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The battle fades, and the Phantom Thieves find themselves standing in the middle of Shibuya, red sky above and bones around. Blood raining against the ground.
And Akira… Breaks.
“I can’t do this again,” scrapes out of his throat, collapsing to the concrete beneath him. He knows what awaits them, tears mingling with the crimson falling.
“Akira!” Ann stumbles close to him, kneeling down at his side. The others follow, Ryuji mirroring her, Futaba and Haru in front, Yusuke and Makoto at his back. Morgana pushing his way closer, into his lap.
Great. He gets to watch them all die again, right before his eyes.
“I’m sorry– I shouldn’t have dragged any of you into this.” He goes to wipe his face, but his hand isn’t there anymore. Sleeve it is, then.
(He’s sick and tired of dying, of fading. The cold, the numb, the loss of himself as he flakes away. The literal impossibility of holding himself together against the weight of nonexistence pressing down on him. The weight of his friends disintegrating before him.)
Gasps sound from around him as the others fall, except this time, this time, they’re all piled together, leaning against him, against each other.
“Akira, what do you mean again?” Futaba asks, meeting his eyes while her head rests in his lap.
He chokes back a sob and lets his arm rest against her head, while he still has it. And— Fuck it.
He’s been keeping quiet, because it’s different now. They’re not exactly the same, but they’re still his friends. Even if things go different. Maybe he should tell them. Maybe it’s the last time he’ll get to tell them.
(It’s not going to be. But it is for these versions. He wants them to know.)
“Haven’t been entirely honest,” he mutters, head resting on Yusuke’s chest as they all shift from the lack of body to keep them upright. “We– I’ve done this. Already. With all of you. Died here, in this crossing. Then I woke up on the train, and it was April 9th. I can’t find a way to save you.”
Everyone calls his name, and it’s the most distressed he’s ever heard his team. Even their first failure, disappearing here, didn’t sound nearly as heartbroken as seven teammates, friends, crying for him.
None of them weigh enough to anchor Akira to reality.
(He wouldn’t want to be anchored without them).
He closes his eyes, and waits for the train to meet him again.
Blue overtakes his vision, and when he looks, he sees Igor, Caroline, and Justine.
He accepts his death as they’re told to get rid of him. Maybe he’ll get to rest.
(He doesn’t).
He can’t.
He might die, but he will die in a blaze of rebellion. If he rests, he will earn it.
But no. Instead, that blue butterfly flutters before them all.
And then there is something new.
Lavenza, born of the twins. Torn apart and executed to be reborn again.
A deal denied. A master cast from what was never his room.
The real Igor apologizes to him.
Then, as Lavenza looks at him, her eyes turn sad. “My Trickster, I apologize for what you are facing. Just as you are not meant to be a prisoner within your own mind, you are not meant to be a prisoner of time.”
“You know?” he asks, he has to ask. He has to. On his knees in front of her. “How do I fix it?”
Her hand meets his cheek, and she shakes her head. “You ask to fix it before you ask the cause. Do you not wish to know?”
“I can’t do this. I can’t keep losing them.” Their dead bodies. Fading from his view, view fading too.
“Never again will you lose them like that, Trickster. Other ways, perhaps.” Lavenza sighs, blinking away tears. “I said I apologize, and I do. I must. My master and I sought to save you from that fate, yet now this wheel spins out of our control. We will aid in freeing you, for it is our fault that time has chained you to this year.”
Igor, then speaks. “Our abilities are meant to guide you, and guide you we will, to your freedom.”
He’s not free.
Not yet.
“We will remain with you, Trickster. You will not face your foes alone, neither in mind nor in flesh.”
Lazenva steps back, and smiles once more. In this realm between dream and reality, he can feel them. His friends. Locked away in mind and body, but safe. A second (third, fourth, fifth) chance at life, a chance to win again.
Ryuji hugs him, arms tight and secure. “We’re here with ya. You don’t gotta do this alone, you know?”
Yusuke gives Akira a kiss on the cheek, and whispers in his ear, “Would that I could share this burden with you, my friend. You needn’t suffer for us.”
Makoto brushes back his hair, and clings tight. “Joker… Akira… We both get caught up in our heads. We can help, but you have to ask.”
Ann kisses him, too, square on the lips. Soft, she says, “Thank you, for helping me. For helping all of us. You said you were sorry for dragging us into this, but there’s no place I’d rather be.”
Haru brings his hand to her lips, and he wipes away tears from her face.
“I tried…” How does he apologize, for knowing her father would die?
“It’s okay.” It’s not, but she nods resolutely. “I can live on without him. We don’t need those who control us in our lives.”
“How’s new game plus treating you?” Futaba asks, standing outside her doorless cell.
Akira laughs, and presses a kiss to her forehead. “I think I might get to see that true ending, finally.”
(He won’t.)
(He doesn’t.)
(It is a true ending, but not the end.)
They die.
Painfully, agony lancing through their bodies, they die.
Fallen before a god.
If the timeline continues on, Akira does not know.
Akira jolts to attention on April 9th, in a train bound for his new old home.
On the floor of the Velvet room, slumped against Lavenza, he cries for the people he can only remember.
Akira has to once more start again.
(There’s a chance to win).