Chapter Text
That Akira woke up was the first concern, because he was fairly certain he’d never actually been asleep.
Consciousness came suddenly and all at once. It was as if a bucket of ice had been dumped over his head; all of a sudden there was light, sound, smell, where there had before been nothing. He didn’t remember dreaming, nor even the vaguest sense of sleep. There was no effort to pull his eyes open or shake the sleep from his mind. One moment he wasn’t, and with no warning he was once more, standing straight up and feeling like someone had just pointed a flashlight at his eyes.
It was an altogether disconcerting effect. The sudden revival sent all his senses into overdrive, and Akira found himself swaying as his vision burned white.
God, his head hurt.
He groaned, and resigned himself to rolling to the ground until the feeling passed. Had he been sleepwalking? He wasn’t exactly in the habit of falling asleep standing up. And besides which, coming back to himself felt so bad, slamming him with a wave of nausea the moment the illusion broke, leaving him to slump to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut.
Laying on the ground felt slightly better. That said, the initial feeling of having been hit by a truck was a rather low bar. Several times Akira thought the haze had passed, only to find it just… hadn’t. He’d try to look up only for his vision to make a sudden somersault, the ground appeared to ripple despite being definitively solid… All of it made for a decidedly unpleasant experience.
After some indeterminable amount of time, Akira’s headache dulled enough for him to find his footing. He clamoured clumsily to his feet, eager to get his bearings, and — okay, perhaps standing up quite so quickly had been a bad idea, because the world made another alarming shift. His vision was nonetheless clearer than it had been before, now that his retinas were offering input that was not just ouch oof light. Even as he threw his arms out like a gymnast on a beam, just barely managing to stay on his feet, Akira would swear the grass beside him rippled as though it were liquid.
Experimentally, he gave a small stomp. It only served to confirm his suspicions: that something about this ground was wrong. He could stand alright, and it looked natural enough from afar, but when he moved it swayed in an unnatural manner, like ripples spreading across the surface of a pond.
Weird.
He was just getting about to processing this when something shoved its way to the forefront of his mind, displacing any thoughts that might have taken up the space it now occupied.
I see you’re awake. How are you feeling?
The voice was loud but gentle, and without question not Akira’s. This last point was rather concerning, considering it had come from the inside of his skull rather than the outside, in such a demanding manner it silenced everything else. There was something nauseating about the way it sounded, as though someone had stuck a wire through both of Akira’s ears and pulled until his head split open. There was nothing physically painful about it, but the sensation of something foreign having burrowed its way deep inside his psyche made Akira’s stomach flutter.
He looked around, on the off chance it was just some very convincing trickster with a megaphone. No luck. The land around him was barren, save a scattering of trees that jutted crookedly from the ground, outlining the faded imprint of a footpath.
There’s no use looking for me out there, I’m afraid. The voice was almost apologetic, which didn’t do much for Akira’s mounting sense of dread. I’m not able to, ah… be, in the space you’re in. So for the time being, I’ll have to talk to you directly. Is this alright for you? I apologized if I frightened you.
“Yeah, you did,” Akira murmured. “And, uh, it’s fine, I guess. Just… a lot. Would be nice if you could tone it down somehow?”
Ah, of course. Akira supposed there might have been a difference in the voice’s intensity when it returned with is this better? It was hard to tell, seeing as every time it spoke, piecing together a coherent thought was like trying to scream over a rock band.
“A bit,” he lied, because why not. Something told him it wouldn’t matter anyways.
He took a moment to get his bearings. This proved considerably more effective now that he was on his feet, and could do more than stare at a single blade of grass and wait for the world to stop spinning. There were, in fact, more blades of grass, enough to make up a sloping forest that sprawled every direction Akira looked. The trees were thick but let through the occasional scattering of stars; apparently it was the dead of night. Cutting through the center, just barely discernable in the darkness, looked to be a man-made path, a thin stretch of grass trampled by nameless travelers until it recognized the futility of its efforts and parted to form a more permanent walkway.
The path stretched on in two directions, though one was immediately impassible. The area behind where Akira stood was completely cordoned off by an enormous barricade that looked immediately out of place in the otherwise forestry environment. Even in pitch dark, it stood out so brightly as to be painful. The wall itself was unremarkable, a blank white stretch far too tall to climb over, as though someone had placed a giant sheet of paper across the back section of the forest. Experimentally, Akira placed his hand on it. The surface felt cold and unmistakably solid. He wasn’t turning around anytime soon.
He reluctantly turned his back to the wall to examine what woods was actually available to him. The voice had spoken as though it knew him. Maybe, just maybe, it would tell him what was going on.
Feeling ridiculous, Akira raised his voice and addressed the empty forest. “Do you mind telling me what’s going on? Where I am, how I got here, why you’re talking in my head, how you’re doing it — any of those would be great.”
The voice responded almost immediately. Of course. While I’ll do my best to inform you, I’m afraid the situation is rather hard to comprehend. For the purposes of this infiltration, you may think of me as a Counselor. And you are Akira Kurusu, as I’m sure you’re aware. Does that much sound alright? Perplexed, Akira nodded. Wonderful. You may think of this place as… somewhere very remote. A place of seclusion, and reflection. He paused, apparently reaching for a different explanation, then sighed. Perhaps it’s best to show you. Just follow the path. You’ll know it when we reach our destination.
Akira silently complied. The Counselor’s attempt at an explanation had only served to make his mind spin more. There was a painful nostalgia to it, an intense feeling of deja vu that made Akira feel infinitely stranger, because he was certain he’d never seen this place before.
Mostly certain, at least. To say things were escaping him would be an understatement.
He kept to the path. Despite the darkness, it was easy to see amidst the trees. The ground sloped gently upwards, until Akira crested the hill and got a good look at the view beyond.
The Counselor hadn't lied when he said Akira would know when he'd reached it, because there was only one notable structure before them. The building looked as though it belonged on a bustling city street rather than some creepy backwater forest. The structure was odd, a squat rectangular building flanked by two slanted blocks that sat like wings on either side, not quite tall enough for him to have seen over the sloping hill but tall nonetheless. Large, blue-tinted windows littered the sides, rendering the wing-like hallways almost see-through. This visibility was hindered by thick bars laid across every window or door in sight. The front door was thick and stony in a way that made it look utterly out of place in the otherwise modern structure, with those same bars limiting access to the main door.
The whole thing was surrounded by a tall wire fence, crudely constructed from aged wood and twisted metal. Just a look was enough to see the thing was barbed.
“Geez,” Akira muttered. Against his better judgement, he ran a finger against the wire, wincing as the rough metal stung his skin. “Please tell me this is it. I don’t see anywhere more interesting around here.”
You’re correct, said the Counselor, sounding amused. Don’t be intimidated by the security; I’ve ensured there will be nothing to stand in the way of your entry. All but one, that is.
“You act like I know what’s going on with — I don’t know, any of this. Mind backing up for a second? You never answered my last questions, either.”
The Counselor sighed, and Akira’s stomach constructed as if someone had tried to play his organs with a guitar string. There was something about that sigh – something about this man — that made the world seem off in some way, a way he couldn’t quite put his finger on. It was as if someone had asked him to identify the difference between two images with his eyes closed, something impossible to pinpoint.
Of course, the Counselor conceded. I’m sorry for overwhelming you. I’m simply anxious to see all of this go off without incident. There was a pause; with no face to analyze, Akira was left to simply stand there as the Counselor considered his words.
I am a counselor, as I’ve told you. One who deals with, let’s just say, outlandish circumstances. It would take far longer than I’d like to spend here to fully explain the nature of this place, but for brevity’s sake, there is someone close to the heart of this place that you will need to find.
Akira let the silence sit a good ten seconds after the Counselor’s voice dropped off, half-hoping he might offer something more. He didn’t. The explanation was so bare-bones Akira had no more idea of what was going on than he had before. Remnants of that strange, addled state he’d woken in still lingered. His tired mind ushered him towards apathy; if the Counselor wouldn’t tell him anything more, who was he to push?
Disinterest warred with distrust. Surely it was not outrageous to think that all of this was weird. The Counselor, who apparently knew so much, would tell Akira almost nothing; why? And his voice. It chafed at Akira like a pebble in his shoe, difficult to pinpoint but demanding attention. It would have been familiar, if only Akira could remember it. If Akira could remember himself.
He let himself cling to that negativity, if only to make that wrongness feel a little more bearable. It was not he who was unreasonable; it was ridiculous for the Counselor to expect him to be satisfied with that sorry explanation, to expect Akira to trundle onwards with no notion of where he was or how he’d ended up there.
“You’re really throwing me in the deep end, huh.” He let his arms drop to his sides. Exploration could wait. He was not going to take these demands lying down, not until the Counselor told him what was really going on. “I need more than that. How do you know who I am, anyways? And why won’t you tell meeh…”
Akira’s words trailed off as his body seemed to relax. It was, all in all, a rather unrelaxing experience, more akin to a spout of warm water being hooked directly to his bloodstream than an actual sense of calm.
You must be feeling very disoriented. There’s no rush. Please, take a few minutes to collect yourself.
There was something oppressive about the dark air around them. It seemed to vibrate as if from some deafening noise, though the area was utterly silent save Akira’s breathing. Lowering his eyes to the floor was no release; it swam as if it were an optical illusion, until Akira was certain that if he were to fall he would certainly topple right through until he fell through the very crust of the Earth.
“Stop that,” he breathed. “Are you doing that? Don’t… don’t do that. Please.”
The numbing sensation stopped, leaving Akira breathing heavy as his heart rate began to rapid. Shaking, he brought one hand to his chest, just to make sure he could feel it thumping against his ribs. There had been nothing painful about the experience, just a feeling of slow, mounting terror. He’d felt for certain his heart was going to stop, and he’d simply… cease to be.
The Counselor gave no indication of having noticed this, or even of hearing Akira’s words. He continued on as normal, heedless to Akira glaring daggers through the air in front of him.
This patient has proved exceptionally difficult as of late. The Counselor had a kindly voice, young, but with undertones of wisdom. A face came to mind; it broke apart before Akira could get a good look at it. It’s a sad truth, but some people just don’t want to accept help. It pains me to disturb you like this, Akira, but I must ask for your assistance on this matter. You are the only one who can reach him.
“And… who is he? It’s hard to think. Were you the one wh…”
His lips kept moving, the end of his sentence snatched away by the roaring wind inside his mind. The Counselor's voice was the only thing it didn’t manage to drown out. His tone was steady, cutting clearly through the static.
I’m afraid I can’t tell you his name. In this place, I believe he simply goes by The Prince.
“Huh. Doesn’t seem like much of a Palace. Castle. Whatever.” Something about that made Akira’s head ache.
The Counselor laughed. Oh, don’t say that. A man’s home is his castle. Either way, I don’t think he’d take too kindly to you insulting his decor.
“Huh.” Akira tried to make his tone as nonchalant as possible. His heart rate had slowed significantly as relaxation was imposed upon it by some unknown source, which just made it all the more noticeable when it began to rapid. Whatever force had taken control of his muscles and forced them to relax gradually relinquished his grip, leaving space for panic to properly set in. He twitched his fingers, then grabbed one hand with the other, just to make sure it responded. It did.
The Counselor had made him relax. He had forced Akira’s heart to slow, made his muscles go slack, and Akira, in his disoriented state, hadn’t been able to lift a finger to stop him. It was though he’d been submerged in deep water, his words stolen by the current so quickly Akira wasn’t sure he’d even spoken them.
A rock seemed to drop in his stomach. Dizzy now, Akira made a grab for the wooden pillar, only narrowly missing the barbed wire. He’d felt off-balance ever since waking up. Could the Counselor hijack his mind? Puppet him around while Akira was too addled to know it was happening? Could he break through Akira’s coherent thoughts, reduce them to mush like he had only moments before?
That wasn’t something Akira wanted to risk. He shouldn't antagonize the Counselor, shouldn’t risk losing hold of what sensible thoughts he had.
His words came out shaky. He desperately hoped the Counselor couldn’t hear his thoughts, and oh god, that was an entirely new level of fear Akira wished he hadn’t discovered.
“It’s his place, then. You really want me to go in there? Because everything about this seems to me like he doesn’t want company.”
I’m sure you can find a way through. The Counselor’s voice was firmer now. Unconsciously, Akira’s hand dropped to his side, searching for something but grasping only empty air. He blinked himself out of the strange compulsion and peered through the trees again. The barbed fence was tall, but the space between the wires looked just barely wide enough for a person to squeeze through. And if not, perhaps the wood was aged enough that he could dislodge a couple rows of barbs and waltz in. If he was willing to ruin a couple of lockpicks he could probably manage without so much as a scrape.
Automatically he went for his pockets, only to come up empty handed. Confused, he checked again. Now that he bothered to look, Akira saw he was in fact in his winter coat, which would explain their absence. He didn’t just walk around with his pockets full of lockpicks. (Most of the time, at least. On several occasions he’d forgotten to put them away, which occasionally led to some very awkward conversations about why a high school student would need something like that.) Normally his tools would be ready and waiting, but — that was in the Metaverse, wasn’t it?
Thinking about it made his head pound. He closed his eyes, which seemed to encourage the Counselor somewhat.
How are you feeling? If you need a little longer, that’s perfectly alright.
Akira shook his head. “No. I’m okay. I’d like to talk with this guy. Maybe he’ll know what’s going on.”
The Counselor seemed to hesitate. That’s not a bad idea. Regardless, Akira, I must advise that you be careful what you say — and what you believe. Remember that the Prince has isolated himself here for quite some time. His perspectives are, well, somewhat skewed. Akira couldn’t help but laugh, then smothered it as the Counselor asked, what?
“Nothing. I’m feeling a little skewed, myself. I’m fine,” he added quickly as the Counselor started to speak. “Totally fine. Just, you know. Waking up in the woods to free a Prince. Not something I thought I’d be doing today.”
He busied himself with searching his pockets, more for show than anything. No lockpicks. He’d have to do without. The Counselor was mercifully silent as he snapped a branch from a nearby tree and attempted to dislodge the wire from the pole. It gave after a few moments, splinters of rotted wood falling to the ground around him. Within a few minutes he’d cleared a section of fence large enough to duck under, and did just that, casting a wary eye for security as he did.
For such a well-protected place, Akira would have expected at least a few guards patrolling the grounds. He was met instead with eerie silence as he crossed the courtyard completely unchallenged. Come to think of it, the Counselor had mentioned a lack of security. The thought was faintly horrifying. Akira imagined motionless bodies frozen in place, hearts beating slowly while their owners lay paralyzed in terror.
These thoughts persisted as he eased open the grand doors. The building was a strange mishmash of material, simultaneously sleek and decrepit. He’d entered into some sort of lobby. Patterned carpets padded the way to an expensive looking desk, studded with computers that overlooked a collection of plush chairs and end tables. Two hallways stretched in opposite directions, sectioned off by caged security gates that were spotted with rust. TV monitors stared down from every wall, and a metal railing split each hallway. Akira caught a glimpse of what looked like handcuffs dangling from one of them.
Perhaps the most unsettling aspect was the complete and utter silence. The desks were deserted; the caged gates, which would normally be a challenge to bypass, stood ajar. The numerous TVs were all switched off, their only display a faint reflection of light on dead screens.
Akira had unconsciously come to a halt in the doorframe, anticipating some sort of opposition. The Counselor evidently mistook this apprehension for confusion.
It’s not much further now, he said encouragingly. You’ll find the Prince at the end of the leftmost hallway, in the main studio. Don’t worry. It’s difficult to miss.
“Yeah,” Akira responded. He hesitated before asking, “you’re sure I won’t run into any kind of… security?”
Quite sure, said the Counselor, apparently unaware his words were the opposite of reassuring. Like I said, you’re in no danger. The only one here is the Prince.
“Right.”
True to the Counselor’s word, the building was utterly desolate. The caged gates screeched open at Akira’s touch. No security rushed to stop him, even as his footsteps echoed loudly through the empty halls. Some of the doors were ajar; through them Akira caught glimpses of cameras, green screens, and stage lights. There were also a number of questionable objects, notably syringes and wicked-looking batons. Akira even swore he saw a padded room, complete with a straightjacket at the center.
The double doors at the end of the hallway were open. Unlike all the others Akira had passed, the stage lights within were unmistakably on. Dozens of them sat suspended by scaffolding, all turned up to full power to create a display that was downright painful to look at. A wall of monitors lay dormant below, warped screens bouncing light around the room in strange patterns. Even more screens dotted the far wall, though they were considerably smaller than the ones in the center. Some of them were actually on, displaying footage from the many cameras that littered the ceiling like bats.
In the center, a circular dais sat raised a short distance from the ground. It was sleek but unornamented, empty save the figure sat at the center. The stage lights made it difficult to get a good look from a distance; his face was in shadow, and the surrounding brightness made it almost painful to look at him for too long. His clothing — pure white, studded with tassels and buttons of gold — only served to exacerbate this issue. Even at a glance, he cut a regal figure that fit his princely title.
Locked around his arm was a chain. Like the rest of their surroundings it was sleek and shiny, slithering along the floor as he shifted. The end was fixed to the ground by a bolt set in the middle of the dais. If Akira intended to help him leave, it would certainly pose an intimidating obstacle; each link was as thick as a finger, culminating in a solid-looking cuff around the Prince’s wrist.
While several cameras turned to track Akira as he entered, their main focus was clearly the boy in the center, presumably the Prince. A glance at the monitor revealed dozens of images, all from different angles, of the lone figure shackled to the floor.
His features slipped through Akira’s mind like water, to such an extent that it could not possibly have been attributed to the lighting. Red eyes, well-kempt hair, a stormy expression that was achingly familiar. The details seemed to flee Akira’s mind as soon as he registered them, the light reflecting strangely off the Prince’s face.
Whether it was the click of the cameras or Akira’s poorly concealed footsteps, his approach had not gone unnoticed. The Prince’s head snapped up, his face contorting into a scowl.
“You’re not welcome here.”
Both hands were fixed on the chain so tightly that even in the harsh light Akita could tell they had gone completely bloodless. He’d twined the loose link around his free hand like some sort of chain mail glove; the links strained against the skin in a way that looked quite painful. Regardless, he didn’t flinch, just glared as Akira paused in the doorway.
The Counselor sounded sad when he spoke.
This is what I feared. He’s holding so tightly to this place, it’s destroying him. That’s where you come in, Akira. I can’t force him to leave; however much power I have, he controls this little pocket of reality. If you talk to him, he’ll surely see reason. Convince him to leave with you. If you can take care of those chains, even better.
This was so, so wrong.
Akira stopped as the Counselor’s words rang through his head. Whether it was to organize his own thoughts or formulate a reply, he wasn’t sure. The Prince’s eyes hadn’t strayed from him, even as Akira’s flitted from his face to the chain around his wrist. Akira’s indecision seemed to amuse him; he pulled himself up to sit straighter, eyes bright with condescension.
“No response? I don’t appreciate being ignored.”
And oh boy, he might as well have hit Akira with a sledgehammer, because something in his tone set loose a new wave of deja vu. The initial burst left him so off-balance that by the time he’d gotten his wits back enough to realize how potentially important those memories were, most of them had already passed him by. Scraps hovered at the edge of his consciousness, painful to focus on, dates and names and faces scratching for his attention. Trying to string those scraps into a single coherent thought was like trying to weave a bracelet out of water. The moment he reached for one, it dissolved under his touch, until all he was left with was the Prince’s face branded on the backs of his eyelids and the incessant question of who, who, who dancing around the emptiness they’d occupied.
It was a good thing he’d stopped in the doorway. Otherwise there was no way Akira could have caught himself as his knees went weak, every sense blending into white-hot fireworks.
Oh, dear, the Counselor fretted, just as the Prince muttered, “you cannot be serious.” He went on talking, probably offering colorful insults about Akira’s intelligence, all of which faded away as the Counselor spoke. Are you okay? That was… quite a reaction.
Akira ignored him, focusing instead on the Prince, who seemed to be scrutinizing Akira just as closely.
“We know each other. Don’t we?”
“Excuse me?” the Prince retorted. “I don’t know what you’re playing at, but if you think coming here in such a pathetic state will earn you any sympathy, you’re sorely mistaken.” He seemed more aggravated, now, as though Akira’s response hadn’t been what he was looking to hear.
Akira raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, and the Prince gave a disbelieving snort of laughter.
“No. I’m asking you. I don’t want to go through with anything until… I don’t know. Until I can clear this up.” Releasing his grip on the doorframe, Akira made his way further into the room, pausing just before the dais. Unsteadiness, uncertainty — it seemed much farther away now, overtaken by frustration at the Counselor. It wasn’t quite spite, but something close adjacent. If he was so insistent on prodding Akira along, might as well take every opportunity he saw to do things his way. “You know me, don’t you? The way you’re talking, you must.”
“Don’t come any closer,” the Prince snapped, and Akira stopped in his tracks. Akira had thought his request was quite a reasonable one; if the Prince got to make jabs at some shared history, surely he wouldn’t mind filling Akira in so he could be properly offended by said jabs. Now he looked… spooked. The chains wrapped around his hand complained as he tightened his grip, staring, Akira felt, straight through him.
“What the fuck,” he muttered after several seconds. “What’s wrong with you?”
His words mingled discordantly with those of the Counselor, whose sudden interruption left Akira seeing spots.
Akira. While I appreciate your attempts to make conversation, I must insist you convince him to leave with you. It’s not going to be a simple task; he will require extensive convincing to listen to reason, and I really must suggest you get on with it.
“I can’t force him,” Akira answered quietly. He wasn’t sure why he bothered trying to be subtle. Whether or not he heard the exact words, the Prince would know he was talking to someone. He felt certain the Counselor was inaudible to all but him. Unlike him, Akira couldn’t just beam his thoughts directly back into the Counselor’s mind. “You told me to find him. I did. I’m going to talk with him a while before I decide what to do.”
The Counselor’s hmm sounded discontented, but he offered no further argument. The dais was small, no more than a single step. Akira took a seat on the edge, or tried to; as he made to sit, the Prince narrowed his eyes, daring him to come closer.
“Who were you talking to just now?” he demanded.
“It’s—”
The first word had barely left his mouth before the Counselor demanded, don’t tell him. The words seemed to ring in Akira’s head long after he had gone silent, each beat painful as though they were crashing into him again and again.
Groaning, he sunk into a sitting position upon the step. By the time he’d remembered the Prince’s warning, he wasn’t sure he could have stood back up if he tried. It was as if that brief moment of disorientation had sent ripples across the whole of Akira’s reality. His vision tilted, shapes and colors sliding into each other until they resolved back into a picture that didn’t fit quite the way it should have.
Those trees in the woods, how many had he passed through? How long before they parted and delivered him here — and how long had he spent in these hallways, anyways? He’d traversed the massive building in a daze, despite that foolish promise to keep his wits about him. Paths, woods, hallways, all of them blurred together as he tried to recall it, transitions cut short so his journey became linear. He could feel it, that familiar charge in the air, the one he used to crave because with his coat and mask and tools he’d felt invincible.
He didn’t have them now; even so the ground ripples and the air hummed as though in anticipation, and the voice in his head wasn’t a familiar, grounding hum but something alien that had shoved its way in by force. The Prince (he had a name, if Akira could only remember it), once an enemy, then an ally, now a partner in this strange chess game in which they were both the pawns.
“Where are we?” Akira demanded, with no heed for the response. There wouldn’t be any, and even if there was, he doubted he’d have heard it over the roaring of blood in his ears. He felt sickened by the clarity that had struck him like a gut punch, those creeping doubts finally blooming into conscious thought. If he could only hear Arsène, hell, any of the Personas he kept in his arsenal—
The first thing that registered was a sudden, blinding pain in his jaw. With his mind moving at the speed of molasses, his vision took several seconds to catch up. Through teary vision Akira could get a sense of what had just happened: the Prince had staggered him with a brutal punch to the jaw, the chains in his hand giving Akira the feeling he’d been hit with a brick.
Akira staggered, hands jumping automatically to his face before a new burst of agony shooed them away. He could not help the wild thought that the mirror being gone might be a good thing, because he did not want to guess how he looked after that. Blood was already flooding his mouth along with several more solid objects Akira desperately hoped were not teeth.
“Promise,” he croaked, feeling fresh tears rush to his eyes as the word loosed another bolt of agony. “Promise — ah, ah’m not here to hurt —“
“Bullshit!” The Prince’s shriek was almost animalistic. “You’ve got him with you! Like hell am I letting you stay — either of you!”
He moved in for another strike, only to jerk back as the sound of metal on metal rang through the room. Akira’s fall had brought him out of the Prince’s reach. Anticipating another attack, Akira pushed himself further away, getting to his feet as fast as he could.
The Prince didn’t move. (His eyes were red, like they always had been, not a hint of yellow in sight. But if this was his place, and at least some of it was, then how could that be?)The chain was still pulled taunt as he regarded Akira with something close to disdain. When he did move it was only to retreat several steps, the chain falling loosely to the ground. He curled his fist around it once more and cocked his head.
“Get out of here,” he hissed. “If he wants to grant my wishes so bad, that spineless kook can just kill me.”
Akira cupped his lip, which felt as though it had been blown to twice its normal size. His jaw ached, and he was painfully aware his mouth was filling with blood. The punch itself had been rough, he wasn’t denying that, but it was the chain that had brought it to the next level, which made Akira fairly certain it was cheating.
“Thhhanks for ‘at,” he managed. “If iht’s him, the Counselor, ‘e’s not — agh, did you ‘ave to hit so hard — he’s not a welcome passenger.”
I assure you, Akira, I have only your best interests at heart — you and his both! The Counselor insisted. He sounded genuinely upset, which was a first, as if agitated by the Prince’s sudden violence. If you would simply, he fretted, before cutting himself off with a distressed sigh. If not for the fact that he seemed to be behind — well, everything, Akira might have felt bad for him. As if was, the only thing he could muster was a burning frustration, because right, the Counselor was certainly not the one with the biggest problems.
Any modicum of sympathy that might have slipped through dies as he murmured, I can’t salvage this, and Akira’s heart skipped a beat at whatever the hell those implications were. He opened his mouth to protest; it would surely be futile, but he was at least determined to get in the last word.
Whatever he’d intended to say — You’ve done more than enough, maybe, or just a good old fashioned fuck you — died in his throat. If the air had been charged before, it was practically electric, the slightest movement sending shivers through Akira’s entire body. The Prince seemed rooted to the spot, and it was only when his chains began to shake that Akira realized the sensation of being on a rapidly sinking ship was not just in his mind. The ground pitched violently, dislodging the cameras fixed to every surface; they crashed to the ground like sharp metal raindrops. One clipped Akira’s arm, and he hissed in pain as it tore a gash through his skin.
From a short distance away there was a loud thus, followed by the clatter of falling stone. A cloud of dust rolled through the open doorway, along with a few chunks of plaster, ugly wallpaper still visible on one side.
“It’s all coming down,” Akira breathed, as though the Prince was not already aware. He hadn’t moved an inch, expression gradually filling with panic as the sounds of the collapsing hallways grew gradually closer.
Without warning he sprang at Akira, yanking him closer with such force their foreheads collided. “This is your fault!” he spat. “For thinking any of this can change! What the hell do you know about me?” His voice was rising in pitch, until he was practically screaming. “I can’t change. And I won’t, not for the sake of his fucking fairytail delusion!”
There was no triumph in his eyes, only a vicious sort of fear. Breathing heavily, he snatched his hand from Akira’s lapel and sank back down onto the dais. “It’s your fault,” he repeated numbly, all the venom gone from his tone. “Why won’t you just give up on me?”