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The Cult of Nyx was growing. The seed that Strega had planted had finally blossomed into a field of toxic blooms, spreading across the city as people embraced their despair.
Ever since their trip to Hagakure, where Aigis had found Takaya’s article, Makoto had begun to investigate. What was Takaya’s final goal? What did he hope to gain by manipulating the people like this? Eventually, the rumours had led to Escapade, where the leader was said to host meetings at night.
When Makoto mentioned going, Ryoji had insisted that he come along too. He had spent the days since New Year’s resting inside the dorm — some days he was too weak to even move. On other days, Makoto found him in the lounge watching the news with a mixture of horror and sadness.
“I want to see what kind of person he is,” Ryoji had said. “I need to understand why.”
Makoto had eventually agreed. Even if he thought it was better to limit Takaya’s knowledge, if anyone deserved to meet him, it was Ryoji. So one night, they slipped out in search of answers.
Ryoji hadn’t been outside since New Year’s Day, and although he’d watched the news, it was clear that he wasn’t prepared for what the city had become.
Garbage was piled up all over the streets, tainting the air with the sweet smell of rot. Posters for the Cult of Nyx were splattered all over walls and signposts, angry and red like blood.
And then there were the Lost. Staring listlessly into nothing and mumbling nonsense. Hunched over, or slumped on benches, surrounded by filth and uncaring passersby.
They looked up as Ryoji passed, blank faces trailing him like sunflowers turning towards the sun. A few reached out their hands, as if to grab hold of him.
Ryoji walked with his head down, ignoring their cries.
A few blocks later, a woman stopped them in the street. “Blessed are those who take joy in the coming of Nyx,” she proclaimed.
Ryoji blinked at her, looking at a loss for words. The woman considered this an invitation to continue. “I was lost for so long, but Nyx gave my life meaning. Won’t you listen?”
“No thanks,” Ryoji finally said, smiling bitterly. “I don’t feel like getting recruited to my own cult today.”
The woman frowned, but she wasn’t deterred. “Nyx will descend and save us all. You’re going to be free. Aren’t you happy?”
Ryoji looked to Makoto pleadingly.
“We’re not interested,” Makoto said, grabbing Ryoji’s hand and pulling him away.
“Nyx will take away your pain, if only you open your hearts to her,” she called to their backs, the words following them down the street.
They eventually came to the station, and stopped for a moment to get their bearings.
“Why?” Ryoji asked, looking around at the posters scattered everywhere. “Why are so many people wishing for the Fall? Why are they worshipping Nyx?”
Makoto fidgeted with his headphones. “People are unhappy, and they’re scared.”
“Of what?”
“Living.”
Ryoji‘s brow crinkled. “But… life is such a gift.”
He walked over to a poster flapping in the wind and tore it off of a pole. “That woman… she wasn’t wrong,” he said, staring at the design printed on the paper. “Nyx has no thoughts or desires of her own, she simply is. She acts accordingly with the unconscious wishes of the people. So in a way, she is giving them what they want.” He started to tremble. “But, I don’t want to…”
“…hurt anyone. I know,” Makoto finished, placing a hand over Ryoji’s. “I’ll stop it. I’ll stop you before it happens.”
He could see the retort in Ryoji’s eyes; they’d had this discussion too many times already. But Ryoji only sighed and crumpled the poster, letting it fall to the ground.
They walked the rest of the way in silence. Dancing bodies filled Club Escapade, but the thrum of the bass wasn’t enough to fill the emptiness in people’s eyes.
Makoto gave the fortune teller a small nod as he entered. Ryoji trailed after him, and for a moment, a flicker of his old self returned. Reflected lights danced in his eyes as he took in the people, the music, the colours. But it soon faded, dulling to a distant apathy.
It was as if the more alive Makoto felt, the more hollow Ryoji became.
“You there,” a man called out to them. His eyes were lit by a glint of fanaticism. “You live in a world where emptiness roams and chaos reigns. You struggle so fervently, twinkling like stars in the night, but such delusion will not lead to deliverance. Why not join us and the Messiah, and await the moment of salvation?”
Makoto shook his head, and pushed past him, Ryoji in tow.
“We’re getting close, then?” Ryoji asked, face apprehensive.
“Yeah,” Makoto replied, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I’ll be right back.”
After making his usual rounds, he found Ryoji listening intently to the fortune teller. “You carry a heavy burden… I see a darkness sucking you in. There may be no escape, but that doesn’t mean that your time has been worthless. Hold onto the light, for as long as you can.”
Ryoji nodded, looking solemn. Clouds had covered the moon, dimming its light.
“Ryoji,” Makoto said, gently grabbing his wrist. “Let’s go.”
The man from before led them behind the club. As expected, Takaya was waiting for them.
“Well, well, well… I do believe this is the first time you’ve ever visited me,” he said, a self-assured smile on his face. If Takaya noticed Ryoji, he didn’t give any indication. All of his attention was on Makoto.
Makoto just stared blankly at him.
“I’m sure you are aware of the coming salvation,” Takaya continued. “Your efforts were all for naught. The Dark Hour will persist, and Nyx will bring a end to this planet.” He spread his arms wide. “And I will be the one to guide the people to this glorious future!”
“Guide?” Ryoji whispered from behind Makoto, seemingly to himself. “No, I am the only…” he trailed off in thought.
“We won’t let that happen,” Makoto said, looking Takaya square in the eyes.
“Such arrogance,” Takaya laughed. “Such foolishness. This world does not need such ideals. But I should have expected nothing less. You are blind to our salvation.”
“Salvation?” Ryoji suddenly stepped forwards, anger flashing in his eyes. “You think this is salvation?”
Takaya turned to Ryoji, as if only just noticing him. “I know it is. I have long awaited the day Nyx will set us free. She has blessed me with power, to lead the people to the truth.”
“Nyx hasn’t chosen you,” Ryoji spat, and Makoto had never heard such venom in the other boy’s voice. “You don’t know anything.”
“Oh?” Takaya smirked. “And what makes you so sure of that?”
Makoto knew that look. It was hungry. Knowing. “He’s none of your business,” he said.
“Oh, but he is. After all, he came to see me too, unlike any of your other companions. And he is different to them, isn’t he?”
Ryoji looked away. Makoto pursed his lips.
Takaya’s smile widened. “After all, it isn’t every day you stand face to face with Death.”
Ryoji didn’t move. His expression, usually so easy to read, remained inscrutable.
“I have been acting in your stead, leading the people down the right path,” Takaya continued, stepping closer to Ryoji. “But you are our true saviour. Surely you can feel it. All of their pain, all of their suffering. Did you not see your poor followers, begging for release on your way here?”
“I…” Ryoji began. “This isn’t something to be celebrated. All you’ve done is lead people to despair.”
“All for you,” Takaya pressed on. “All for the moment when Nyx descends to free us from this wretched struggle, and we are reunited with her in death.”
He reached towards Ryoji, but Ryoji moved back, leaving him to stumble.
“I don’t want your lives,” he said quietly. “And I don’t want your worship.”
“…what?”
Ryoji looked down at him. “Death will not save you,” he said, eyes flashing blue. “I will not save you.”
Without another word, he turned around and left. Takaya watched him go, mouth agape.
“Nyx…” he whispered. “Why are you rejecting me?”
He stared down the alley Ryoji had left through, as if he could will Death to return. After a while, he seemed to remember that Makoto was still watching him.
“I hope you don’t assume this means you’re going to win,” he said as he turned to Makoto. “No matter what, the Fall will happen. How ironic, for you to resist so fervently, while that creature is by your side. You do understand exactly what it is, don’t you?”
Makoto thought of Ryoji’s laugh, his smile, the tiny flecks of dark blue in his eyes. He thought of afternoon sun drifting through the music room, and a melody that settled inside his heart. He thought of the emptiness in his own chest, a longing only filled by Ryoji next to him.
“I do,” Makoto said. “More than you ever will.”
Takaya laughed, wild and unrestrained. “I should’ve known. Nyx’s Appriser and its guard dog. I hoped you might have joined us, but it seems you both foolishly cling to delusions. Your influence must have tainted its thoughts.” He looked up, towards the waxing moon. “No matter, the end will come, regardless of how hard you all struggle. If you stand in our way, I will have no choice but to cut you down.”
Makoto placed a hand on his evoker. “We’ll be ready.”
Takaya laughed again. “Of course you will,” he said, turning to leave. “If you do not change your mind, we shall meet in Tartarus.”
And Makoto was left alone, surrounded by flyers proclaiming doom and the silver moonlight.
He found Ryoji sitting on a bench beside the fountain, nose buried in his scarf. Wordlessly, Makoto sat down next to him and reached for his hand, intertwining their fingers. Thankfully, the mall was quiet; no one was really in the mood to go out these days.
“I don’t want this,” Ryoji finally said. “These people… they’ve got it all wrong.”
Makoto squeezed his hand.
“They think they understand death — understand Nyx,” Ryoji continued. “They want the Fall to happen. But I…” He looked up at Makoto then, tears glistening in his eyes. “I’m scared.”
Makoto reached out to cup Ryoji’s cheek, thumbing away stray tears as they fell. Ryoji closed his eyes, leaning towards him.
“Me too,” Makoto said.
I won’t let the Fall happen, he promised. I won’t let you suffer anymore.
He repeated those words to himself as they walked back to the dorm, as Ryoji tried to smile, tried to tell him that it was okay, even though Makoto could see the pain in his eyes. He repeated them as he lay awake during the Dark Hour, Ryoji curled up against him, breaths tickling Makoto’s neck. The world wouldn’t end.
No matter the cost.