Chapter Text
It was over.
Wind whistled across the pedestal where the Phantom Thieves had made their final stand. Their bodies were scattered across the platform.
Two of them, the Empress and the Priestess, had died first to his Gun of Execution. Poetically speaking, they were shot through the heart simultaneously and bled out in each other’s arms. The Lovers had taken a bit longer to strike down, but the Sword of Conviction made quick work of her. The Emperor and the Hermit both were struck down individually by his Book of Commandments. Finally, the Magician and Chariot were destroyed by his Rays of Control.
They had fought bravely, but were no match for the Demiurge.
And then there was one. The eternal thorn in his side.
The Trickster.
The leader of the Phantom Thieves, the very same Thieves who had played right into his hands, but had been saved from erasure by their leader’s conviction. Their leader stood, despite the absolutely crippling emotions that surely were coursing through him at this very moment.
“You’ve lost, Trickster. Why do you still fight?”
The Trickster glared up at him and held out his pitiful knife. The Trickster didn’t respond to his question, instead deciding to fight, running toward the Demiurge.
It was pitiful really, he clearly was too weak to fight, to summon his Personas. And yet he was still going. It didn’t matter anyway. He could finish this right now.
And he did. One slight movement of one of his many arms and a piercing beam of light severed the last Phantom Thief in half with a hole right through the abdomen.
Finally, humanity was under his complete control.
The God of Control turned away from the platform, preparing to finally change humanity in the way he finally wanted to. He reached out one tendril of power to grab the metaphorical heart of humanity, but as soon as he had almost reached it, there was a sharp tug on the middle of the tendril, pulling the power away from the heart, and toward this new assailant.
He turned his perception toward this newcomer, and stumbled back a little. This thing had evidently turned up on the material plane as well, taking the form of a huge bat-winged shadowy figure, with two bright yellow eyes that leered at the Demiurge.
The figure floated there for a little bit, and it spread its wings farther out as a loud cracking sound emanated from reality. In fact, it appeared that reality had bent around this being, bringing whatever it was into this plane. Forcing something unnatural into place.
“You’ve lost.”
The voice that came from it didn’t ripple with power like his own did, but despite this the words broke and wrinkled the sky, compressing reality itself around the Demiurge. He tried in vain to break this compression, maybe slip into an alternate plane, but he found he couldn’t.
He tried to struggle, but the gradual bending of reality practically paralyzed him. The shadow moved closer, the cracks in reality pushing it along.
“Humanity doesn’t want you.”
If Yaldabaoth had a face to emote with, several different emotions would be showing at this time. Recognition would be one, because he definitely recognized the Trickster’s voice as being the one that the shadowy being was using. Another one would be a pleading desperation, because above all else, the False God was a coward.
If he could’ve spoke he would have, would have pleaded with the embodiment of humanity’s rebellion to spare him, but he could hear the metal of his physical form slowly creak as it bent under the increasing pressure.
The last thing he heard was the collective chanting of humanity, all of it being channeled through this being. And the last thing he saw was the Trickster’s eyes staring at him in pity.
——-
It was strange, being a collection of thoughts in the collective unconscious.
The cluster of thoughts stubbornly stuck together to try not to be torn apart by the ravaging tendrils of will. Dreams swam by and tried to sink their sweet teeth in the former thoughts, willing them to disperse and rejoin the whole.
The unconscious tried to get its revenge, constantly battering against the one who tried to chain it after it had been born out of it. The collection of thoughts only clung together tighter, shrinking in on itself the more pieces that were chipped away.
Finally, a connection of power occurred within the cluster of thoughts. Two sparks connected and unleashed a surge of golden power, pushing away the unconscious momentarily, and revealing itself to the rest of the beings out there.
Most simply looked away after briefly glancing at the dying star. One, however, deliberately reached one human-like hand out to the cluster of thoughts, which were now rapidly dissolving from the exertion of the power surge.
The being very gently cradled the thoughts and gave them enough power to stick together, and then not-so-gently tossed them into the being’s own pocket dimension.
——-
Yaldabaoth opened his eyes once more.
Unfortunately, he recognized this place. Even more unfortunately, the chances were that the inhabitants were going to seek revenge.
The place still took the form of the panopticon he had fashioned it into, but there was one key difference. Instead of him being the one at the desk, he instead took the seat across from it, with the original one at the desk.
Igor leaned forward, staring even more unnervingly at Yaldabaoth. Yaldabaoth was about to say something along the lines of “Why am I not dead?” or “Please don’t kill me again.” However, he was interrupted by the person who probably had the most rights to give him a very grisly, blood soaked end.
“Don’t speak. You have, as the Trickster would have put it, zero rights and are in jail.” Lavenza stood to the side of the desk, and despite being physically twelve or something, she was kinda terrifying to the disgraced god.
And they sat there in complete silence as they all just stared at each other for what felt like hours. Finally, Igor snapped his fingers and a single sheet of paper appeared on the table.
“Demiurge, Holy Grail, The Warden, or simply put, Yaldabaoth. You have committed very terrible crimes, and much like the nature of this prison you’ve devised you must be rehabilitated. But first, the contract.” Igor gestures to the paper. “This shows that you fully accept what the rehabilitation entails.”
Yaldabaoth leaned over the paper, his eyes scanning it. It said exactly what the master of the Velvet Room said it did. But why exactly would he sign it? He voiced that exact complaint.
“Well, you don’t exactly have the right to choose.” Igor motioned at the cells around them. “The moment you decided to mess with this place, you’d made an enemy of the true master of the Velvet Room. And he, let’s just say, would rather put you to use than leave potential power to go to waste.”
The former Holy Grail didn’t respond, looking down at the ground. He only looked back up at the desk to sign the paper. The instant it was signed, the paper curled up and disappeared.
“Now, for the details of your ‘rehabilitation’.” Igor waved his hand over the table and a card appeared, face side down. “This world is doomed to collapse soon, since humanity essentially has no more desire, but with my master’s power, you will be able to ‘move’ to a new one.
“You will be brought to the beginning of the game and, essentially, will aid your enemy in defeating yourself, after which, if you so choose so, you will be released from service. If not, you will remain on the mortal plane. Finally, you will not be powerless, and will be provided a mortal form and power to traverse the collective unconscious freely.”
The card on the table flipped over, revealing a drawing done in red, white, and black. It was a crude depiction of someone being disemboweled, organs being feasted on by twin lions while the person reached toward something that wasn’t in view. At the bottom of the card were the words “La Faim”.
“Now, with the power granted to you, you will be sent to this new world as if you had always been there. We won’t meet again until you have completed your task. I wish you luck upon your journey.”
Suddenly, Yaldabaoth felt his head being jerked backward roughly, as what felt like a chain was wrapped around his now-human neck. He reach up all-to-human hands to try to get it off, but those were quickly bound as well. After a moment of his struggling, the chains pulled taut and he was dragged off into the velvet blue abyss.