There’s no sign of the Hellmouth that can be found after all that transpired. Perhaps it closed up entirely. Perhaps it moved. Perhaps there are others. Perhaps there aren’t.

At first, it’s hard to feel that you can put everything behind you. It’s difficult to feel like you aren’t being watched, or to accept the possibility that you’re safe. But… you can feel a hidden strength inside your soul.

✨✨✨

For Arisa, the virtue of Unkindness: not nearly as pretentious as Mercy, and not to be mistaken for her cruelty (although, she wields that perfectly fine as well). She will be sure that those she cares for are prepared to face the rigors of the world at large, even if she must impart that lesson herself. And when all is said and done, she knows the gap between platitude and truth.

For Cu, the virtue of Devotion: a grand word for something that in truth comes down to something much smaller and softer than worship. Cu’s devotion is a special appreciation for friendship, and every small thing it means– each and every ritual repeated being an act of preservation for each cherished thing.

For Eli, the virtue of Renewal: to shift one’s perspective and find another angle– to illustrate, over and over and over again, as many times as it takes. Obfuscate into colors and imagery, reinterpret, reimagine, re-abstract, until the underlying meaning can be conveyed to any other manner of individual; a picture is worth a hundred thousand words. Eli’s renewal is a form of connection, where the self portrait is a picture of the viewer themselves.

For Hibiki, the virtue of Vindication: there is a special relief in finding a body of work that validates your bottled feelings, to have your worries and fears resolved through struggle and reinforcement both. This isn’t an act of pride or judgment– but rather, an acknowledgement of feelings and source of inspiration. To be caught when you fall may as well be flying.

For Hisashi, the virtue of Ferocity: it is more honed than viciousness and more precise than brutality, yet it is something purer and baser that sits inside all living creatures– the love of ferocity is an unspoken thing that is both difficult to accept and undeniable, like the broken bird brought to the doorstep by the feral cat that has made itself a part of your life.

For Kamiya, the virtue of Sincerity: to be a pillar of truth in a den of lies is no easy feat, but sincerity shines like the northern star. He is a point of stability around which one can orient themselves when rocked by uncertainty, a bright light to rally around when all feels lost. His outstretched hand doesn’t have to be questioned.

For Micah, the virtue of Deception: or perhaps, it would be more accurate to call it the virtue of Revelation. To know that people are layered, and to know how to reach past those layers to find the truth. To know when to hold your own layers up, and when to take them down. To understand the importance in refusing to follow others blindly, and refusing to believe the unkind untruths people say about themselves.

For Minami, the virtue of Solidity: it is something more tangible than reliability. It is the weight of a hand clapping your back, and the person who will not falter to hold your gaze when you look towards them each and every time. It is a support you can lean on, but not one that you must rely on– she will be sure that you can stand on your own two feet. She is the solid path that you can follow, or walk beside, or stray from as you please.

For Miori, the virtue of Resilience: where even withered grass can thrive again, and clipped feathers can be grown. She is the strength found in the ability to endure, not just for herself in today but for trying again tomorrow. While resilience persists, even a stifled hope has means to break barren ground– and every pain endured is a pain understood when it is glimpsed in others.

For Mirai, the virtue of Reflection: of inner contemplation, she is the quietude in which the most important things come to be heard. She is the harmony that amplifies the melody. The moon that lights, with the sun’s rays, the deepest dark. She is the pause and all that it entails– the unseen space of time in which a flower blooms, the vital space of time when one stands at the edge of a precipice, the liminal time in which all that exists is yourself and the grass underneath and the sky above and, momentarily, peace.

For Miranda, the virtue of Survival: of knowing that survival of the fittest is a misrepresentation of strength– that the saying should really be survival of the kindest, in truth. When one exists by ‘one step at a time’, every second is sharp and grueling against the senses. When one walks alongside others who chatter and laugh, time passes without realizing and one day you find you’ve already climbed several mountains. Living is more than just being alive. Surviving is more than just experiencing loss.

For Nikephoras, the virtue of Authenticity: it is one side of a two-faced coin. To know truth is to know untruth. To have clarity is to recognize obfuscation. Each pearl of a lie begins with a grain of truth, a grain that she is unafraid to grasp or acknowledge themself despite how rough it may be. To know the hearts of others, and choose to treat them with respect and care is his strength.

For Olwin, the virtue of Foolishness: the value of which cannot be understated. It is a virtue more mature than whimsy, more focused than capriciousness; wielded with intention to disarm not just enemies but allies as well. Foolishness and play are the beginnings of friendship– a space created for non-judgement, an atmosphere that is safe for exposing fears and admitting vulnerabilities. He paves the path for change, in himself and in others.

For Poppy, the virtue of Mourning: to hold remembrance and to preserve the things that are important. It is living for the memory of those held dear, and finding the meaning underneath the wounds that they and their loved ones sustained. Continuing to live is a type of retribution. Continuing to love in spite of everything the world has tried to make you, too, is a type of vengeance. When one razes their hurts to the ground, from the ashes again they can rise.

For Raoul, the virtue of Belief: not to be mistaken with naivety– it takes true courage to believe. It is a choice, to leave himself vulnerable, to offer again and again the opportunity for his peers to be better. To invest in those around him and offer unconditional kindness is true love for humanity and all the potential it entails. He is the unerring patience of a door left open to the stray– watching day by day as their true personalities emerge underneath the pain and misery inflicted upon them by the otherwise uncaring world.

For Ruby, the virtue of Imperfection: the uneven lumpy crust of a homemade pie painstakingly made, the rumpled throws on a couch that betray their use, the crooked bough of a tree that makes it the perfect place for a swing– the hundreds of thousands of imperfections that make life unique. She is where flaw becomes potential. She is the scar that holds stories rather than pain. 

For Shoji, the virtue of Acceptance: it is not as simple as just taking things as they come. No, he is the intentional acceptance of the things that are worth having. And you are worth having, always, without question. It is the virtue of letting others know that they are enough, after all. The ability to show them that it is okay to accept themselves, too. And when you come, whole and all-encompassed, you discover things about yourself that you might have never realized before.

For Touji, the virtue of Outrage: it is a form of empowerment. Little else is more healing than to be cared for so deeply as to provoke outrage. He is the voice that reverberates in your bones and the pounding of your heart in your ears. When you feel alone, and small, and weak, it is the outrage that truly drives it home that you are strong, and large, and in the best company you could ask for. How much easier is it to fight for yourself, when his booming anger tells all just how much you’re worth it?

For Wakako, the virtue of Rejection: she is the refusal of what is handed to her. To scream and cry and rage is not a sin. It is not broken-ness to demand better of the world. Rejection provides the room necessary for growth– a cup overflowing cannot be filled. Defiance is an act of self-love.

For Yukiko, the virtue of Indulgence: to allow oneself their own right to happiness, and to fight tooth and nail against the forces that would prevent the happiness of those close to her. For all her deceit, she is also the simple enjoyment of a sunbeam; of spun sugar; of soft plush fur. There is nothing complicated about that. There is nothing wrong with indulgence. There is nothing wrong with you. Or if you’re wrong for wanting those things, why should you care anyways if it makes you happy? She gives you the space to see that.

✨✨✨

The virtue inside of you was there all along, waiting to be realized. Its strength means that no strings will touch you ever again.

(Not to mention, you’re reasonably sure that any other Hellmouth that tries to swallow you will probably have an allergic reaction to you, now.)

From demons at least, there’s nothing for you to worry about. Touji put it best–

Humans are going to kick demon’s asses any fucking day.

Although it feels as though that should be the finale to your stay here at Hellmouth Manor, the rumbling beneath your feet and the support beams that crash to the ground and through the floor tell a different story. The elation felt by seeing the final two infernal beings who tormented you finally get their just desserts is smothered by the realization that there is no magic here to teleport you to safety.

Your only option is to run.

Your feet pound against the crumbling floorboards, and you shove your way through rotting doorways, dodging debris all the while. For those of you getting reacquainted with your human (wonderfully, mortally human) bodies, you may stumble and trip as your balance is thrown off by a lack of a tail or other appendage, but someone is always there to catch you.

This goes for all of you. When a gap opens under your feet, someone’s hand is there to pull you forward and over the crevice. A portrait moves to topple right onto your body as you run by, but someone else is able to shove you forward and out of the way. A severed string attempts to trip you and tug you back towards what it cries out as your f̸̜͆͊a̴̼͐͝t̵̳͖͆̋̕e̷̜͆͘, but someone else is already trampling it underfoot and snapping it.

No one has ever successfully escaped Hellmouth before, but, then again, no one has ever done so as a team. No one has ever managed to hold onto that which makes you undeniably human: the ability to care.

Even for all that some of your number curl their lips and sneer at the concept of pure and unadulterated affection for others, there’s no denying that each of you has a special place in your hearts for someone here. It’s those bonds that allowed you to defeat your foes, and it’s those bonds now that carry you, finally, through the foyer and…!

Right through the front doors of the manor.

You run and you run and you run and you’re not sure how long your feet carry you before your legs finally give out from beneath you. 

Looking back, it appears as though the Earth itself is consuming that place you called your prison, sucking it back into its gullet where it properly belongs.

When it’s done, nothing remains but a clearing in the woods. Tranquil. Serene. Quiet. There’s no sound at all other than the birdcall and Momo-Taro-Spot barking gleefully up at Chou, still held tight in Poppy’s arms.

…Well. Until the maw opens once again and–there’s truly no eloquent way of putting this–spits your belongings out onto the grass. Everything you brought with you and everything you gained over your time in the manor has been expelled onto the forest floor. With your belongings comes the realization of the situation you’ve all found yourselves in.

The freedom to do whatever you want lays at your fingertips. You could travel the world, go see your family, rekindle relationships, pet a dog, quit and find a new job, change your whole life because change is what makes humans human. Of course, considering the circumstances, maybe you should look into that Babbel subscription you’ve been putting off getting. It may do you some good shortly.

With the whole world in front of you, with the weight of being infernal celebrities off of your shoulders for at least the time being, you’re left with just yourself. Well, yourself and the people around you.

You look between each face that surrounds you, and what is there to do but smile?

The manor trembled and shook as the pure strength of everyone’s virtues weighed down on their hellish prison. Micah fought bravely. Alou has been bested by the determination of the human spirit. Every loose end has so neatly been tied up in a bow, right? Something was missing from this ending being forged by their own hands: Aya and Pheo remained though, didn’t they? Even with so much happening Touji wasn’t quick to forget that those two were still here. Touji whips his head around in search of them, spotting them trying to make a getaway. That wasn’t happening and Touji was quick to make sure it didn’t.

Aya was about to reach for her exit, pulling her associate Pheo in tow. As their “boss” fell, and as soon as the manor itself began to fall, Aya knew she had to jump ship. The pair shared a look the moment Micah revealed his betrayal, and every moment between the two of them came back to the surface. If these worthless pieces of shit were going to rebel, kill their companion, and kill their superior, they were not going to be caught in the middle of it! Aya felt truly free for a moment before the sound filled her ears. Her hand moved away from the doorway she was manifesting to escape the trial room as she heard Touji’s wretched yelling. 

[♪ ♪ ♪]

“And just where the fuck do you two think you’re going!?” 

He runs at them with the speed of trying to get from 3rd to home and he knows the ball is closing in. One hand wraps around Aya’s wrist and the other around Pheo’s. It’s a quick tug to pull them both back to where they can’t get away through their little doorway.

“Fuck you, Asagiri! Let us go!” Aya yelps upon contact.

He lets go of her, and Aya is quick to retaliate with her tail, aiming it directly at Touji’s neck to go right for a last minute kill. It stops in its pursuit, Touji’s hand wrapped around it.

“Gotta get more physical since you can’t just burn my soul, eh!? No fucking way in hell!”

“I don’t need to burn your soul to end your fucking life!”

He clenches his fist and the stinger of her tail snaps and is left unusable. Black blood soaks his hand as Aya screams out in a burning fury. He was frustrated that she even tried it. Guess desperate times call for desperate measures for them. All of this time he’s been wanting to kick their shit in for what they’ve put them all through. All the back talk and holding himself back from leaping is paying off right here. Aya twists herself away from Touji, hair raising on end, bristling. The manor was weakening, and so was she. It was obvious in the way she twitched from the unbearable pain made to her tail.

With the fall of the manor, the game, everything Pheo has known all these hellish years it only made her more desperate to keep the last few constants. Fumiko was lost but she still had Aya, Aya who no doubt cared very little for her but Pheo still begrudgingly enjoyed her company. So that means when a no good punk snaps Aya’s tail Pheo was ready to defend the last person she had on her side. Her free hand readies, her nails pointed like knives.

“You little shit, I’ll send your ass to the grave myself!” 

A brawl ensues as he jumps at the two of them. Fists begin to fly into each other’s bodies. Touji wouldn’t say he was much of a skilled fighter and his reflexes in fighting were not the best but he was going to hold his own. It goes on for a short amount of time, the three of them going at it with each other. They shout and the battle is violent but it doesn’t last long with them putting their all into this messy fight. Pheo’s fist meets Touji’s face and Aya’s heel into his stomach. He stumbles and lets out a cough before leaping to pay them right back. 

His fist flies into Pheo’s face first. He could play dirty and pull hair but he wanted to keep things as fair as he could. So it was just one hard punch to send her flying back and colliding with the ground. Then it was right to Aya. He winds up and with a shout his fist flies at her and hers at him. Their arms cross as each other’s fist collides with each other’s face. 

It was a surprise that gave him a chance to quickly pull back and grab Aya’s other arm. He pulls her close, lifts her up with ease to swing her around in a circle and lets her go flying like a bowling ball into Pheo. The two of them smash into each other and are left as just a pile on the ground Touji takes a breath and surely that was enough. His breaths are heavy as he steps close to them. Looking down at the felled hostesses he could make this a quick end for them both.

Just lift his foot and stomp down on them like the bugs that they were to him. Do exactly what was done to Fumiko and make sure they double die right here together. Aya, bloodied, black blood dripping from her lips, grins widely at Touji. Her eyes are filled with the bloodlust that he had unknowingly awakened the first moment his fist collided with her face.

“Do it. I have brought you nothing but suffering! I have brought nothing but suffering to everyone you have come to care about in this dilapidated shithole! Use your hands to finish the job, you coward! Kill me! Kill us both!” 

He doesn’t though.

“Fuck off with that kill me shit. I told you guys you’d never make me into a killer.” 

Instead he squats down to get on their level and see those bloodthirsty eyes up close. Knowing that neither can do a single thing about it no matter what they feel. Even if they retaliated against Touji there was a whole squad right behind him to finish them off for real.

“Listen here, you two are going to get out of this alive. You’re going to step right back into Hell with your tails between your fucking legs and you’re going to deal with being the fucking laughing stocks of the nine fucking circles! We ruined your whole game!! All of us! Humans! We outed your super special fucking game master and killed him too! Sucks that you two aren’t getting off that fucking easy doesn’t it!?”

He picks himself up to turn and lets out a loud guffaw of triumph!

“Check it out, demons!! Humans won it all!! Woooooo!! Good job failing at your fucking jobs in the worst way, ladies! Hey, all you Touji fans out there! Do me a favor and get a hate train going for them!! You can make uhhh memes!? Yeah memes!! They ruined your favorite show so make them pay for that!!”

Aya, fallen from grace, grabs desperately onto Pheo, pulling her closer in an attempt to drag the both of themselves away from this chaos. Claws dig into the wooden boards below them, threatening to tear them right from their foundation. Aya would rip this place apart with her own bare hands if it meant revenge against the man of wrath who had bested his sin… not succumbed to it. Not like her.

He laughs, he laughs at their failures, at their misery, at every single horrible thing they’ve done getting thrown back at them. His laugh tapers off and he turns back to them and flashes a smile. Still cocky but friendly and inviting. 

“Hey, how about this. In about 80 years when I get down here for real, let’s all get a drink together. That is if you guys have gotten over being the laughing stocks of Hell and are willing to show your faces publicly. And when we’re all nice and drunk we can have a rematch! Maybe I’ll even bring my husband. We know I’ll win again but always fun to try and see if you two got any better, ihihihihi!”

And with that Touji hops over them both and gets a move on, only turning back to give one last middle finger to them both. 

“I’ll be back when I die!! Till then losers!! See ya!!” 

[♪ ♪ ♪]

Alou

Feels

Everything.

The searing pain of bodily injury is just pretty sparks when held to the raging inferno of emotion that composes each and every attack. When the others pierce or cut or burn or slice or bludgeon with their souls, more than just the flesh is injured– he experiences their feelings as keenly as any blade. He wants to scream– and laugh, and weep, and dance, and run, and sing, and–

In the end, all he can do is shake uncontrollably. His deep hunger to consume every emotion broadcast in the game has finally been sated, but he chokes on the overwhelming and unanticipated breadth of what he’d wanted.

Because that’s what he’d really wanted, wasn’t it? Him, and every other demon that cherished this game. They’d wanted to take everyone else’s lives and make them their own. To break and bend these people into cogs for the machinery of hell, to make perfectly repeated stories in order to force some sort of meaning into their own pitiable fates. If they had had to suffer, so too should everyone else.

‘That’s the sort of Death I want to personify in my writing. A death that loves you, that welcomes you home.’

It finally dawns on him that he didn’t even know what ‘love’ or ‘home’ or ‘death’ even were in the first place. How could he have even hoped to truly author it?

“I could… have died… righteous,”

Words squeeze out, angry and tight with hurt. Words that, under normal circumstances, he would have gripped hard and swallowed down to never see the light of day. Words he never would have even admitted to himself, for the sake of his own image.

“You could have let me die ignorant. And happy.”

In his torn and broken body, he searches for every scrap of hate and loathing in an attempt to gather the means to rise– to resurrect his battered form and to drag them all down to his level, somehow, some way. To scrape away the brilliant love and blinding hope, to make them concede to him instead of the other way around–

– He can’t find it.

He doesn’t hate them.

Not their insecurities, not their selfishness, not their fears, not their flaws, not their sins.

Alou had once thought that he’d understood it all.

(He didn’t.)

Then he thought he’d never understand any of them.

(He does now.)

And in the end, instead of loathing them, all he can think about is how light it feels to finally admit that he was wrong. How freeing it is to know that nothing is predetermined. And what a relief, to realize that there didn’t have to be a point. That just being is enough.

It’s all too much for the Hellmouth to take. As Alou lies still on the floor, you realize that the rumbling isn’t the trembling of the room caused by the raging of a giant beast. It’s the Hellmouth itself– seizing up from all of the noxious virtues forced into its maw.

Poppy has had many people bequeath their last words onto them. Mostly it has been pleas and begging and terrified crying – nothing memorable, to them. The majority were too surprised by death to do anything more than let the air escape their lungs, not even really screaming before life left them. An unceremonious fading.

They’ve never had anyone dedicate their last words to them.

“You don’t have to be anyone’s dog.“

As Micah lays in the pool of his own blood, now so painfully, humanly red, Poppy cannot help but lean over him and watch as he dies, a hand pressed to the wound. The words ring in their ears, repeated in an echo over and over again until their meaning sinks into their chest, much like their soul does as the strings entangle from it. They’re not sure how they feel, but they know they’ve never felt like this watching someone die. It’s a mix of regret, and understanding, and many emotions Poppy is woefully unequipped to handle, all of which swirl and mix until they can feel them squirm under their skin.

[♫♫♫]

Their soul doesn’t fill them with fire. There are no embers to kindle within them anymore, no more roaring rage to replace mourning for the connection they could’ve – should’ve – had with Micah. The glacier has grown still and quiet. They’ve been suffocated by this place, brought to heel like a hound, nothing more than a pawn that didn’t know every step led here from the start. An entire life made just to end in raucous applause and cheer of the faceless, bored masses.

But when things die – when emotions die – they become trapped and compress under the pressure into a tar pit. Under Poppy’s skin boils an oily, suffocating residue built on the remains of anger and sadness and stubbornness and betrayal, the last throes of an animal fighting against shackles it knows it cannot shake, wanting to drag its captors down with it.

Poppy wants to drag Alou down with them.

Alou, who now looms behind them, buffeted by a storm of attacks from everyone, a monster both inside and outside, taller than ever but with a shadow that cannot hope to be as large as the thing he tried to be. A pitiful void that aims to drag everyone and everything down with it, to drown them if it cannot smother them in sickly love.

Poppy stands up. They’re waist deep in the tar pit, pulled towards the event horizon by the black hole that is Alou. They reach out a hand, let go, and decide to let themself drift, let themself get dragged to the nexus so as to easier dig their nails in the flesh of their captor, intending to drown him in the pitch. 

Poppy Argemone Crawbow bares their teeth.

And moves.

From the remains of the table, a knife. Long and plain, but so wickedly sharp. And as Poppy dives into the fray, there is no magic, no tricks, just the movements of someone who has danced to the tune of this cat and mouse game for almost a decade, weaving between Alou’s movements and attacks, like an unintentionally choreographed dance, a crescendo for a tale that waits only for its ending, the last final breaths as two hearts beat and one is bound to stop. A totentanz.

The tall, demonic figure of Alou looms over them, the remains of his wings and arms lashing, the tail like a scorpion’s hitting so close that Poppy can feel the air move their hair. They turn sideways and roll under it before getting on their feet quickly and brandishing their knife, ready to plunge it in –

In front of Alou’s legs, against the dark purple, stands a small, white, lamb-like creature which beady eyes catch Poppy’s across the mayhem. 

Chou. 

Because when you cut your conscience off and cauterized it, turned it into its own little thing… You didn’t tell the man who wanted to work at a baby animal petting zoo to kill the literal Sanrio looking lamb creature, did you?

Alou’s conscience.

Poppy veers to the side and, instead of delivering a final blow, jumps and rolls to catch the little lamb-like thing in their arms, before dodging out of the way of Alou’s claws – which they succeed in only partially, one of them tearing a long gash into their side. They don’t cry out, but air escapes from their lungs, and they tumble, sacrificing their own safety to make sure Chou doesn’t come to harm, shielding it with their body.

When they finally manage to breathe, they get up shakily. Their left side is wet from blood, some of it matting Chou’s fur that wiggles in their arms, letting out a sad whine.

There is mourning as Poppy looks between the two, Chou and Alou, at the disconnect of the jagged edges that have been displaced and cauterized so as to never reconnect. They remember a game of chess, kissing Alou as they placed the final piece on the table, and check mated his king with their pawn. The last moment they loved.

”… I would never be lonely with you… but… you would be lonely with just me.”

“I want you to be enough.” Alou had sounded mournful, but only almost.

“I want to be with you… always. Even if I am not enough… But forever is a very long time… and we need to choose if we deserve hell… as much as we deserve each other…”

They have chosen, now.

“I love… selfishly? No. You do. I chose you over my family, I chose you over everyone, but you never chose me… you proved your loyalty to them when you killed me, but never proved yours to mine. I had thought I’d be fine never being enough for you, but – but I’m not!”

“Unlike you… I mean my words. I don’t lie. My always means always.”

Poppy begins to move again, a bit slower, but picking up in pace. Resolve hardened, steeled, ice cold, like it was when they came here, but now with a purpose not given by others, but  one they picked for themself.

“Yours used to, as well. You used to mean the things you said, the things you did… but this… this is not the Dr. Lark who had ambitions and principles… this is a lazy, hollow husk of an imitation that lacks any substance… a pathetic mimicry of someone who I used to think was a worthy opponent… and someone worthy of – of my – ”

Ah. How awful it is to realise you loved someone you thought you hated, but that person no longer exists. Unfortunately, loving reflections and illusions seems to come naturally for them.

Except –

There were plenty of real things they felt.

[♫♫♫]

So many people chose them. So many. Minami came to them, over and over again, even after Poppy denied her apologies, even after they told her they would stay in Hell. But each time, like a stubborn mule, she wanted to be there for them and refused to take no for an answer. Olwin, who despite their rocky beginnings found a common ground with them in books and plays and who read the stories Poppy told him to read (even if he complained they were depressing). Wakako, who despite being killed by them, forgave and said she wanted to spend time with them.

And there are so many feelings – real feelings! Respect for Nike, whom Poppy shared so much common ground with, who taught them how to make smores. Curiosity and weird protectiveness for Raoul, who despite the awkwardness tried to reach out to them and encourage them, a fellow glutton. Understanding for Miori, who was so much like them that it was like looking into a mirror, a bit distorted but still, ultimately, real. Micah, whom they couldn’t understand but still tried to, over and over again, until their incapability to meet in the middle circled around to a weird, shared acceptance of their differences. Caring, and then deep hatred for Yukiko – but even in their conflict, those feelings matter.

And endless care for Miranda, the last person they expected to connect with on such a deep level. Miranda, whom they remember walking in the garden with, looking for the elusive geese, hearing her tell about the friend she sacrificed and the guilt she felt, opening up to them like a flower at dawn.

“You could have sacrificed yourself… or given her a choice… or not accepted the college fund… but you didn’t. And nothing will ever change that. You’re now here, in Hell, and we’re trying to find geese… And I don’t think… I would like for you to have done anything differently.”

They had meant their words. All of that was real.

They never would have wanted any of this to go differently.

The small warmth pressed against their side, living, breathing, quietly whining as it looks up at them with its beady eyes, is also real. The feelings Alou had are still real. Encompassed in Chou are all the pieces of it, the pity, the kindness, the regret, the love, the passion, the genuine messiness of humanity and all the beauty of it, too.

They will always remain within it, separated from Alou…

But not alone. Not so long as Poppy is here to hold it and give it a home.

Two things happen at once in very rapid succession.

First, the broken remains of Alou’s wings, torn asunder by Olwin and Hisashi, come down, trying to spear Poppy and rend them apart.

Second, Poppy feints to the side, drops and rolls, before springing back on their feet and past Alou’s wings, and uses the momentary confusion of destruction to get right in front of him.

“My always just wasn’t meant for you.”

Poppy drives their knife forward into Alou’s exposed chest.

The wound isn’t big. It’s, in fact, not even perceptible when Poppy pulls out the blade. But it strikes true between the fourth and fifth rib, the easiest way to a man’s – a beast’s – heart. When they pull out the blade, there is no sound, except blood oozing and dripping onto the floor.

From the wound, flowers begin to bloom.

At first as deep royal blue like Alou’s blood, before the color is overtaken and fades into the brilliant reds of a poppy – death, rebirth, remembrance, sleep – that engulf his body, growing like a field, up his arms and his wings, before their roots eat away the tainted flesh beneath. He was rotten, and such ground is soft for flowers to bloom, like the muddy fields of Flanders.

Alou’s form fades in a cascade of falling flowers, back into his usual form.

Poppy drops the blade to the ground, using their now free hand to grab the side of his head as he slumps onward, and press a kiss on his forehead.

“Goodbye, Alou. I’m sorry.”

Then, they let go of him, turning away and leaving him behind. They will take with them the parts that matter.

They leave behind that which can only wither.

[♫♫♫]

She remembers that autumn day. Uncertainty hung in the air as all those strangers looked at each other, awkwardly while Louisa Nightingale welcomed them to her house, the Hellmouth Manor. A crowd of strangers walking into the worst place they could have ended up at the whims of the mastermind’s strings, even now she recalls the crushed leaves beneath their feet vividly, she remembers her anxious inhales and her frosted breath and thinking she should have dressed a bit more warmly.

She can remember the shuffling of feet and a warm welcome, the distant but incessant flapping of wings all around her. Unseen, but still there. But most of all, she remembers the familiar feeling of anxiety pushing her down, and averting eyes at every chance; a bit to the left, a bit upward or down, but never daring to face the others’ faces but still, she had seen clouded eyes back then.

In those clouded eyes, she saw…

The ephemerality of a sunset waiting for someone who would never come, hellfire raging against the countless injustices of life, the gentleness of an inviting open sea of kindness, a fox’s cunning…

In all those landscapes, she never thought of the reflection of her own eyes; there must’ve been nothing there. And so, her strongest memory of that autumn day was the sense of inadequacy, the fact she was a shadow looking at the stars in the night sky.

The stars reached out to the shadow on the ground, some of them proving themselves as shaky the phantom they touched, she wasn’t a star but she was taught she could fit in, or pretend to, until she actually could. A lesson like that came from Hibiki in her memory, and latter, fresher lessons stayed there, in the way she now can smile, in no small part thanks to him even if he wouldn’t want the credit now, after everything.

(Mirai gets up, and takes a step away from Micah and towards Alou.)

The night burned brighter, a star landed on her and the ghost rejected it, it burned too bright for its dim and dull eyes - it scared her, Cassandra and Yukiko, were both faces she had always, always known. But she hadn’t been that, not to her. Mirai doesn’t know if it’s right or not, but in a way, she too might be another reflection of Yukiko; a twin soul from another galaxy, someone who had told her to find her anger, that it was okay, the world had trampled over her, why not yell about it? It’s not a lesson a monster would teach her; it’s enough for her to know Yukiko isn’t completely inhuman.

(Mirai takes firm, unwavering steps. The purple light on her left hand glittering as it begins to travel around her. Her right hand clutches something else tightly.)

Dawn comes, as the sun shines upon the cocoon on the ground, Raoul smiles at Mirai despite all her words, her demeanor even after death had pierced her with sharp, broken claws and fangs, he is a guiding light, in the same way Touji was a force pushing one forward on and on and on.

[♬♬♬]

(Mirai starts running as fast as her legs will allow it, her lack of stamina for once not showing as the light of her own being continues to shine over her; you see a giant crow’s wing emerge and somehow know it’s not part of her black attire.)

Now a worm, Mirai chases the dying light, where it doesn’t even know it exists, like with Olwin and Arisa and the people they have found (namely, Hisashi), and she finds herself basking on it all the same, even if she doesn’t know or think she ever did anything to really reciprocate it, there is humanity there and for her, that was enough.

(She is still far from Alou but her running neither stops or slows down as a second wing appears opposite the first, a pure-white chicken’s wing.)

The night comes again and the butterfly finds comfort in the moon, in a glass coffin shared in a small corner of hell, amidst endless dreams; she find Eli, or perhaps it is him who finds her, she doesn’t know and it doesn’t really matter, they have each other, two moons that are never alone anymore.

(Growth hurts. It’s natural that the wings on her back do, too, the large fly wing, joined with a magnificent blue and purple butterfly wing below the bird’s, all begin to flap together and Mirai takes flight, she is going toward Alou. Strings snap and aim for her.)

Trekking through life is difficult, whether as a shadow, phantom, or anything else, it’s especially hard to navigate the world as a semblance of a person, or an imitation of a bird, but Minami hadn’t ever thought of Mirai that way, even if she knew herself not to be as fiercely tenacious as the older woman, she hoped something of that tenacity had rubbed off on her, just like she hoped to have helped her. And just like how she has to make sure she can go back to her child, too. Mirai herself would like to meet them.

(The strings try and sweep at her, lashing out and thrashing about but there is no point, they can’t reach her, not anymore.)

More days than not, being a person is difficult, everything is gray and the person in the mirror might not be you. Ruby must’ve felt that more than Mirai ever did but she doesn’t have to, she shouldn’t have to, because Mirai knows for a fact that the other is an amazing person all on her own, without the need to be someone she isn’t, Ruby is amazing for who she is, not for what anyone else wants her to be.

(Two more wings spread out, on her lower back by now; a skeletal yet seemingly functional wing and a burning phoenix’s, the sound of her flying and dodging all strings around her with grace that isn’t hers fill the air)

It’s a seemingly endless corridor to navigate, it’s dim and dark, choking the air out with every step taken, but it’s people like Shoji and Nike that make it possible to get through those times, with one illuminating the path, the other making sure you get through it; they may not be alike at all, not even on their ways to care for others and yet there is a similar to the both of them in that.

(Perhaps Mirai belongs in the sky with the stars, she shows no fear; her target is clear, she just needs to reach her and right now, she can reach anywhere.)

When out of a dark tunnel, the harsh light of the sun might make it so somebody wants to trace their step backs and into the dark again, it has a sense of belonging the light doesn’t, like you don’t deserve it, and maybe that’s how Miranda felt before coming here but she thinks she knows better than to see herself as a monster, because if Mirai is not flightless, nor a chicken, neither is Miranda a terrible beast.

(Even now, looking at Alou, she sees neither a pitiable or wretched beast. It’s Alou still. The same man, after all this time, all the burdens he’s carried, those he’s tossed away, those that have crushed him, it is still just Alou. She still does not forgive him, she still does not pity him. Strings approach her, this time, they will reach her with fury and envy.)

Though she might not have the same view of Alou that Cu holds and Wakako once held, she can still understand the undue pain of being puppeteered, and trying to break free. Helplessly, hopelessly but endlessly. For her, for the two of them, the end is in sight now.

(Strings and butterfly dance in the air, again and again, Mirai circles around Alou, everyone’s efforts have made it possible for her to soar freer, even if the strings continue to chase and chase.)

In a room of mirrors, frayed, snapped threads think of Miori and Kamiya. Mirai doesn’t think of them as her sworn enemies, angry as she might have been, she had wanted to forgive them both, eventually. She knew them not to be horrible people (even if Kamiya does annoy her), despite what Miori might’ve thought of herself, and what they had done. Flying here, she finds herself reaching for it, and finally forgiving them. It’s as much for them as it is for herself.

(The strings hold to her wings and them, they find themselves weak. The flapping is enough to tear them away, she’s free. She finds herself wishing Poppy will, too, be freer now. As they should always have been. Micah is right in that they’re not anyone’s dog.)

In a distant corner of the universe, two planets orbit each other, a large mushroom one, and a much smaller one, filled with flower fields, the princess and the knight often visiting each other and talking about… well, plenty of things, some silly, some more significant, they would promise many things to each other and care for each other, grow into loving each other, against what they each thought of their own little planets, their silly little selves, in love in a story of their own making.

That was well worth defending.

All of it, all of it was worth protecting and fighting and struggling for, every time she’s been kind and caring, every time she’s celebrated their triumphs and mourned their losses, cried with an for them, laughed, shared a poem, each of those little instances was her own way of fighting and winning.

Every second of every minute together with them was worth reaching out for, and knowing he will be alright now, she raises her right arm staring down at Alou with calm eyes, the gaze of someone who knows victory is right in their hand. Her voice, too, is even as she speaks:

“This is the end! And the beginning!!”

With strength that is not only hers, but everyone who she’s ever cared for and who’s cared for she brings her right hand down on Alou’s face, violently stabbing him right in the center with his own pen - she doesn’t know how much she can make him hurt, even now, she would rather not.

But someone has to let Alou know to watch his hubris, and the sting of the pen leaving his face as she pulls it out ought to do it.

“My master is too strong. I’ll die. I know this, and I’m okay with this.”

Nike thought they would be fast enough. 

There was hardly a second of doubt in their mind if they would ever let that happen. It’s the stubborn part of them— there’s no asking whether you can or cannot, you just do— but as Alou transforms into a hideous goat monstrosity, they could only stay frozen in awe and horror. A moment’s distraction, just enough time for him to—

Squelch…

Thud.

Micah’s body hits the wall, and it’s sickening— how he was discarded as if he were just some toy, exactly the way Alou perceived him to be. Micah, who they owed so much to, not just in his role towards their counter attack, but in his companionship as a friend, who they didn’t realize was risking so much for their sakes, who knew he was walking to his death, but decided to face his destiny head on—

There’s hardly any hesitation before Nikephoras turns to Alou, eyes narrowed, a growl between their lips, despite the demonic features having already left their form. 

A rift begins to glow brightly in between their hands. It glows white hot, almost painful to the touch, like metal melding over bare skin, yet Nike doesn’t let go. They grip onto it tightly, pulling at the chain that emerges from the light. 

[♬]

Before they arrived at the mansion, Nike was nothing more than a walking shell bent on revenge.

To have so little, then have it all taken away—Somewhere in her mind, Nike convinced herself that perhaps peace was yet another one of her unreachable dreams; and the only way to survive was to fuel her heart with sins, and live like a wounded animal: setting their self ablaze and wait for the day their anger burned themselves from the inside out.

But that never happened, of course.

Coming here, Nike never intended on getting close. Why would they? They thought they were only going to stay with these people for a week at best. They wore the facade of a laughable fortune teller; something that they thought was far removed from the person they were.

( Though it was the great seer that invited people to partake in their desserts while they chat about their day, they didn’t have to make every effort to craft each sweet with careful hands. They didn’t have to teach people how to use coffee machines, or feel concern when they trip and fall in the gardens, or to encourage them when you read their doubts over a cup from a cup of tea. Very much less show care to someone who they punched over a game of darts.)

The mask doesn’t even last a day, really. When it all came crashing down, they figured it wasn’t worth keeping on pretenses. It was better that everyone knew right away for what they were—a liar, a con, send the message that they were someone they should stay as far away from.

It worked for some.

(Being scrutinized by the literature they read, lunging at liars in a game of greed, battling ideologies with their roommate.)

It didn’t for others.

(Honesty and optimism that confuses them, someone who still saw him as a friend even after their lies.)

So. Why?

( Redemption. It begins with quiet apologies: In a text chat, to someone who they got off on the wrong foot with, who they now call their brother-in-arms; on a park bench, showing concern for the one who’d hurt others they cared about. In a kitchen, cooking a meal together, no longer letting the shadows of the past keep them from making amends.)

Why was it that–

(Peace. Moments of stillness: All of them crowded in one room for a sleepover, playing games they haven’t played in many years. Quiet fortune readings, not to fool, but with a genuine desire to help. A conversation with a friend amidst smores.)

They couldn’t stop caring?

(Healing. Tears and vulnerability at multiple points in time. The both of them stumble their way through until all their walls are broken down. Finally learning how to let go of their guilt. Finding peace as they die on a velvet cushion, sacrificing themselves with no regrets.) 

The soul chain starts to slip from Nike’s hands, and they feel themselves being pulled along with it. For a moment, as they struggle with the chain, they hear the ocean current against their ears, bubbling, threatening to drown, but Nike finds that they no longer fear the deep dark blue.

(They feel it, multiple hands reaching out to them. They grab Nike, keeping them from sinking further, and wherever they touch, warmth blooms and breaks through the cold. They lift them out of the waters, and they break the horizon.)

“Alright, you sanctimonious freak of nature—”

Nike pulls their chain inch by inch, a feat that takes every aching muscle in their body to accomplish. There is the sound of metal being dragged, chains piling on the floor, and soon something emerges from the soul rift. 

“—You want a piece of this?”

At the end of the link, an anchor half their size rests at Nike’s feet. 

Grabbing onto the chain, Nike spins the anchor. Using the momentum much like a ball and chain. When it has gained the right velocity, Nike puts all of their weight (the weight of their sins; the weight of their ocean) into their throw. They let out a guttural cry, swinging the anchor at Alou’s legs. Regardless of whether it hits or misses, Nike pulls back the anchor so they can strike, again and again, relentless in their pressure. 

All their life, Nikephoras has only ever had things taken from them, but they’ll be damned if they didn’t fight tooth and nail just when they just got something new to live for.

Not today. Not ever again.

With Micah taken care of, the shields Minami had drawn up crumble to the ground around her. She’s left standing in a smoking mess of metal, looking up at the orchestrator of their misery. She considers him with surprising restraint, given the anger that she feels. That she has felt, at this whole bitch of a situation. What had she said, in Ruby’s trial?

I’m gonna beat your ass so fuckin’ hard that you see colors no one on Earth could ever imagine. Right, that was right. And she’d done what she wanted to do before that– she held back her anger enough to understand Alou, and why they were here. It was easier to take apart a machine you understood, after all, and Minami was a scientist, even if she didn’t act much like one anymore. So with that done…

Well, it’s time for her to get to work, she supposes. Rather than run at Alou immediately, though, and rather than summoning anything to aid her, she squats down in the mess of torn metal around her. No use in letting it go to waste, after all, when she had always taken pride in doing things with her own hands. Maybe to a fault, if she was honest. Almost certainly to one, actually. It had been that pride that caused her downfall, and it had been the people here that had showed her that it wouldn’t hurt to rely on someone other than herself once in a while. Maybe with her final moments here, she could create something to repay them.

(You know, by beating Alou’s ass. That sort of repayment.)

As she reaches for the chunks of metal, despite her lack of tools, they bend easily under her hands and tear as if they’re made of paper. The cause of this is clear enough looking at her– despite no longer being a demon, her hands glow with heat as they had in that form. The metal warps into shape like she’s manipulating clay, wires growing in to fill the spaces Minami intends them to. She had thought that the burning hands of her demon form had been a mockery of how she felt she burned anything she touched. And maybe they had been, given that document about the design philosophy behind the demons. But now, her very human hands burn with the same soothing warmth that her shields had provided to those healing Micah. The warmth of love and protection. That, she’s finding, is more effective than any soldering iron.

It’s enough that, in record time, her vision is complete. Not that it was a particularly elaborate vision, for someone with her skill in mechanics… actually, it’s surprisingly understated for Minami’s bombastic personality in general. It looks as if several of the chunks of metal have been manipulated but left unfinished on the ground, leaving Minami holding… a belt? It’s probably a belt, though with some sort of mechanism on the front. Despite it being unclear how this is meant to help defeat Alou, its creator certainly looks pleased with it. Not just pleased– her one remaining eye sparkles with excitement as she starts approaching the monster. Just strolls right up there. (After all, she can’t beat the shit out of him without getting closer.)

As she goes, she smiles widely. It feels like nothing can touch her– has felt that way, since she started snapping Alou’s stupid strings. For the first time in quite a while, it feels like a weight is lifted off her back.

When she’s a good handful of yards away from Alou’s beastly form, she starts buckling the belt– yes, you can tell it’s a belt now– around her waist.

“Gahahaha– y’know, I’ve always wanted to do this! My whole life! Good thing I got it back just in time, huh!”

She addresses Alou, as if he’s even listening anymore. Once the belt is on, she… strikes a pose, one arm outstretched towards him.

“Now! Count up your sins! …’cause there sure are a lot of them!”

[♫♫♫]

With Minami’s words, the discarded metal left behind her starts to move. It soars through the air, revealing itself not to be discarded at all, but rather parts of a whole that she had left unassembled… well, probably so she could have the dramatics of doing a henshin to punch a demon in the face. But what else would you really expect from her?

The pieces lock into place around Minami’s outstretched arm, forming a heavy metal gauntlet that burns with residual heat. Wires slip into place beneath the plating, allowing her to move her fingers– when she does, steam puffs out of some sort of exhaust valve, the shell shifting to adjust. The metal plating builds up her arm, stopping around her shoulder for an effect that’s somewhere between a suit of armor and a mech. What could she say? She was feeling inspired enough to come out of retirement and build a fully articulated robotic arm just to punch someone with.

Her weapon in place, Minami pulls her arm back, thankful that there are vines bringing Alou down to her level. It’s not as satisfying to punch someone somewhere that isn’t the face, no matter what Hisashi and Arisa might say about kidneys.

And punch she does. Her first strike connects squarely with his nose. With it goes the anger she’s felt at watching people she loves and cares for suffer and die. She’s been lied to and fooled and betrayed multiple times, not in small part by Alou himself. With it goes the misery she felt, believing that she was unable to save anyone here and that she would never be able to make it back home again, just as she’d realized she might want to.

She brings back her arm again, landing another punch to Alou’s face. This time, her metal glove burns with heat– Minami’s love for Micah, who had shown her that she could still have friends despite all her sins, and who had cried for her, and who had given his life to get them all out of there. She wants to see him get to live a happy life outside of here.

She punches him again, in the already-ruined eyes, for Mirai– who Minami had so desperately tried to help throughout the game, and who had shown her that she couldn’t take responsibility for everything, lifting some of the weight off of her shoulders. Who Minami had finally been able to protect, at the very end, and who might finally get to be happy as well.

She punches him, metal cracking against the base of one of his horns, for Poppy, who she cared so deeply for and who had been so deeply betrayed. It burns with the hope that they might be able to finally be free, outside of here, and that she might be able to help with that. You know, in her clumsy way.

With the sound of the crack, she aims for the horn again, this time for Touji– who had been so unwavering in his strength the entire time, who Minami admired for that. She certainly didn’t have any plans to stop teasing him after they got out of here. He’d have to deal with her being loud as hell at his games.

Her fist slams into the same crack twice more, sending more spiraling out, shards falling to the ground. For Arisa, who was almost as stubborn as she was and who wasn’t her type of person at all, but who had managed to brute-force her into taking better care of herself. Funny how it was one of the dumbest people here who had managed to trap her in some of the flaws of her own worldview. And for Olwin, who Minami didn’t understand but had worried for all game. She had fucked up incessantly in trying to help him, but it looked like something had finally broken through at the end, even if it wasn’t her, and she was proud of him for it.

Realizing the state the horn is in, Minami strikes it several more times in quick succession– for Miranda, who she needed to do karaoke with once they were out of here, for Ruby, who had struggled so badly and yet managed to come out of it– until the base is weakened enough that she can simply grip it in her metal fist and yank–

And with a final crack, it snaps off in her hand. She tosses it aside, or whatever remains of it after her onslaught. As for the other horn…

Minami doesn’t raise the gauntlet again. Instead , she raises her other hand to her neck. There’s a much quieter snap as the chain she’s worn there breaks in her hand. Almost apprehensive, she opens her palm and looks down.

The gold ring she had picked out decades ago shines up at her. Its matching partner is gone, burned in the remains of a computer lab somewhere in Tokyo. This one has remained unworn since, Minami unable to stomach the reminder of a death she had always viewed as her fault. Not just that– unable to bear the reminder that her wife was no longer in her life. To wear it again felt like a weight– the weight of acknowledging what had happened, and accepting it. If she hid the ring, she would never have to think about it.

She slips it onto her finger now. Her hand balls into a fist.

“This is for you and your fuckass family killin’ my fuckin’ wife, you goddamn bastard.”

It doesn’t matter that all she has on this hand is a ring and not the gauntlet. It cracks through Alou’s other horn with the force of Minami’s punch as if it had a rocket powering it.

With it goes the dark cloud Minami has been living with. Not all of it, of course– but enough that she can see clearly.

You can’t protect me all the time, you know?

It wasn’t my fault.

She thinks it clearly and without guilt.

Do you think she’s happy?

Minami hopes she is. She hopes that wherever she is, Kumiko can see her doing a Rider Punch right through Alou’s stupid horn. Imagining her laughing and cheering doesn’t hurt as much as it might have a few months ago. She sees it clearly, through the clouds and her addled brain.

The second horn hits the ground, and Minami with it. As Minami lets go of her own pride, the source of her guilt, she takes some of Alou’s with her. What’s a king without his crown, after all? A final gift, from her to her fellow pride member. It was a shame she had had a chance to realize her mistakes at the end, and he hadn’t.

“…You look stupid as fuck without those.”

She lifts her head to look at him, grinning. The metal falls off her arm as she stands, leaving pieces on the ground behind her as she turns away from Alou to walk towards the rest of the group instead. She raises both arms in a cheer.

“Alright, everyone! Let’s finish this up and get the fuck out of here!”

With Micah tended to, Miori pushes herself to her feet, her left arm dangling weakly, hopelessly, painfully at her side. It’s a battle in and of itself just to stand at all; every move she makes, no matter how small, seems to amplify the sheer agony that radiates from her arm. Were she a different woman - an unchanged woman - she’d long since have given up on fighting. She’d have hidden herself away somewhere she could be left untouched and unharmed. She’d have left Micah to the wolves. She’d have left all of them to the wolves, really, so long as it meant she herself stayed safe.

But here she is, injured and seething in pain and still standing despite it. Still fighting, even, because she finally has something worth fighting for. For as long as she can remember, her fight was an empty one. She wasn’t, in truth, aiming for anything. She’d wanted revenge, sure, but only because it was all she could allow herself to want. Anything more would have been too much, too unrealistic. But now, armed with the strength of people she loves - of people who love her in turn - she has a reason to continue. A reason to push forward. A reason to fight.

She grits her teeth and forces herself forward, step by heavy step. Every single one hurts, but every single one is worth it. Her friends, her family, are worth it.

[ ♪♪♪ ]

Eli, so unrelentingly kind and steadfast in his beliefs, is worth it. For a long while, she wasn’t sure where she stood with him, nor did she care enough to figure it out. But he continued, despite every hardship she’d subjected him to, to treat her with the same kindness he did everyone else, and in time he became one of the few she grew to cherish most. Such a simple offering of normalcy, however abnormal it may have seemed to her, did so much more than he could ever realize.

Hibiki, for all the difficulties and squabbles he came with, is worth it. Even before she’d begun to let people in, he’d managed to worm his way into the back of her mind. It wasn’t that he had the energies of a little brother; he had the energy of her little brother, of a boy who seemed so unsure of himself and yet so devoted to the people and beliefs he decided to cling to. She isn’t sure where she stands with him now, but what times they had managed to share - the tradeoffs of dragging each other out of their shells, the back-and-forths that felt so much like she was talking to a mirror and a memory at the same time - were precious to her.

Micah, of course, is worth it. What more could she possibly say about Micah? Though he felt like a brother to her, he was far different from Hibiki. If Hibiki wormed his way into her heart from the start, then Micah grew on it slowly, like a weed or a moss. He was unexpected, and yet he’d become so familiar. He, too, brought to mind a brother - her older brother, a boy who, in his own way, protected her in spite of his gentleness, who taught her what it truly meant to be human. She can only hope her song made it through to him.

Miranda, with every monstrous bit of her there might be, is worth it. At first, Miori could hardly seem to hold a conversation with her, both so wrought with suspicion and paranoia, and yet all it took was the lifting of her mask for the two to find common ground. It was so oddly easy to just talk with Miranda. They never even had to speak about anything serious; all they had to do was talk about Pride and Prejudice or The Notebook or Bridgerton. All they had to do was poke a little good-natured fun at their mutually terrible handling of feelings. All they had to do was exist around each other, and somehow everything felt so normal. She hopes she knows just how hard it was to come by normalcy, and how much something so simple meant to someone like her.

Raoul, as different as they were and as undeserving of his kindness as she was, is worth it. There was a brief moment where she’d felt little more than pity for him, though not so much pity she wasn’t poised to take advantage of his good nature. But as time passed and as she changed, she found comfort in his eccentricities. He was, in a way, as unfamiliar with the world as she was. Their circumstances differed greatly, sure, but what one of them lacked the other could easily cover and vice versa. He stood by her when hardly anyone else thought she deserved it, and for that she couldn’t thank him enough.

Shoji, in spite of the bumps in the road that was their friendship, is worth it. Of everyone, she never expected to become genuinely friendly with someone like Shoji. He was nothing at all like the company she normally kept, though in most cases that’s a good thing, just as it was in Shoji’s. Though they couldn’t be more outwardly different, being able to talk to someone who seemed to at least kind of understand her plight was… refreshing. Past their shared troubles, though, he never failed to extend his understanding to her. Even if they didn’t see eye-to-eye, he’d talk to her like he wanted to understand her. Regardless of whether or not he succeeded, his desire to do so alone was comforting. She hopes, at least, their chats gave him similar solace.

And in front of all of them, threatening to tear everything they’ve worked for away, is Alou. Alou, who had so carefully danced around her in conversation, when she was still Nori and he was still just Alou. Alou, who had so thoroughly met her expectations as a liar and yet made her sick to watch. Alou, who she’d just barely begun to soften up towards.

In her grief-stricken state, she’d thought his words to be kind. Gentle, even. Like there was some sort of respite to be offered, even from someone like him. But she sees now that it was little more than a ploy. She’s almost certain, seeing what he truly is, that he simply wanted to dissect her further, get closer to the roots of her misery. Not to help, of course. No, she’s sure he just wanted entertainment.

That’s all they ever wanted.

He really is, she thinks, just like them.

“You told— told me… before… that I should be ‘less interesting’, if I wanted you… to stop studying me. To stop— putting me… under a microscope. And I assume— now, that maybe… it was because you didn’t understand. You couldn’t… understand the things I’d been through, or… the things I’d felt.”

Her words are forced and her breath is labored. The pain is palpable on her tongue, but still she carries on.

“I… will make you understand what it feels like. To be human. To be me. I— will make you… know what it’s like… to be afraid.”

With what little strength she can muster, Miori reaches her one good arm up towards the tangle of threads. The one constant in her life, the one thing she’d always had, was music, and she’ll be damned if she lets anything get between her and her one steady stream of comfort.

She manages, even if just barely, to clumsily pluck a warm melody - ironically, one in the very same rhythm Alou had created when he’d idly tapped his fingers against the table, back before he had let his mask slip. Before she had done the same with hers. The same soft blue light that had spilled from her lips before now flows from her fingertips, trailing along the threads as she plays them just like she would a harp. Like a river, the light follows the strands towards Alou, and seemingly harmless droplets fall against his skin.

At first, it almost seems as if the beast is enraptured by the music. All struggles cease, and Alou’s eyes go wide as the harp begins to play.

… Something begins to sing in a ghastly choir with the melody, and you realize it’s the low keening of the beast.

Alou flinches away from some unseen strike, eyes squeezing tightly shut as it raises its arms to fend off phantom blows. Claws and tail gouge harmless scores into the walls of the catacombs as Alou lashes out at nothing, momentarily distracted from his true targets. His wings flap uselessly as he bucks and screams, trying uselessly to take flight.

The skin on its back continues to twitch and jump to unseen pains, and hours and hours of Miori’s painful, personal experiences bombard and disorient him. It’s only when his tail sideswipes the loom does he blink in confusion, the twang of hundreds of strings ripping apart in one blow pulling him out of Miori’s sensory hell.

Whether or not she does any real damage - real physical damage, that is - is inconsequential to her. Her goal is as selfless as it is selfish; though she does truly want to distract him, pull his attention away to allow others room to act, she wants just as much to make him hurt. She wants him to feel everything she’s had to feel, everything she’s had to endure, to get to where she is now. She wants somebody to really, truly understand the depth with which her torment runs.

And what better person, she thinks, than a man who was complicit in it all along?

Micah had been the main focus on Kamiya’s part, if only to ensure that they all made it out alive, but, it wasn’t like he was ignoring everything else that happened. As Miori suffered an injury that couldn’t be avoided his gaze focused on her arm, trying to think of a way that he could help in this case, but, at this time there wasn’t much he could do to mend her wounds, or, for that matter anyone else’s wounds. The only thing he could really do was focus on the battle ahead, right? They were all trying to survive in the end, and, at this point he was determined to make it work.

Which is why Kamiya took in a deep breath, determined to finally do something right, to finally put an end to all the torture they had went through, he wasn’t supposed to be there, right? But it was as he made clear many times, he might not have been meant in hell, or, for that matter did the right things in hell, but it didn’t mean he had to stop trying, right? Everyone else was doing their best in this spot, working to make Alou finally falter, to cut the strings that strung them all along throughout their lives. To finally live their lives as they were meant to live. This caused him to close his eyes, he might not have been able to create a mixtape like before, but, he could certainly try something, right?

“–I am not gonna fuck up this time, ever since I’ve gotten here I’ve always… Thought I was gonna die, ya know? I accepted that shit, I was prepared to die fer good an’ never accomplish anythin’ with my life, an’ I was okay with that! ‘Cause I knew it was right….” A deep breath as Kamiya glared ahead, for once a determination he had never shown prior coming to light. “But look at me now? I’m only half the fuck-up ya are, ‘cause there’s a difference here. You’re so stuck in yer own goddamn head that you ain’t seein’ ya had a chance fer good shit in yer life, but, that ain’t the goddamn point, is it? I’ll show ya what everyone who’ve been there fer me did fer me an’ you’ll see that even if I fuck up, I’ll keep tryin’ fer the people I care about.”

Bringing his headphones up to cover his ears, the D.J. let the light in front of him take shape, it was akin to that which he worked with often, a D.J. booth where light seemed to erupt whenever a switch, or, for that matter anything was interacted with in this case. The booth in front of him was formed by the desire to do good, music was something he always knew, it was something he was proud of… And these positive forces were something that he’d use to fight this battle, even if he was scared, even if he wanted to run away, there were people who depended on all of them in this case.

As the tune played out, light seemed to erupt from every note erratically, each note amplified as his thoughts continued to fixate on the people around him, the people who made him into this hopeful person. Of course, most of the people there have a special place in his heart… But there were a few who came to mind as he continued to play his tune, focusing intently on the musical onslaught he was blasting out toward Alou, hard to really pin-point where it would hit, but, effective nonetheless in its own way.

Thoughts of Raoul, the man who had been there in his darkest hours, who had always had a smile on his face and positive things to say, a true friend who he would treasure forever. A man who he would gladly wear stupid party-city suits together with and laugh about their next future adventures, a man who he would always support, no matter how tough things got now.

Hibiki, the man who he viewed like a brother, the type of guy who Kamiya often tried to bring out of his shell… The man who even past all the pain his actions had brought, he still thought about him in their darkest moments.

Ruby had a spot in his mind too, someone who he had thought wanted nothing more than to harm him after his failures, decided to forgive, she was one of the people who called him a friend after what had happened, and that was a friendship he knew he’d treasure in the future.

Of course, images of Mirai and Minami were there, people who Kamiya knew he had hurt from his actions, who he knew likely would never believe in him again… But there was always a chance, right? Maybe through his actions he could do right in their eyes, just this once.

Then came Shoji, a man who constantly brightened his day whenever they got back to the greed lounge. Along with Wakako, someone who he had idolized as a streamer, only to think of her as a dear friend once he got to know her better.

Olwin always was an odd one to him, but an odd one who always looked out for him when it came down to it, a friend who he’d trust in the end… And even if he couldn’t say something nice about Hisashi, he could at least say his cruggs were sick? That was something positive to drive this, right?

Arisa.

Yukiko may have been someone who hurt him in the past, but they were never enemies, right? Even past all the hurt… There were positive moments he knew he shared with her, ones that he was certain even she would treasure deep down

Then came everyone else, it was hard to place exact moments for everyone… But he cared about them all deeply, to the point that the light intensified, focusing on the last person who came to mind, the one who had been there since the beginning… Of course, those thoughts were interrupted as he heard Miori’s own tune, a tune mixed in with the pain of her past, making Alou feel what she had felt all her life because of that… Noticing that pain caused him to take off his headphones, holding them out brightly to her with a smile.

“–C’mon, ya wanna play our songs together? Maybe we can remix yers int’a somethin’ a little brighter, yeah? I promised ya we’d get ya a brighter future, I think what’ll hurt this jackass more is knowin’ that past everythin’ yer still movin’ forward even past all the bullshit he’s thrown at’cha.”

By the time she hears her name, Miori is so focused on her own melody she can hardly register anything else. She’d love to say it’s simply because she’s distracting herself from the searing pain in her arm, but that’s not the whole truth. No, it’s far too easy to get lost in the pain of the past, and for far longer than she should, Miori does just that. For what little strength she has left, she forces as much hurt as she can into every string she plucks, and still it doesn’t feel like enough. Not until she hears Kamiya’s voice, and she’s pulled back out of her own head… and back into the reality where her arm’s been obliterated. The pain feels as though it hits her all at once all over again, and she lurches forward, fingers falling away from the threads. Still, she manages to turn her eyes to Kamiya. The one person who really, truly stuck by her, who loved her, through everything. Every mistake she made, every step she took towards a better her, every wall she ran herself into, he was there, and that’s enough to keep her going. She still has trouble wrapping her head around why he’d never left her behind after everything she’d put him through, but she’s learned by now questioning his resolve will get her nowhere. He’d made it clear from the start he’d stay by her side in spite of how hard she tried to push him away, and for that she couldn’t be more grateful. She smiles at him through the pain, and with a shaky hand reaches out to take the headphones he offers.

“I—… I’d like that. I… just— need some help. I don’t… think I can stand on— my own… for much longer.”

Obviously there was a lot Kamiya could say about Miori, she had lied to him from the beginning as Nori, and kept her true identity a secret, she had in fact stabbed Olwin in the past, a move that left a negative opinion in the minds of others, and she did also set up the trap which led to the death of Minami, Mirai, himself and herself in that case… But there was more past that, she was someone who always kept him on the right path, when he was scared or anxious of the situations she always was there for him, just as much as he was always there for her, offering a shoulder to lean on and a genuine connection, genuine understanding of the pain both of them felt in their pasts. Which is why he nodded to her, of course once she was done putting on the headphones, offering a shoulder to lean on once more like they always did for each other.

“–You don’t gotta ask that, okay? Ya know ya can count on me! Hasn’t gone too wrong fer us yet! Gyhahaha! Just hold on a lil’ longer an’ we’ll get outta here in one-piece, okay? Ya trust me on that, right?”

His positive energy shining, as he motioned ahead to Alou, preparing to continue his own song alongside Mio in their final battle, the one that’d start them off on a path to a brighter tomorrow, one they both would share together.

She laughs, but even a light chuckle draws a wince out of her. As concentrated as the agony is, it still manages to make everything a little more painful. Or a lot more painful. It varies. Hurt aside, she wraps her good arm around Kamiya’s shoulders and leans against him for support (a feat made much easier by the fact she’s returned to her actual height, thank god).

“I know— I don’t have to ask. … Force of habit. I’ll— I’ll be okay. Just… help cover— for me later, when I have… to come up with a whole new identity for— for the hospital staff, okay?”

“–Iron Giselle’s a pretty good name? Could probably roll with that?”

“… If I was a really shitty superhero, maybe. We— we can… workshop it. Later.”

A laugh followed from them both, as their song of hope began. Unable to make use of her good arm any longer, Miori begins to sing the same tune she’d been plucking earlier. This time, though, it’s different - the notes are brighter, bouncier, and her voice, however weak it may be, is warm. Hopeful. Like she has days worth looking forward to. Kamiya continued his own song, the joy and whimsy of his own tune, the melody mixing together as the lights of both of their songs danced around. Where Miori’s song may have been a river, this was a wave, as the glowing blue and gold notes seemed to surround Alou, a constant wave of song bashing against him. Where Kamiya’s notes were erratic, hard to predict, they were more in tune with Miori’s own song, flowing and bright, focused on one common goal as the two continued to play their song.

A brighter tomorrow was possible, and this song was both Kamiya and Miori’s way to make it clear, not only for themselves, but for everyone there. The friends they made along the way, those who wished nothing more than the worst for them, and even for the one who had cast them into the depths of hell, that even through the misfortune, they would all continue to step forward.

So, this was it, then? A finale fit for some children’s show filled with singing animals and bright skies. It wasn’t something that notched itself inside of Arisa’s worldview, felt more like a made-up bunch of nonsense than something you could see happen with your own eyes. But, well, lots of things had happened recently that she didn’t think could, haven’t they? It takes just a brief look around at the people near her and those working to protect or attack off in the distance.

A briar rose growing in the mess of foliage in an overgrown garden has to fight to survive. It has to push the other sprouts beneath it and reach for ever-higher heights. There’s only so much sunlight in the dense brush of humanity, and there’s only so much water to go around. If you’re not willing to grow taller, use your leaves to block the sun from reaching those under you and soak up even more of the precious rays, then you’re going to die. Plain and simple.

As the stem of the rose grows taller still, it becomes an enticing prize for anyone brave enough to attempt to cross the overgrown garden. Its petals are soft, blushing things, and the morning dew shines on its surface. Wandering hands that seek to abuse it, take it for their own, instead flinch away with red blooms pouring forth from supple skin. The rust-colored flecks that then stain the sharp thorns of the flower are a warning to all who approach and a testament to this briar’s fixation on survival.

But even wild roses can be cultivated, in a way, among like-minded wildflowers. 

The people here who she cares for are messy, uncultivated things that no flower shop or botanical garden would welcome inside. 

To her, they’re beautiful.

Ruby and her ability to find her own path, no matter how many wrong turns she might take along the way. The woman’s never going to be a pro-baker, and she’s certainly never going to be a villainess on a reality TV show, but she’s Ruby, and that’s enough. More than enough.

Yukiko and her endless verve and grit. Someone who can go about their life without a hint of apology on their lips all while enjoying the innate excitement that comes with the underbelly of the world–that’s the kind of person Arisa can’t help but admire. It’s not every day that she meets someone who gives her a run for her gossiping money.

Minami and her familiar pride and unending tenacity. Arisa never felt she could meet someone as bullheaded as her, but stranger things have happened in the world, and this is a phenomena that she’s happy to bear witness to. If anything, Minami makes Arisa wonder if those high school cliques ever had any meat to their purpose–a cheap beer MILF and a tequila girlie made it work, after all.

Eli and his goodness. He is precisely the kind of person who Arisa never allows herself to get very near to, knowing full well that she will cause his life to crumble in her hands, even if she doesn’t want it to, but, with his understanding of monsters and brightness, she thinks he may be the first “good” person to be able to survive. He’s lasted this long through this much, hasn’t he?

Olwin and his charm. Thinking back to the first day in the manor and the little game they proposed to pass the time made Arisa reel a bit. They were simpler times, but being around Olwin is a simple thing. Spending time with someone you’ve come to see as family has always been the simplest thing for Arisa, whether it be during sleep-deprived moments in the kitchen or gossip sessions at the jazz lounge. It’ll continue to be simple for as long as he’ll let her enjoy it.

Hisashi and his understanding. “Understanding” and “Hisashi” may not seem to go together upon first glance, but from the moment they shared that first glass of boxed wine over empty promises to definitely get coffee after the party, she’d felt a sort of kinship with him. It was an understanding initially consisting only of “I won’t tell if you won’t tell” that morphed into what people like them might be able to call empathy. Now, between stammered words on her bedroom floor and gentle embraces unbefitting people like them, she’s not sure what she would call what’s between them. Maybe the most fitting name for it is “something new.”

To Arisa, they’re worth fighting for–worth bearing thorns in defense of another, not of herself.

The sound of snapping that accompanies the string that had been making its way around her ankle breaks her from her thoughts, and her head whips down to see it falling to the ground as the wing from Alou drops under Hisashi and Olwin’s assault. From the battering he’s taken from the others and Ruby holding him down, Arisa figures that he’s not going much of anywhere, which means…

She will never claim to be a smart woman, just like she will never claim to be a good woman. However, there are a few things that come to her as naturally as breathing. Her eyes trace strings that hang taut still in the air, and she follows them up and up and up, creeping closer towards the beast that the already-beastly man has turned into. Trajectories (though she doesn’t know that word) form in her mind, and she slips her jacket off, letting it tumble to the ground.

[♫♫♫]

A thin strand glints in the light from one of the sparkles given to the group by Raoul, and she can chart a path right up to Alou’s newly-created blind side–well, maybe not blind, but he certainly can’t be doing good, can he?–courtesy of Eli.

Backing up several yards, she then takes off into a sprint. Before her, a springboard materializes, and she takes the leap, bounding off of it and feeling her fingers wrap around the first “step” of her journey upwards. 

Her body moves what appears to be effortlessly. She swings back and forth on the initial string. This wasn’t so different from the uneven bars, you know. She’d always felt like they were her strongest event next to the floor routine. Call it a god complex thing, but feeling herself twirl and twist her body in incredible ways above anyone else in the arena was a sort of thrill that she’ll always chase, even now. 

Arisa gains more and more momentum as she goes back and forth, back and forth until she lets go at the zenith and her fingers curl once again around the next strand. 

She doesn’t need magic or hope or soul energy to make the trek upwards. She’s always had that in her, so, well, maybe it’s less her soul’s magic and more…that magic has already seeped into her very bones and marrow, every flex of every muscle. It’s worked side by side with her for her entire life to get her exactly where she is at this moment. It wasn’t there with her for the time within the manor, but it’s flexing, expanding, contracting with the new bits of her she’s collected throughout the show.

Reaching her destination, she continues to hang suspended in the air, conscious to keep her momentum going even as she has no more clear path forward. She knew where she wanted to end up, but, now that she’s made it here, she assesses the best approach. Bound and beaten as Alou is, it doesn’t take long for Arisa to find exactly what she’s interested in.

It figures, you know, that at the core of Alou there would be a conscience resembling prey. Looking at the beast in front of them, you might mistake it for the apex predator here, but that’s just not correct. This food chain in the manor is filled with vicious things–no, people–that will tear you limb from limb and relish in the snap of tendon and crunch of gristle between their teeth. Arisa is no different. 

Her jaw is honed from years of holding the necks of pathetic, sniveling people between her fangs and inserting her incisors just enough that they start to beg for any chance at all to escape, pleading with her and offering anything they can think to get away with their lives. She knows what it means to hold a heart in your hands and knows even more what it feels like to have it there because your own hand ripped it out. She knows weak points and vitals where a hit means a loss. She knows how to make an injury hurt so much you wish it had killed you instead.

With a final swing, she aims for her target: one of Alou’s many limbs. In her now-free hands, cat claw weapons form, and her fists curl around them. She lands true and digs the spokes into his limb as she slides down towards the ground along his fur. The incisions aren’t the deepest or most egregious injury he’s weathered thus far, but they were never meant to be.

The burning comes from the inside, hot and stabbing. The pain of the lacerations is nothing compared to the sting of the toxins that coat her weapons. 

A fleeting thought is given to a conversation from so long ago about love and pride and how god-like he must feel, knowing he thinks he can love a toxic, rotten thing like her. It had felt impossible then for anyone to do such a thing and mean it, to live to tell the tale. Now, though, it feels less like an impossibility and more of a distant future. Maybe it’s just wishful thinking on her end, but, some place and some time, maybe she will be loved by the people she knows she cares about. 

Maybe she can learn to love them, too.

She’s heard people can build up an immunity to poisons–didn’t Yukiko already prove that she could do such a thing?–so doesn’t it only make sense that the poison sludge inside of her could be resisted, too? Doesn’t it only make sense that there may be no need to fear her self being a death sentence?

If she was truly so terrible, wouldn’t her soul have hurt to hold? And yet, it was carried back to her, held in the hands of another who still stands.

Her feet plant firmly on the ground, and she rips the claws free from the lavender limb in front of her. The hand–talon–thing of the limb she just rode down sits so tantalizingly close…and when has she ever been one to turn down indulgences, sinful as they may be? Besides, does it really count when it’s against something like him?

Raising her right foot, she stomps down hard, digging her heel into the space between the joints of its digits. With a sick grin on her face, she relishes the give of flesh and shifting of bone. What was it that the design notes said? 1600-2200 PSI? She didn’t know how much a PSI was, but she doubted she needed a demon form to make it feel like that–just enough ego to make it count.

Perhaps it’s meant to be an insult, the way she only lightly jogs away from him once all that she has to offer is said and done, but, truthfully, he doesn’t occupy enough space in her mind for the idea to occur to her now that her rage is vented, and she knows that there’s nothing more she can do.

No, the space the Game Master occupied can instead be used to house cheers of encouragement for the people around her–the people she adores, the ones she may one day even be able to say she loves.

Arisa Oshiro has always known how to survive. Now, gazing at the future in front of her, she looks forward to learning how to live.