Work Text:
When Makoto returned to the dorm as the sun was beginning to set, he was absolutely exhausted. Half of the day’s lectures had been incomprehensible. Some of his professors had been drawn in by the teachings of the Cult of Nyx. One of them looked to have already become one of the Lost, and hobbled into the classroom entirely without incident, if only because not enough people around them cared to notice he was in no condition to teach. Then, once the school day was over, Makoto had just picked a direction and walked, taking in the sights of Iwatodai and feeling his heart break every time he noticed bystanders stepping over the discarded bodies of the Lost.
He wrote Bebe a letter in the library that he knew would never be delivered on time, even if he bothered to send it. He prayed at the shrine for Akinari and Shinjiro. He got takoyaki with Hayase at the strip mall and popped into the bookstore to give Bunkichi and Mitsuko some company and hugged them both for too long before leaving. He had so many more goodbyes to give, but he could only handle so much walking before his legs protested their continued use. Knowing he had to save his strength, he had eventually returned home, only to find the lounge mostly abandoned.
Everyone had been at school that day, even Ryoji, who looked paler by the day and was probably only continuing to attend for their sake, so they could all pretend that everything was fine. It had been a relief to see him sitting in the corner all day, even with that absent look in his eye. By some miracle, maybe due to their meddling in the hidden passage of Tartarus, which Ryoji had called Asphodel, he hadn’t disappeared. For better or for worse, he’d be facing Nyx with them as a member of the team.
But Ryoji was nowhere to be seen in the dorm.
Makoto ascended to the second floor, straining to stay alert. Even though he knew it would be smart to save his energy for the battle against Nyx when she descended, he still feared falling asleep. After all…if Ryoji was correct that Nyx was unbeatable, then he needed to cherish every spare bit of consciousness he could. After all, when he woke from sleep the following morning, it would be the last time he ever woke up.
Makoto shook his head as if to banish the thought away. Nothing was decided yet. He and his friends had all made their decision to fight the Fall with everything they had, and while they were only human…Ryoji was not. Even in his human-like form, his power was unlike anything Makoto had ever seen. As Junpei had declared a few nights prior at the celebratory dinner they’d shared to commemorate clearing Asphodel, Ryoji was their secret weapon, their best chance at standing against Nyx. By joining SEES and leading them through her domain, Ryoji had been defying Nyx. With him…they had a real chance. It was Makoto’s job as the leader to remind him of that.
When Makoto reached Ryoji’s room, which had once been Shinjiro’s, he knocked twice, then pressed his ear to the door, listening for movement. There was a slight rustle, and then silence.
“Ryoji?” Makoto asked, knocking again for good measure. “Are you there? It’s…our last night, so…let’s go on a date. I’ll take you wherever you want.”
There was no response.
“Can you at least let me know you’re still here?” Makoto asked, hating the way his voice broke halfway through the sentence. It seemed that for all their celebration over the last few days, and despite the fact that it really seemed that Ryoji would be sticking around until the very end, Makoto’s fear of losing him suddenly had never quite gone away. It was like he’d been holding his breath ever since Ryoji had turned to leave on New Year’s Eve, claiming he was going to dissolve into the Dark Hour.
The fact that he hadn’t been taken by Nyx like he’d assumed would happen was a miracle, and if that was true…that meant miracles were possible, that they could be crafted with love and determination. Makoto held that fact close to his chest, trusting that Ryoji was behind the door, even as he turned to leave.
“...it’s unlocked,” Ryoji finally said.
Makoto hesitated only for a second before reaching for the door handle and turning it. As he stepped into the room, he saw Ryoji sitting on the bed, which had been carefully made. The entire room was spotless, unmarred by Ryoji’s presence, save for the jacket and armband he kept on a hanger near the door, much like Makoto did in his own room. His only other notable possession, his music box, had been gifted to Makoto, and he refused to take it back.
He was like a ghost in his own living space, and his posture reflected that. His shoulders were hunched, and he was staring out of the open window, the breeze lifting up his scarf and letting it float in the wind, like the outstretched hand of someone already gone.
Makoto watched him carefully, standing in the doorway and choosing not to approach him until he was invited to. Ryoji’s eyes briefly flickered over and met his own to acknowledge Makoto’s presence, but soon after, his gaze drifted back through the window. The colors of the sunset were fading, giving way to a dark sky that would soon be lit by an almost-full moon. There was no use in wondering what he was thinking about.
“I…don’t really feel like going anywhere,” Ryoji said. “Can you just…stay here with me for a while?”
With a short nod, Makoto immediately complied with the request. He turned to gently close the door behind him, then walked across the room to the bed, settling next to Ryoji and leaning his weight against him. He felt Ryoji relax ever-so-slightly, exhaling and closing his eyes. If they stayed there long enough, Makoto was sure he could fall asleep like that, pressed against Ryoji’s cool skin, burying his face in his soft yellow scarf.
After a few minutes, Ryoji finally turned away from the window, once all the outside light had faded and the moon was visibly rising. He kissed Makoto softly on the crown of his head, then faced him properly, his eyes clouded with sorrow. Makoto traced Ryoji’s cheek and stayed close to him, hoping his small, insignificant actions and touches still meant something to the other boy, even when they were on the precipice of the End.
They didn’t really have a label for what they shared. Makoto supposed “boyfriend” would be appropriate, but somehow, it felt entirely insufficient. Ryoji had once been a part of him, but he was also very much his own being. In some ways, he was far too powerful and complicated to begin to understand, and as intimidating as that was, Makoto knew that Ryoji’s feelings were as real as anyone else’s.
Gradually, Ryoji relaxed more and more, eventually lying down on the bed and dragging Makoto down with him, until they were tangled up in each other. They didn’t speak or take any steps to escalate their touches into proper love-making –– being near each other was enough. Privately, Makoto hoped that if the world did end, they might be destroyed together, their ruined bodies still clutching each other’s hands in an approximation of a couple’s joint funeral.
If I have to disappear forever…if my deathbed has already been made for me…my only wish is that we’ll be able to share it. My dearest.
It was an unspeakable thought. When the words formed in Makoto’s head, Ryoji clutched him tighter anyway, a few shiny tears rolling down his cheeks. Makoto carefully kissed each one, until his eyes felt heavy and he let himself be taken by sleep.
“Makoto.”
When Makoto stirred awake, it was still dark outside, and Ryoji had already gotten up. Makoto rubbed his eyes until his vision cleared, and was surprised to see Ryoji was standing across the room, dressed in his jacket and SEES armband, clutching his scythe in one hand. Makoto’s first thought was that he’d somehow slept through his last day to live and the Fall was already approaching, but once his mind cleared, it was apparent that he’d only been passed out for a few hours. He had no clue why Ryoji was wearing his combat uniform.
“...why are you wearing that?” Makoto asked through a yawn. “We’re skipping Tartarus today. We need to save our energy for when we face Nyx tomorrow.”
“It won’t make any difference,” Ryoji said quietly. Makoto frowned, but couldn’t think of a good response to that. “I was hoping you’d accompany me to Tartarus.”
Makoto sat up on Ryoji’s bed, rubbing the remaining drowsiness away from his eyes. He wasn’t opposed to going to Tartarus, but he didn’t want to make any of the other members of the team feel obligated to devote their last peaceful evening to preparing for battle. It certainly wasn’t what he would have chosen to do, but something in Ryoji’s voice, as quiet as it was, was so earnest and serious that Makoto didn’t want to ignore the request.
“I’ll see who else can––”
“No,” Ryoji said quickly, cutting him off. “Uh…sorry. I just mean…it only needs to be the two of us. Is that…alright?”
Makoto got to his feet with a small grunt, glancing at the clock on the wall to check how much time they had. In just under half an hour, the Dark Hour would begin. If they left soon, they’d get there right on time to see it emerge and stretch out towards the sky, where Nyx would shortly meet it.
“I said I’d take you anywhere you wanted, didn’t I?” Makoto said.
Makoto made his way across the hall and retrieved his own infiltration gear, tucking his evoker away safely and catching on tightly to his shortsword. Once he was prepared, he let Ryoji lead the way out of the dorm, deciding not to tell anyone where he was heading. Maybe that was a foolish decision, but Makoto supposed it was only appropriate for his general regard for safety to be somewhat lessened by the impending possible end of the world.
The Dark Hour began while they were still walking to Tartarus, and Makoto could see it stretching out towards the moon even from a distance. Neither of them said a word on the trek over, which was strange. For many months, the walk over to Tartarus was a lively affair, filled with lighthearted bickering, or muttered inside jokes, or even small talk that had seemed so frivolous back when Makoto thought he had a lifetime of it ahead of him. But it was all quiet as they walked. Ever since recalling his true nature, Ryoji had generally been quieter, but almost never completely silent. Makoto still didn’t know why Ryoji had wanted to go to Tartarus in the first place, and it was disconcerting still being kept in the dark.
When they entered Tartarus, Ryoji led Makoto down the path of Asphodel, which tunneled beneath the tower like a coiled root, breaking through the crust of the Earth and seeping out its very lifeforce. Asphodel was a domain claimed by the dead, and its presence felt like an omen of what the earth would soon be –– a unrecognizable world haunted by ghosts that drifted over a forest of human remains and the equally numerous bones of the civilizations they had once built.
When they’d reached the very bottom of Asphodel, where they’d fought the last of their long battles against particularly strong shadows earlier in the week, Ryoji finally came to a stop, his neck craning as he scanned the area. A couple of shadows, half-formed and hungry for prey, were lurking towards them from every direction. Makoto grasped for his evoker, preparing himself to battle them, when suddenly, Ryoji spoke up.
“Stand down,” Ryoji said, lifting his head slightly to glare at a group of the shadows. His command wasn’t a harsh one. His voice was almost a whisper, a threat that he had no need to follow up with an action. Those two words alone were enough to cause the smaller shadows to turn tail and run, leaving them alone in the dim crimson light. There was no enemy left to be defeated in front of them, yet Ryoji still had his weapon firmly in hand.
“Are you going to tell me what this is all about?” Makoto asked, trying his best to fight off the uneasy feeling in his gut.
Ryoji turned around, his body facing Makoto but his eyes cast downward.
“...this is the last night I’ll be able to talk to you like this.”
Makoto felt his legs freeze up.
“But tomorrow––”
“When the Dark Hour ends and time moves forward once again, I will cease to exist,” Ryoji said. “I’m certain of it this time.”
Makoto once again tried to find his words, but found none. In fact, his heart took the information for what it was and accepted it, as if his own mind was all too privy to the fact that with only an hour of time left with Ryoji, there was no time for denial, anger or any other aspect of the grieving process.
“Well…not that it really matters,” Ryoji continued, his voice dull. “Tomorrow, around this time, Nyx will descend upon the Earth, and all life will end. No one will be able to talk to anyone anymore, after that.”
Makoto swallowed, but somehow managed to stand his ground. It wasn’t surprising that they were saying goodbye –– it shouldn’t have been. But for some reason…he really had started to believe wholeheartedly that Ryoji would be by their side while they were fighting Nyx. With his extraordinary power, he’d led them through Asphodel; surely he had enough power within him to defy Nyx and remain as Ryoji Mochizuki. That’s what all the other members of SEES had thought, anyway. Everyone’s optimism had even rubbed off on Makoto. He’d been having dreams of managing to do the impossible, of averting the Fall and sharing a life with Ryoji, who he loved so much, for many years to come.
It was strange how a fate he knew was inevitable still came as such a surprise. Having hope was cruel, in that way.
“You’re sure?” Makoto asked.
Ryoji nodded.
“It’s a struggle to hold onto this body, even now. But I need it for just a little longer. This is…important.”
Before Makoto could inquire about what was so important, Ryoji turned around to face Makoto, standing up straighter than he had the entire walk over. After a second, he twirled his scythe and slammed it down into the floor beneath them, sending hairline cracks through the surface with its impact. His eyes were practically shining with unnatural power, and in his stance, there was a clear challenge.
“We’ve faced many foes in this place,” Ryoji said. “Sleep, Retribution, Deception, Strife, and Doom. Each was powerful in their own right, and each an embodiment of something humanity fears. The ancient Greeks referred to them as my siblings. It seems that I am the only child of Nyx left in this place. That means…it’s my turn.”
Makoto gripped the handle of his sword tighter, but didn’t raise it to rise to the challenge Ryoji had set forth. He was struggling to understand, trying to find some meaning behind Ryoji’s strange actions. Ryoji…a boy who was so filled with love and light…really wanted to spend his last moments sparring in Tartarus? To what end?
“Makoto,” Ryoji said, the name so tender on his lips despite the aggression in his stance and the glimmer of the dim light off the sharp edge of his weapon. “As I am right now, I’m incredibly weak. My power can’t compare to that of Nyx. But you’ll find that even in this lesser form, you cannot hope to win this fight.”
“...someone’s confident,” Makoto said. Ryoji didn’t laugh like he usually would. His eyes only sharpened, his blade inching just a little closer to Makoto’s feet, kicking up bits of the floor as it dug in deeper.
“Fight me with everything you have,” Ryoji said. “Strike against me as if you intend to kill me. That is the only way that you will have a chance to walk out of here as the victor.”
“Why?” Makoto finally asked. “Where is this coming from?”
Ryoji grit his teeth, as if biting back words that were set to burst out of him.
“Prove your strength to me,” Ryoji said. “Not just the strength of your Personas…but the strength of your own will, as well. Consider it my final request, to battle you as if to the death.”
Makoto swallowed, his knees wobbling in a way that they never had when faced with the prospect of battle. Even in the beginning, when faced with terrifying creatures he didn’t understand, he hadn’t felt the sort of all-numbing fear that was steadily squeezing his heart into sand as he stared at Ryoji. Back then, he hadn’t feared Death. Why was it that now that he knew Death so well, now that he knew him to be kind and gentle…why was he so afraid?
“Okay,” Makoto said, pressing his shoes a little deeper into the barren ground of the twisted garden of souls they were standing in. “...I guess we’re doing this.”
Ryoji nodded once, clearly waiting for Makoto to make the first move. He was a gentleman to the very end, in that way. A beautiful, lonely prince of darkness. Even as he slowly brought his sword up, Makoto felt sick at the thought of carving scars into that unblemished expanse of skin, of skewering a crystal blue eye, or impaling a beating heart that looked just like his own on the blade. How could Ryoji possibly ask him to fight without holding back?
“But…” Makoto said, delaying what was inevitable for just a little longer. “What if I…kill you? If I do that, we’re all going to forget––”
“That won’t be a concern,” Ryoji said, cutting Makoto off. “I’m honoring your decision. I’m asking that you fight as if you must kill me, only because I know you won’t be able to.”
It was something he stated as a fact –– there was no gloating in those words. Makoto wouldn’t win the fight. The sky was blue. Two plus two equals four. The Fall was inevitable. That must have been the point of the fight. It was a means to mercifully smother out Makoto’s hope.
Sucking in a breath, Makoto darted forward, swinging his sword in a wide arc, aiming right for the crook of Ryoji’s neck, and before he could even see Ryoji bring up his own weapon to parry the blow, he heard the clang of blades clashing and pushing each other apart. With a surge of blue light, the force of Ryoji’s blade multiplied tenfold, and Makoto found himself bracing himself against the attack and taking a knee to avoid being flung back into the closest wall.
Makoto looked up just in time to see Ryoji approaching again, spinning his scythe to create a razor sharp whirlwind intent on slicing Makoto in half. He rolled out of the way and sprung to his feet, swinging his sword at Ryoji’s exposed back, but once again found his opponent too fast to catch off guard. Ryoji grinned as he brushed away Makoto’s attack with the handle of his scythe and let his weapon drop, snapping it over his knee into segmented pieces, connected with chains. Makoto gawked for only a second before he remembered to move. He’d never seen Ryoji do that with his weapon before. Whatever version of Ryoji he was up against, it would be unfamiliar –– but Ryoji would still know Makoto all too well.
With a flick of his wrist, Ryoji sent the chained scythe flying like a whip, its extra range truly giving Makoto nowhere to run on the entire floor. Still briefly stunned by Ryoji switching up his technique on a whim, Makoto wasn’t able to avoid the blow, the hook of the scythe lodging itself into his arm and tearing into his flesh. Makoto hissed in pain as his blood splattered on the ground, but managed to duck out of the way of the chain the next time it lunged at him like a venomous snake with one sharp tooth.
Ryoji’s eyes were fixed on Makoto’s wound, but there was no sheepish apology or sympathy in his eyes. That was the most unsettling thing of all about the situation. Ryoji looked so…cold.
Makoto clutched onto his wound and squeezed his eyes shut briefly. He hated this. He wondered if he should have tried harder to convince Ryoji to spend one more night tangled together under his bedspread or walking hand in hand through all of their favorite places on the island. Makoto would have even preferred spending the evening preparing for exams that would never happen or going to the dentist.
“You can’t run from this,” Ryoji said. He recalled his weapon with a snap, the handle collapsing and becoming solid again. “Hurt me.”
Makoto grit his teeth because he was trying . He didn’t want to, but he was trying because he didn’t want to let Ryoji down, and because he knew that in some way, Ryoji probably thought he was doing something kind. He wanted to prove Ryoji wrong, to convince him that he and his friends had made the right decision to stand against Nyx. Makoto reached for his evoker and brought it to the side of his head.
“Orpheus,” Makoto commanded, pulling the trigger and straightening up. Ryoji’s smile seemed to soften as Makoto’s Persona, which he had been nurturing and strengthening in his soul for the entire year, manifested behind him. It was apparent that Makoto was finally ready to fight with everything he had.
Makoto directed his Persona to blast fire spells with the strums of his lyre, which Ryoji danced around easily, leaving the strange flowers that lined their battlefield to take the brunt of the attacks. They were quickly reduced to ash, and Ryoji remained untouched. As Orpheus continued to play, his magic distorting the air around them with ripples of heat, Makoto attacked with his sword again, taking advantage of his weapon’s shorter reach by advancing on Ryoji, until he was practically tackling him.
Ryoji was dodging every swipe of Makoto’s sword, but avoiding both Orpheus and Makoto was apparently enough of a challenge that it briefly halted Ryoji’s own attacks. Makoto stepped left, right, left, right, then right again, throwing Ryoji just off-balance enough with the switch that he was able to touch his face with his blade and slice a thin line across his left cheek. Knowing he had to take the opportunity while he had it, Makoto turned his attention to Ryoji’s rib cage, and swallowed as he prepared himself to try for what would be a killing blow on any normal human.
But just as he’d prepared himself to do it, he was pulled away from Ryoji, a silver chain having wrapped itself around his ankle like a snare. He’d hesitated too long. But…he couldn’t bring himself to hurt Ryoji. He had been too weak. Makoto yelled as the chain tossed him aside like a doll, sending him crashing into the wall and crumbling in on himself, his eyes filling with tears from the impact of his fall. Makoto bit back the pain and got to his feet, trying to shake off the chain that reminded him so much of Thanatos, without any luck. It was bound tightly to him, tethering him to the bottom of Tartarus with Death itself.
Ryoji swiped away the blood on his cheek with his thumb, his expression never changing, then darted forward, leaping into the air, clearing Orpheus entirely with his momentum. As he was airborne, Ryoji hooked his scythe around Orpehus’ neck and used it to swing down to land on the ground, the blade slicing Orpheus’ head off and shattering him into light in one swift motion. The scythe was still spinning when Ryoji caught it, and Makoto scrambled to bring his evoker to his temple and summon another line of defense.
“Metatron!” Makoto called, feeling some of his pain melt away as Metatron’s healing aura settled in the air. Ryoji slashed at Makoto without sparing a glance at the new Persona –– one Makoto had selected specifically to target Ryoji’s particular sensitivity to light magic.
Ryoji hadn’t even touched his evoker, not utilizing his Thanatos form once in their entire fight. But it also seemed he had no intention to fight Makoto as Ryoji Mochizuki. In fact, it felt more like Makoto was fighting Thanatos in a Ryoji mask. It was a strange thought to have, and he was aware of that. After all, they were the same being. It was just…strangely easy to forget sometimes.
Knowing he would need to fight recklessly, Makoto called on Metatron to cast Divine Judgement, knowing a spell that could half his opponents lifeforce would be worth the cost of his own energy. The attack struck true, and Ryoji flinched for only a moment, granting Makoto the first second to breathe he’d had in the entire fight. Then, Makoto watched, dumbfounded, as Ryoji manifested a deep blue tarot card in his hand and flipped it, something about his aura changing as the action was complete. Before Makoto could ask what he’d just done, the card was gone and Ryoji was hooking his weapon forward again.
While Makoto stumbled back, just out of range, Metatron cast a wide pillar of light magic, and though it managed to strike Ryoji, he shook it off without a problem. Ryoji didn’t miss a single step as he continued to whip his scythe around his body, cleaving the air around Makoto with each attack. Even without Fuuka there to guide him, Makoto was fairly certain Ryoji no longer had any weaknesses to exploit.
Makoto had to stop thinking and just move, to just keep attacking as if Ryoji were just another shadow. He’d never shown such hesitation before with a shadow, no matter how human they might appear, and he wouldn’t be second-guessing anything when he was up against Nyx.
Makoto slashed and stabbed with his sword, faster and faster, grunting in frustration as he failed to avoid staying on the defensive, so occupied with blocking fatal blows that he rarely had the chance to attack. For what felt like hours, their waltz continued, Orpheus’ anguished song that played in Makoto’s heart punctuated by the percussive blows of their weapons and the rattle of chains shooting across the floor and forming a deadly, constrictive web.
He couldn’t go on much longer. His mortal body would give out long before Ryoji even needed a short break. He was seconds late to parry a blow to his knee and tripped, silver chains constricting around him and pulling his limbs taut, like he was a prize on display. With some squirming and maneuvering of his sword, he managed to mostly break free, just in time to catch Ryoji’s scythe again, letting out a carnal yell as he pushed against Death with everything he had.
Makoto leaned all his body weight against his sword, just to keep it locked with Ryoji’s scythe, his bleeding arm and leg aching and burning all over. His breaths were thunderous in his ears, his body pushed to the brink with exhaustion and the buzzing of adrenaline. It was taking everything he had to keep up with Ryoji, who was barely breaking a sweat. The fact that Ryoji hadn’t already turned their locking of blades into momentum for another sweeping attack with his scythe was proof that he was giving Makoto respite of his own free will, but even then, Makoto refused to take it, pushing back against Ryoji with all his might.
All around them, their battlefield was decorated in chains, which had torn up the roots of what plants remained and turned the space around them into a tangled nest of fates forged link by link. One was still wrapped tightly around Makoto’s ankle, reminding him that he was Death’s prisoner, that he was only fighting because he was being allowed to, that all of his struggling was in service of an equally impossible battle against an opponent he didn’t even know.
I don’t understand , Makoto’s heart cried. I just don’t understand.
He had really only managed to inflict a few scratches on Ryoji, and even then, he wanted nothing more than to lay down his weapon and kiss the wounds better, to hold Ryoji close and comfort him. After all, he had so little time left. Why would Ryoji demand he spent that time being treated as though he was hated, rather than loved?
If Ryoji Mochizuki was going to disappear either way…
There was no roaring epiphany or soothing moment of clarity when Makoto’s mind was suddenly endued with understanding. A conclusion just nestled into place in his heart, paying no mind to the way Makoto felt about it. It was too horrible, too unfair an explanation…but it had to be the reason for all of Ryoji’s actions that night. He didn’t want to believe it but…
Makoto stopped pushing against Ryoji’s weapon, and finally let his aching muscles relax, his arm falling to his side uselessly as he stared at Ryoji, searching his face for any sign that the truth he’d unearthed might be an inauthentic or incomplete one.
“...it’s going to be you,” Makoto whispered.
Ryoji didn’t say a word, but his eyebrows pinched together ever so slightly, and his jaw set into a deeper frown. Even though he held Makoto’s gaze, it was clear that he wanted nothing more than to look away. But Makoto wouldn’t allow him that.
“It’s going to be you ,” Makoto said again, his voice breaking halfway through his sentence, “on top of Tartarus, on the day of the Fall. Isn’t it?”
“Our fight isn’t over, Makoto,” Ryoji said. Even though he was trying to play Makoto’s words off, his voice was tight, and desperation was flashing in his eyes. “Pick up your weapon and save yourself if you can.”
“Answer me, Ryoji!” Makoto demanded, the volume of his own voice surprising him. Across from him, Ryoji swallowed, and let his eyes flicker closed for the briefest of moments. It was enough of an answer.
Instead of saying anything, Ryoji raised a hand and cast Megidolaon, the bright flash of the spell blinding Makoto and seeping away the remaining energy he had, what little strength was keeping him standing. When the spell cleared, he had collapsed onto his knees, and Ryoji was in front of him, the blade of his scythe wrapped around Makoto’s neck.
He could feel the edge of the cold blade against the nape of his neck, the metal causing the tiny hairs on his skin to stand up. Makoto heaved out shaky breaths, knowing better than to try to move. His life was in Ryoji’s hands –– it would only take a push of the handle one way or the other, and then Makoto Yuki would come to a swift end. But instead, they just stayed there, unmoving, for a long while.
“Part of me wants to just finish it right here,” Ryoji finally said. His unnatural eyes were shining with a dozen different emotions, all clashing and clawing and fighting for dominance. “Part of me wants...to do it on my terms, while it's just you and me.” Ryoji laughed to himself, his chuckles falling flat to the floor. Makoto was sure he’d never heard a more sorrowful sound. “This could be our last night…together. What do you think?"
Makoto thought of star-crossed lovers in stories, of graves with two names, and shared destinies. He thought about how Ryoji used to be safely tucked away in his heart, how he used to be Death’s entire universe and Death was something only Makoto was able to befriend. If Makoto really was doomed…dying that way had its temptations. But Makoto wouldn’t let his convictions be shaken. He didn’t break his promises, and his friends were counting on him to lead them into battle with Nyx…with Death .
“No,” Makoto said. “I want to live some more.”
“Makoto…”
“I already made my decision,” Makoto said. “We all did. We’re going to fight…even if it has to be against our own teammate…our friend.”
“...stop looking at me like that,” Ryoji said, his voice a rough plea. “Just stop.”
“Like what?” Makoto asked.
“...like you still love me,” Ryoji said. “You have to stop.”
Makoto shook his head.
“Of course, I still love you,” Makoto muttered, feeling his cheeks heat up, still unused to putting his feelings to words so brazenly.
“Don’t say that…”
“I won’t turn away from this,” Makoto vowed. “I won’t avert my eyes from you, and I won’t forget everything we shared together.”
Ryoji was finally letting himself emote again, and he looked like he was going to be sick, like Makoto’s devotion was a knife in his gut, inflicting more damage than Makoto could ever hope to do with his own hands.
“I don’t care if you think it was for my own good,” Makoto continued, his voice turning harsher. “How could you keep this from me? It was always ‘Nyx will arrive’, ‘Nyx is unbeatable’...as if you have nothing to do with it. But you’ll be the one we have to face. You’ve been hiding that from us, all this time.”
“...I won’t be fully myself,” Ryoji finally said. He hadn’t dropped his weapon, but it was loose in his grip, hanging at his side. “But this form has managed to persist this long so…I can imagine I’ll look familiar. But everything that I’ve become with this borrowed heart will be overtaken by Nyx.”
“Can’t you resist her?” Makoto asked.
Ryoji finally dropped his scythe, clutching onto his scarf and burying his face into it. He was looking incredibly pale, his eyes sunken and unfocused. Sensing that their battle was truly over for the night, Makoto dropped his own weapon as well, racing forward and catching Ryoji in his arms. He squeezed him tightly, dedicating everything he had into memorizing the feeling of holding him close, of how it felt to stand so closely it was like they were one.
“I feel like I’ve been deceiving you all,” Ryoji confessed. “No…it’s more like…I let you all misunderstand me. Perhaps it was a comfort to be misunderstood, to be treated like one of you.”
He shifted on his feet and sighed as he pulled away from the hug.
“It isn’t that I lied to you. I really do love everything about this world, and I’m glad I got to experience living at your side. But Death isn’t some destiny I have the luxury of running from or a duty I have to fulfill. It’s…what I am. While it is certainly true that I cannot resist Nyx, even if I could…it is not my nature to do such a thing.”
Makoto bit down on his lip to keep it from quivering.
“Humanity is crying for The End, Makoto,” Ryoji said. His voice was as gentle as always, sending Makoto’s name to the wind with all the care in the universe. “And so, I have arrived. You must understand this, if you’re to stand against me.”
Makoto took a step back from Ryoji and nearly fell over, his wounded leg burning and still bleeding heavily. He was beginning to feel a little dizzy from the blood loss. Taking notice, Ryoji reached for him and caught him, holding him steady as he searched around in his pockets for a Bead, which he crushed over Makoto’s hands to cure his wounds.
Even with his bleeding taken care of, the pain persisted, and before Makoto had realized what was happening, he saw his own tears falling to the ground, staining the floor where he was hunched over. Ryoji quietly took his hand in his, running his thumb over Makoto’s knuckles gently without saying a word. He was holding back, and they both knew it. He was only giving Makoto so much affection to hold onto, knowing that when they met again, they would be enemies.
“...we don’t have long now,” Ryoji murmured.
“How long?”
“...six minutes,” Ryoji said. “You need to head back to the dorm and get some rest.”
Makoto felt too weak to protest when Ryoji pulled him to his feet and took several steps back. He could do little more than wipe away his remaining tears as Ryoji carefully removed his red armband and folded it neatly on top of his evoker. Then, he held them out for Makoto to take, his expression guarded and almost blank once again.
“I guess you can consider this my resignation,” Ryoji said. “Please. Take them.”
Makoto did. He held the proof that he’d fought by Ryoji’s side in shaking hands, trying not to focus on what was unsaid. Ryoji didn’t want any reminders of the person he had once been, once he lost his ability to be Ryoji Mochizuki. He didn’t want any of them to see their ally when he mercilessly killed them during the Fall.
“I’ll walk you to the entrance,” Ryoji said.
Just like the walk over to Tartarus, their ascent was in absolute silence. Ryoji was in front, hand in hand with Makoto for one last time. Neither of them commented on the fact that they were both clearly terrible at letting go of what they loved, of purifying themselves of all sentiment for their enemy. Ryoji’s hands had always been cool to the touch, but they were as cold as ice, almost uncomfortable to grasp. But Makoto didn’t dare break their connection. Each step they took up to the ground floor of Tartarus was a precious leg in their last journey as lovers.
As with all things, it ended suddenly, cruelly, and far too soon. When they reached the grand doors that would separate them forever, Ryoji turned around and faced Makoto, their hands still interlocked.
“I won’t be leaving this place,” Ryoji said. “Please, get home safely.”
Makoto clenched his fist around his sword, trying to make his body finally stop shaking. He hadn’t been able to beat Ryoji, and Ryoji hadn’t even really been trying. He’d been granted mercy at the end. The Fall was coming, and it was going to kill everything and everyone. So, all Makoto could really hope to do, in the end, was try to catch Death off guard, one last time, and pull off some sort of miracle.
And it certainly wouldn’t hurt to practice catching Death off-guard.
Moving faster than he’d been able to while they were fighting, Makoto leapt at Ryoji and closed the distance between them, hungrily capturing his lips in a messy, desperate kiss. Ryoji returned it hesitantly, his hand cradling Makoto’s head and ruffling his bangs. When they pulled away, it was too soon. But their time was up –– Makoto needed to press forward and not look back. So, Makoto stepped away, their hands staying connected as long as possible, maintaining their contact from palms, to fingers, to just a pinky. And then, Makoto crossed the threshold to the real world, and the chain around his ankle dissolved into nothing.
Makoto clutched the evoker in his hands to his chest and began the slow walk back home.
Death stood on the top of Tartarus, feeling Nyx’s grip on him tightening around his throat as he tilted his head up at the emerald sky above him. In a matter of seconds, the floor beneath him would disappear, but that was not a concern. After taking a long exhale of breath, Death stopped forcing Nyx out, unplugging the leaks he’d been keeping stopped up in the vessel he was inhabiting and letting her influence pour in from every side.
His skin stretched and shifted, his bones popping and twisting as his true form… Death, Nyx, them, together as one , began to emerge from his broken body.
“Nyx…” he spoke, his voice raspy and rotten. He stretched out his wings and lifted off of the ground, ready to let the darkness swallow him whole. There was work to be done.
“Come to me.”