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It is fitting, perhaps, that the Reaper of the Bailey now sits alone in a dank cell in Barclay prison, weighed down by the guilt of crimes both real and imagined.
Barok has tortured many souls down here himself, after all, whether he has ever met them in person or not. The Reaper has taken on a life of its own, the reach of the dreadful specter far exceeding that of the shadow cast by the man who bears the title. There are cautionary tales told in dark corners of London of those who thought they would be the ones to best the Reaper’s curse, only to die trying.
Once - many years ago now - Barok had had the gall to imagine that it might be his destiny to stand in a courtroom and shine as Klint once had. To be a face of justice alongside his beloved brother.
But his brother is gone, and Barok understands now that his fate has never been to shine, but to dwell instead in the depths of London’s darkness. For years, he has feared for his own life as those loyal to the Reaper’s victims seek to exact their revenge. For years, he let the rumors spread like a sickness - encouraged them, even, with his imposing presence, his icy gaze, his indirect answers to every query on the topic of the Reaper.
This has been his service; this has been his sacrifice.
And perhaps such rumors will end when he does, now that he stands accused of killing his own colleague. Or perhaps this thing that Barok has become - that Stronghart has fostered and that the people of London have sustained - will outlive him. Perhaps the Reaper will be his only lasting legacy, outside the fortune of the van Zieks family that will pass to some distant Dutch cousin once he is gone.
It will not matter to him one way or the other, he supposes. Surely his soul will not be aware of what comes to pass once it has been dragged away to burn in the depths of Hell.
The Reaper is not as afraid of death as he should be.
The sound of footsteps enters his awareness, but Barok does not bother to look up even as they come to a stop outside the wrought iron door of his cell. He does not look up, in fact, until a cold voice says, “I didn’t think even you could be this stubborn.”
He looks up to see the face of his disciple - but no. Kazuma Asougi has not been his disciple since he had removed his mask in the courtroom after Albert’s trial. Asougi is a specter all his own; every other monster in London fears the Reaper, but the Reaper fears only this ghost of his past that stands before him now.
Asougi stands as Genshin had, bows as Genshin had, even draws his sword as Genshin had. But his eyes - his eyes shine like Klint’s. It's obvious even now, in the prison’s dim light; Barok had seen it the moment Asougi had removed the mask that had obscured them from sight all those months before. He is the perfect reminder of everything that Barok now mourns.
“Mr. Asougi,” Barok acknowledges coolly. He doesn’t know why the young man is here, and, more than that, he doesn’t know how to interact with Asougi now that he’s regained his memories. Asougi has continued to haunt Barok at the prosecutor’s office - more overtly now for Barok knowing his true identity - but Barok does not understand to what end. He can’t be sure whether Asougi knows what Barok has done, or the role that he played in Genshin’s death. He can’t be sure if Asougi knows that the deaths of his father and Barok’s brother tie the two of them inextricably together in the eyes of fate.
“Lord Stronghart has assigned me to prosecute your case,” Asougi says. He has wasted no time in sharing the news, it would seem. He sounds pleased, but not in the way that one might expect of a student standing up for a mentor. Not in the way that Barok was pleased to have been the prosecutor in Albert’s trial, to fill the role he would not have trusted to anyone else.
He sounds pleased that he will have a hand in Barok’s downfall.
“I see.”
“Is that all you have to say?” Asougi snaps, his expression dark. He is facing Barok head on, arms crossed over his chest. He still has two swords, one resting at each hip. By all rights, he should look ridiculous. Instead, he looks like some sordid spirit bent on vengeance, here for Barok’s soul.
And perhaps he is, Barok thinks.
“What would you have me say?” Barok responds. His voice is rough from disuse and the dank air of the prison cell. It makes him sound more like the Reaper he's meant to be.
Asougi takes a step toward the door of his cell, grips the iron bars in a chokehold. Barok cannot see how white his knuckles turn, as Asougi is wearing gloves - gloves Barok had bought him, in fact, when he’d had to ensure that his new disciple was presentable in court. Asougi is rattling the cage of a captured animal, provoking it into action so that the man can blame the beast once it attacks.
“You could stand up for yourself, at least,” he says disdainfully.
Barok is no beast, but perhaps the Reaper is; and the Reaper, after all, is the one Asougi has come to see. He moves to stand opposite the younger man, facing him through the bars that separate them. His taller frame casts Asougi in shadow, blocking the meager light from his cell. Barok allows himself a grim smile when he notices.
“Shall I curse your name, Asougi?” he asks. His own countenance remains stoic in the face of the fierce anger he sees burning in the eyes of his erstwhile disciple. “Shall I beg for my life? Throw myself at your feet and weep? There is nothing I can say that would make a difference.”
Asougi’s expression darkens. Barok is correct. The blinding rage of righteous justice leaves little room for alternative perspectives. Asougi isn’t here to allow Barok to have his say.
“What do you want from me, Kazuma Asougi?” Barok asks. “I’ve precious little else to give you now.”
Asougi says nothing, but Barok is sure he can guess at the violent nature of his current thoughts. Perhaps he is wishing for Barok’s throat to be ripped out, for him to meet the same end as the Professor’s victims, the very deaths for which Asougi’s father bears the blame. Asougi is too close to this, Barok thinks; and Barok knows the danger of a young prosecutor who is motivated solely by revenge, knows that Asougi stands to lose himself in the process. Fitting, perhaps, that Genshin’s son should be the one to pass such vehement judgment upon him, the way he had once done to Genshin.
Barok turns away from him, retreating back into the dank shadows of his cell.
“Naruhodou was here,” he hears Asougi say finally. His voice is gruff, like his throat is constricted with all the words he holds back from speaking aloud.
“He was,” Barok confirms, though he knows Asougi is waiting for him to say more. “What of it?”
“Naruhodou was here, and yet you still have no one to stand in your defense.” Asougi’s eyes narrow. “You have to know that no one else will run the risk of representing the Reaper and losing.”
“You would risk your own compatriot at the hands of the Reaper of the Bailey?” Barok asks. “I was under the impression that Mr. Naruhodou was someone of import to you.”
“He is,” Asougi says. He sounds more vehement than he likely meant to; his tone has an icy edge as he continues, “But we both know the Reaper is nothing more than human. And either that human is found guilty and dies, in which case Naruhodou will be safe, or that human is found innocent and lives, in which case Naruhodou will have no reason to worry.”
“Because the Reaper would have no cause to harm the attorney who saved his life,” Asougi doesn’t finish. Asougi doesn’t say this, Barok suspects, because what Asougi wants to say is “Because I’ll kill you myself.”
Barok stays quiet for a moment as he watches the intensity of emotions that pass across Asougi’s face. He has spent months with this man, those expressive eyes hidden behind a mask, those emotions clouded by memories lost. The man in front of him no longer has his countenance half hidden, but he no longer lives in a mess of missing memories, either. His motives now are quite clear, in fact: Asougi hates him.
It doesn’t hurt, not really. Being hated is a mantle Barok has worn for years; he’s used to it now. And for all the emotions currently clouding his judgment, Asougi is not wrong about the crimes Barok has committed against him. Against all of them.
It is discomfiting, however, to witness the way such hatred twists the lines of Asougi’s youthful face into such a dark expression. Barok has come to care for Asougi these past months; it has been a long time since he’s opened himself up to care for anyone. Perhaps seeing nothing but hatred reflected in Asougi’s gaze now is cruel fate’s last laugh. It is a tragic irony that, unbeknownst to him, Genshin’s son should be the one to inspire such compassion to grow in such a fallow field as Barok’s broken heart.
“Why do you wish so much for me to seek your compatriot’s services, Asougi?” he asks. It’s direct, as Barok has little energy left for games. “I should think you don’t care who you are to face in court tomorrow when your goal is to see me hanged.”
“You as good as signed my father’s death warrant,” Asougi hisses. “I know you are a part of this.” He pauses, and his expression softens just a bit. “And if there is any chance that I am wrong about any of this, Naruhodou will be the one to find it.”
“You want him to reassure you that your revenge is complete.”
“I want the truth,” Asougi barks, and then after a moment, he utters softly, “And I want my father returned to me. But as it stands, I can only have one of those things, so I will do whatever is needed to obtain it.”
There is a moment of quiet in the jail, and Barok watches Asougi, seeing him for the wounded man he is. Asougi has been carrying grief and loss for as long as Barok himself has - had started off at an even younger age, in fact. Barok begins to wonder which of them is truly the caged animal, licking its wounds from behind iron bars.
Barok does not wish to embroil Naruhodou in this mess any further, but then, Naruhodou is a part of these proceedings one way or another. As someone who loves Asougi - as someone who cares about what is right and true - he has plunged into this darkness alongside them. He is not one who would readily leave his friend’s side, even after all that has come to light thus far. Barok alone will not be enough to keep him safe from this.
He has no doubt, of course, that Naruhodou will return; he had been sure of that even before Asougi had come to confront him. Barok considers what would happen if he turns Naruhodou’s offer down once more, but then, he knows well what that path holds. He has been walking that path. It is a dark and painful one that Barok has walked since he had received the moniker of the Reaper - no, longer still. Since Klint had died.
“Then seek your truth,” Barok says. The weight of Asougi’s gaze suddenly becomes too much for him, and he lets his eyes fall closed. “But be wary of the demons you will encounter along the way. The ones we find within are often the deadliest.”
Asougi laughs, a short, sharp sound. It isn’t pleasant.
“I don’t need lessons in morality from you,” he says.
Barok meets his eyes one more time. He does not know what Asougi sees in his expression, but perhaps there is some of the Reaper dwelling there, because he does see the flicker of concern that darkens Asougi’s brow.
“It is not a lesson in morality I seek to impart, Mr. Asougi,” Barok says. “Merely one on how to survive in the shadows.”
The blaze of hatred on his face burns out abruptly, and Asougi looks suddenly that much more vulnerable. He fights to hold back any sign of it, but his sober expression wavers enough for Barok to see. Asougi is passionate, angry, grieving - and above all, he is scared.
Asougi takes a step back. His eyes linger on Barok for a moment longer before he turns away. He leaves without another word, fading into the darkness. The white of his suit is visible a bit longer than the rest of him; and then the shadows swallow him completely.