or the willpower it takes to manage it? Either way, when the flames recede the figure that stands in front of her own oppressor is not the downtrodden girl on crutches he met on the stairs those days ago. She is now adorned with a wolf’s pelt slung over her like a cowl and cloak. Wreathed around her wrists and ankles are golden bands that cling tight to a flowing greek styled dress that cinches at the waist with bands of white and black. Holding to her feet are sandals with golden bands wrapping up to mid-calf, and on her face is that masquerade mask, the style of a wolf’s muzzle with silvery curls sprawling over it.

“I won’t allow you to control me anymore! We’ll show you what we’re truly capable of! Autolycus, to me!” She cries, and a floating red cloak, hood drawn, with gold clasps where the collarbones should be and furious white headlight eyes floats behind her, drawing into her hand a gold spear with a barbed end. Around her, the figures being pelted with volleyballs and forced to run ad infinitum on treadmills stop and start to shudder, melting apart and coming back together as the shadows of the palace begin to circle Shiho, and she grins wildly, eager to show her teeth and become an unrepentant force of nature and chaos.