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It went up in plumes of scarlet and gold.
He wasn't positive why the ship had caught on fire, but given the size of the engine room and the ferocity with which water consumed the bottom deck, it was reasonable to conclude that something had exploded following the Phantom Thieves' escape. Either that, or perhaps one of the passengers had intentionally sabotaged something to avoid a slow and painful death at sea—a mercy for the thousands of shadows on board, whether they fully comprehended their own sad, metaphysical mortality or not.
He'd been adrift for longer than he could keep track of. The sun had set once, twice, maybe three times since he'd hauled his broken body onto the roof of a sinking corporate building. On the second day—possibly because he'd started feeling like everything was hopeless, and cognition was King—the roof had detached and started on its own treacherous little path, getting absolutely nowhere despite the tumultuous waves.
The only blessing in a liminal space like this was that motion sickness seemingly didn't exist. Be grateful for small fucking victories, he thought sarcastically, watching something else burst into flame toward the front of the ship. His chest constricted, and he turned toward the sky, blinking rapidly.
"Useless…" he whispered.
Because Tokyo was largely submerged, small, wavering stars glittered overhead. His gaze flitted between each of them, still glassy. He wondered if them being present in the Metaverse was because people knew, logically, that they were still there behind the cacophony and luster of a corrupt metropolis.
He didn't think about Shido.
He didn't think about his wasted life.
He didn't think about his so-called "rival", extending a hand to him when nobody else would—even under the guise of celebrity.
Instead, he wondered if he'd live long enough to make it back to the real world. He also wondered about the nature of cognition as it pertained to his own existence: If, as the ship sputtered its few remaining breaths of oxygen into the ocean, he wanted to die, would the Metaverse grant his wish? If he thought himself a dead man, would his body follow suit?
Wishes always came at a cost, however. Maybe he could settle for "hoping" rather than "wishing" and see if life—amendment, death—dealt him a better hand. He'd had enough invisible Faustian deals to last a lifetime.
He took a deep breath, and before he was fully aware of what he was looking at, a long, black feather twirled through the air into his line of vision. It had an almost void-like quality to it against the dark backdrop of the Metaverse, only gaining a slight sheen and more intricate detail as it settled against his chest.
You struck a deal with him, did you not?
His breath shook as it dawned on him who his incorporeal knight in shining armor was, and he turned away—first toward the ship, then the opposite direction when he realized his mistake.
"I don't owe him shit," he croaked. "He got to be the hero. It's all over, anyway. I'm finished."
You fancied yourself his opponent and the man you served has been defeated. Both you and he are alive. What's stopping you from making your escape? Is your body not also home to a trickster god? Do you not also thrive in adverse environments, testing your mettle against an unjust world?
"Are you asking as yourself, or on his behalf?" he shot back impatiently. His face was growing hot, and his eyes burned as he growled out his next words. "I've told him one, two, ten times already: I don't want his pity, or his charity, or whatever the hell else he thinks he's—"
It's grief, you stubborn child!
There was a moment of fraught silence followed by a quiet rustling of wings.
Forgive me. Though he and his comrades are back on the other side, his heart remains here. I'm merely acting in his best interests. He believes you to be dead, Akechi Goro.
He rolled onto his back, taking in the translucent form of a black and red demon. Its lithe figure was suspended no more than five feet above him. He'd gotten a good look at Akira's persona several times, but there was something about the stillness and close proximity that felt much more intimate than passing glances in the heat of battle.
"All the more reason I should stay dead," he murmured wearily. "My life has been completely turned on its head. I have nothing—nothing—to go back to, and as much as I'm sure it'd destroy his fragile little ego to hear this, he's not a good enough reason."
The monster tilted its head inquisitively.
This isn't the first time your life has been irrevocably changed, yet here you are. You reinvented yourself. Why is this instance any different?
A tear trailed over Akechi's cheekbone, traced the shell of his ear, and burrowed into matted hair.
You're free from the chains that previously bound you. Does that freedom—and the subsequent possibility of hardship—frighten you?
No. Akechi was constantly chasing freedom: freedom from Shido, freedom from his crippling past, freedom from the oppressive system that still had the audacity to make his life a living hell—
Yet.
"...Yes," he admitted breathlessly, squeezing his eyes shut. He thought he heard the persona purr sympathetically in response, and he fought the urge to lash out at it. "I'm so fucking tired of all of this, and I didn't plan to make it past this day if it ever came. Even if you're far removed from humanity, you still understand the concept of resolution, correct?"
He paused. The demon said nothing.
"Let this be mine," he finished, his voice breaking. He tried to curl his hands into fists and heard his gauntlets scrape weakly over concrete. "Go back to him and leave me in peace. Please. "
The monster hummed, extending a claw toward Akechi's face. He swiped lightly at the tear clinging to his cheek, and for a moment, Akechi didn't breathe.
I'm not so far removed from my humanity that I don't understand what it is you're feeling, but as a god who's watched over humans for countless decades, I can assure you that this feeling will pass. It's difficult to contend with, but ultimately temporary. You're strong enough to overcome this and face whatever trials await you.
The persona cradled his cheek surprisingly delicately, and though Akechi's first instinct was to push it away, he found that he didn't want to. There was a unique sort of comfort in its touch.
He's afraid, too, fellow Trickster. As much as his heart craves justice, his cravings are amplified to such a high magnitude only because you challenged his worldview all those months ago. His comrades fan the flames of his heroism, but they don't stoke the fire in the same way that you do. He's frightened of losing that. Some might call it a 'purpose.' To him, his mask only exists so long as your fire burns in equal measure.
"And why is that any of my concern?" Akechi bit out, another tear winding its way around the monster's claws.
Akechi Goro, the persona said plainly. I'm not human. Your false bravado has no power over me. Just as I am his reflection, so, too, are you. Deny it all you want, but you are aching in much the same way as he is.
They shared a voice. That made navigating this particular minefield much more complicated.
Akechi wasn’t sure how to feel. Three days at sea with iridescent waves rippling beneath him had eroded his edges, or at least, that’s what he’d thought. Having a physical manifestation of Akira’s will flay him open, however, left him feeling raw and turbulent once again. The whole exchange was a distant echo of their encounter in the engine room a few days prior, and Akechi hadn’t thought he’d ever have to deal with this sort of brutal honesty again. He didn’t like it.
In one last act of rebellion, he shrugged away Arsène's touch, sitting up as abruptly as his spent limbs would allow.
“Leave me alone,” he growled. “I will summon my own if you refuse to listen.”
And accomplish what? To escape me? To escape this place?
The monster steepled its claws, and the gesture, along with the wicked curve of its maw, looked mischievous.
Or perhaps...to escape the feelings you’re unwilling to acknowledge?
Akechi didn’t even think before shouting, “Loki!”
Summoning his persona nearly made him black out, but he clung desperately to consciousness, barely registering the strange, geometric planes of Loki’s limbs in his periphery. A similarly clawed hand reached down to support him as he lost his balance, and Arsène chuckled.
‘Yes’ would be a significantly less taxing answer, but I understand. When you do rejoin us on the other side and reconstruct yourself—
The persona scooped up one of his hands, raising it to its face. Loki growled threateningly just behind him.
—do be sure not to let that fire in your eyes fade away. Anger can be destructive, and in you, it’s a weapon that’s turned inward multiple times, but when the day comes that you can take the unwieldy inferno raging inside you and temper it into a controlled blaze, you’ll have the world at your feet. Him, first and foremost.
Akechi sensed rather than felt Arsène place a kiss to one of his metal knuckles. A small blue flame was left in its wake—one that spread gradually across his body and warmed his skin. Akechi grew lightheaded.
Be reborn from the ashes of this tragedy, my little phoenix, Arsène said with a grand, sweeping gesture toward the sinking ship. We’ll be waiting, as many times as it takes.
Akechi opened his mouth to ask what Arsène meant by that, by the god vanished before he could formulate anything coherent. A cataclysmic “boom!” sounded nearby, and Akechi winced, his body settling comfortably into Loki’s arms as he was lifted off the concrete.
“Leave me…” he murmured one last time. “I don’t want—”
I know, Loki soothed him in an unusually calming timbre.
Akechi looked up at the physical manifestation of his own will, and as the Metaverse fell apart around them, he was thankful that they were both seasoned liars.