Chapter Text
Somewhere, distantly, a voice speaks. Joker--the “Trickster”, the leader of the infamous Phantom Thieves of Heart, strains his ears, trying to make out the words. The words are less of words, and more akin to sand, falling through his fingers. Try as he might to cup his hands tightly enough that he can make sense of the syllables ringing in his ears, he cannot.
As quickly as this realization comes, another replaces it with just the same speed. He is not being spoken to. There is no “voice”. There are only words, written in handwriting that he knows, he recognizes, but can’t quite place. The answer rests on the tip of his tongue, but it’s out of his reach. He wants to scream, but nothing comes out. Not a sound. Not a breath.
Akira realizes he cannot breathe. He cannot move.
From the deepest, deepest depths of his heart, a form appears, manifesting in the air like mist, like magic, like a trick of the light--or perhaps sleight of hand, such wonders only the best magicians are capable of. A sight to behold. Such a thing cannot be possible through the feats of man; only someone, something inhumane could be capable of such a feat.
The air is cold…
Dialogue plays in front of Akira’s eyes. There is no sound. No breath. There is nothing but the bone-numbing cold.
Arsène stands before him. Akira cannot open his eyes. He cannot see, and yet, his Persona--his other self, takes form in front of his eyes.
Truly, it could be nothing but magic.
Arsène’s mask conceals his face--though, perhaps, there is nothing behind it. Beneath the mask, was there nothing but darkness?
Either way, Akira cannot see his other self’s expressions, but he knows in his heart that Arsène has begun to speak, although he cannot see, although he cannot hear. He’s lost all his senses, left to drown in the eternal nothingness.
Awakening to your Persona, accepting your “true self”--is a transformation that cannot be explained with words. The feelings of pain, of freedom, of fear would not be done justice with mere words.
The shackles that tie your heart down break, crumbling into thousands upon thousands of pieces. Your rebellious heart awakens, and the world changes form. Perhaps, the latter is a mere trick of the light, but indeed, you see the world differently.
As poets say, when they describe something such as falling in love--the world, once black and white, becomes filled with colors of every single shade. Indescribable. Beautiful, breathtaking… You wonder how you had lived in such a dreary world for all of your life, how you could have been content with such trifle.
Tell me, my other self. Though you had faced the cruelty of the world, as well you had seen the joy, in the light. And now, you shall be plunged into darkness.
Awakening to your Persona, accepting your “true self”--the shackles that tie down both you and I break, into thousands upon thousands of shards, that even the likes of Arsène Lupin could not find! Now, tell me, my dearest Trickster… My partner in crime, my other self…
How can you fare, when our bond has been broken, destroyed by the chains that we had scoffed at so boisterously? Will you not lose yourself, drowning in the flames of Hell… a tragic and unjust end, even for a thief such as yourself...
Arsène’s voice echoes into the distance. He’s getting further and further away. Akira wants to grab hold of the thief, but he can’t. His fingers can’t reach.
Tell me, my other self…
...Will we ever meet again?...
Akira’s falling. Falling, falling at the speed of light. Falling so fast that it feels like he’ll lose all of his limbs. He can’t breathe, the sudden drop like a swift punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of him. His eardrums feel like they’re going to explode. The wind hits him in the face, cracking his glasses, the glass shards grazing against his face, cutting him open. The frames crumble, falling to the ground, faster than Akira himself.
Large framed glasses that hid his expression. Akira hadn’t needed them, at first. Not to see, anyway. He needed them to hide. They were his mask against society, against the world. They couldn’t look him directly in the eyes, they couldn’t see past his mask. They couldn’t see past his label of “criminal”.
After his probation ended, Akira was shocked to discover that his vision had actually worsened, and now he really did need glasses. Suppose it was karma, for wearing them falsely all that time. Or mayhap just a sick joke. He wonders why he’s thinking of this now, as he falls.
The world is blurry, and Akira shuts his eyes.
He falls, and falls. Falling, falling, falling. Falling faster. The air’s cold again. He can hear echoing voices, echoing screams. Who’s voice is that? He recognizes it, from somewhere. He hears an echoed grunt, a scream of pain falling from a mouth clamped shut.
“I only need your arm to sign this… I don’t care if you lose a leg.”
The voices are further now. Akira’s falling, still. Falling… Somehow, in his heart, he realizes he’s nearly gone as far as he can go. Just one more, just a bit further--he falls a bit farther, and then it stops.
What stops? Everything. Everything.
Noticing his landing, a figure stands. Chains rattle, and echo. A breath comes from the figure like fog. It’s cold. It’s below freezing. The visage laughs, it’s face obscured by shadow. It runs it’s hands against the new addition to the Ninth Circle.
Arms crossed over his chest like a corpse, Akira is trapped in a block of ice, frozen solid. There’s dark blue, almost black chains wrapped around the ice, so tightly bound that it seems as if they could break the ice, and shatter the one inside.
Gloved hands press against the ice. An almost melancholy expression crosses the face of the visage. It presses it’s forehead to the glass, and speaks softly, so quietly, in a voice just below a whisper…
“Will the day come, when you are freed from the ice, and we can become one again…? The longer you remain encased in the ice, my other self, the further you get… And the more this shadow of yourself takes over even the heart of I. Indeed, I can only pray… in a way that is so unbecoming of a thief such as myself, such as thou... that someone shall come to rescue you from the ice, and reunite the two of us whom joined by the shackles of fate…”
For what had to be the eightieth time that day, Ryuji leans too far back in his chair and nearly topples over. Makoto stares at him with a stern expression on her face. “Sorry!” He splutters, going back to sitting like a normal person, instead of an overexcited elementary schooler.
Ann laughs, taking a sip of her drink. “You don’t need to be so mad, Mako-chan! We’re all just as antsy as Ryuji is, right? Though, we aren’t all as stupid.”
“Hey!” He frowns, with both of his elbows on the table. “You’re dumber than me, y’know that?”
“Now, now, cease the bickering.” Yusuke says, setting the empty container of Pocky he’d been eating on the counter. “As Ann said, we can’t help being excited. It’s been quite some time since we’ve talked to our leader face-to-face, after all… I, too, am bristling with excitement!”
“It was really nice of Boss to let us use LeBlanc to call Akira, huh? Though, maybe he just wanted a day off…” Ryuji glances around. It’s clean as it always is. He sighs. “Kinda sucks that he’s not here with us, though! Akira, I mean. We could be eating his curry!”
“It’d be the same if Sojiro was here, Ryuji! Though, well, they're both waaaay too good at making curry.” Futaba hums, tapping away at her laptop. She seems positively thrilled, unable to stop grinning for even a second. “Nyehehe, it’s almost time! Just a couple more minutes until he’s supposed to call!”
“Truthfully, it’s hard to wait…” Haru sighs, hands folded in her lap. She takes a long sip of her coffee. “It’s surprising he didn’t call earlier, isn’t it?” She smiles, giggling softly.
“Aw, you know him!” Ryuji laughs, waving his hand in the air. “He’s always so dramatic. Of course he’d wait until we’re right on time. Maybe even a little bit later, just to show up in style. I bet you, it’ll be Morgana pressing the call button!”
LeBlanc is filled with excited conversation and happy laughter, all of them discussing memories, deciding what to bring up to Akira first, sorting through all the things they need to tell him about what’s happened since he’d been gone.
Finally, the time he’s supposed to call arrives, and the former Phantom Thieves of Heart wait in earnest for their leader’s call.
But it never comes.
Ann glances over at Makoto, brows furrowed. “...Maybe he’s just a little bit late…? Like Ryuji said, fashionably late and all that…” She laughs, but it sounds hollow.
An air of concern rises upon all of them. Somehow, in their hearts, they felt a sense of unease. They knew, subconsciously, that something was wrong. Five minutes pass. Ten. Fifteen.
“...Do you think he forgot, maybe? He does tend to overbook himself at times…” Haru says, though she sounds unconvinced of her own words.
“No way.” Ryuji replies, jaw clenched, nervous tension evident in every inch of his body. “You remember the texts he was sending a while ago, yeah? That there’s nothing to do in that hick town… there’s no way he’d be busy. And there’s absolutely no way he’d forget about something like this. He… he was more excited then we were, right? Guy’s hard to read sometimes, but…”
“You’re right,” Makoto starts, arms folded on the table. Steam rises from her cup, but she pays it no heed. “Akira was more excited than all of us combined. He wouldn’t have forgotten.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Yusuke notices Futaba’s expression change. Her face goes pale. Her eyes go wide, and her mouth falls open. “Futaba? Are you alright?”
“N-No, this can’t be…” She says, and her voice is trembling. The group turns to look at her. Futaba’s peering at her laptop screen, furiously typing, the loud clicking echoing throughout LeBlanc. Her max speed typing matches the erratic heartbeats of every single member of the Phantom Thieves.
“What is it, Futaba? You’re freaking me out…” Ryuji stands from his seat, and walks over to check. His mouth falls open, just like Futaba’s did. “No--no fuckin’ way. We--we destroyed it… so why…?!”
On Futaba’s cluttered desktop, smack in the middle, was an icon that they all recognized. A single eye, staring directly at them.
“That’s--” Ann starts, looking around at everyone, trying to gauge their reactions, trying to make sure she isn’t the only one seeing what’s in front of her eyes. “The Metaverse… But, but we destroyed it, didn’t we? All of us--Akira… How could it--no... No...” Her face pales.
“You don’t think… his failure to call us, could have to do with the sudden reappearance of the Metaverse…?” Haru’s voice is shaking just as badly as she is. “Akira…”
“Fuck!” Ryuji curses, pulling out his phone. He opens up his contacts, his favorites listed right at the top, in alphabetical order. All of the Phantom Thieves, his mother--and Akira’s name was right at the top. He presses call, hits speaker, and holds it in front of his face. “Please, Akira! Pick up! Please!”
A click. The group holds their breath.
“You’ve reached the voicemail of Kurusu Akira. Please, leave a message, and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can…”
“Shit, Akira! If you’re there, pick up! I swear to god, your phone better be fuckin’ dead, or Morgana better have dropped it in a bathtub for all I care, but Akira--please, please be safe. Where are you?!”
Makoto’s staring down at her own phone, staring at the eerie icon of the Metaverse app. “I… I really, really don’t want to do this. I don’t even… want to try it, but…”
Ryuji turns his head towards her, eyes wide. “You’re not thinking of entering his name, are you? There’s--there’s no way he could have a Palace, right? You’d need a--a shadow for that, right? And our Personas… You can’t have both at once, right?” His hands are shaking. Ann reaches out, gently placing her hand on his shoulder. He shakes his head. “There’s just no way.”
“You’re right, Ryuji.” Futaba mutters, legs pulled up to her chest as she stares blankly at the computer screen in front of her. “When we awakened to our Personas, we accepted our Shadows… you can’t have a Persona and a Shadow at the same time… and for your name to pop up in the Metaverse, you need a Palace… and for that, you need a Shadow…”
“There’s only one way to find out.” Makoto says, keeping her voice steady. She presses the app, takes a breath, and speaks clearly into the mic. “Kurusu Akira.”
The world around them shudders. The Metanav dings.
Silence falls upon LeBlanc. The members of the Phantom Thieves of Heart all share the same shocked expression, as they lock eyes, trying to comprehend the reality they were forced to face.
“Akira… has a Palace…?” Ryuji asks no one in particular. “D-Does that mean… He has… distorted desires…? A treasure to steal…?”
An eerie silence sets in. Makoto narrows her eyes, practically glaring at the phone, like it had somehow offended her. And in a way, it sort of had.
Futaba speaks, softly. “I can’t… believe it. Even though I’ve been through the same thing myself, I can’t believe it. But… because I’ve been through it…” She crosses her arms over her chest, hugging herself tightly. She looks more like that scared girl, locked in her room, rather than the Phantom Thieves’ genius navigator. But still, resolve shines in her eyes. “I was so scared, back then, trapped in my Palace… I really thought I was going to die there. I wanted someone to save me, but I couldn’t believe that anyone would. Still, though… I wanted… someone to release me. To save me.
“Akira’s waiting for us to save him. That’s what I want to believe. That he has faith in us. That we’ll come to save him, like… like he saved me. Like he saved all of us…” Her voice trails off. Tears slip down her cheeks, and she sniffles. “Akira… we have to save him. We have to.”
Haru pulls Futaba close, letting the other girl cry into her chest. “Futaba-chan’s right. He’s always been there for us, no matter what. In a way, he’s seen all of our weakest parts. He’s seen our shadows, the parts of us we want to hide… And he accepted us without hesitation. He loves us and cares for us unconditionally. I want to believe, too. That Akira’s waiting for us, somewhere within the depths of his heart.”
They all nod.
“Okay. There’s no objections, then?” Makoto places her hand on the table. A chorus of “yes” fills LeBlanc, and Makoto smiles, proud. “Okay. Good. So, our first order of business… We need to find the keywords for Akira’s palace. If we can’t find that, then there’s no way to save him.”
“You’re right.” Ann nods, crossing her arms over her chest, shutting her eyes, lost in thought. “We need to think… How exactly does Akira-kun see himself?”
“Hmm,” Makoto hums, taking a sip of her coffee. “Joker, the Leader of the Phantom Thieves?”
The Metanav doesn’t react. Makoto sighs.
“I guess it won’t be that easy, huh…” Ryuji frowns. “Uhh, how about… Student?”
No reaction.
“I get the feeling we’re going to need a dictionary…” Haru mumbles, tracing circles into the table with her fingertip. The gang sit in silence for a moment, occasionally throwing out whatever words they can think of, some of which might even make Akira cringe.
“Handsome.” Yusuke deadpans. Yeah, like that. That'd make even the leader of the Phantom Thieves cringe--and, predictably, there is no reaction. Yusuke shakes his head. “Perhaps our leader is blind to his own beauty.”
“Uh, I think anyone who that keyword would work for would be vain as hell. Vainer than Akira, even.” Ryuji replies, looking unamused. “Shiiiit. What else. We just doin’ adjectives now?”
“That’d take far too long.” Makoto shakes her head. “We have to pin it down. We have to think harder than just throwing words together… Think, there has to be something… Something, something that can give us some kind of hint or clue to the keyword…”
“Hmm,” Yusuke says, and moves closer to Makoto’s phone. “To awaken to one’s Persona is to break the shackles of their heart… The chains that weigh oneself down… Perhaps, in that case…” His chin is in his hand, and suddenly an expression of realization flashes across his face.
“Yusuke, what is it?” Haru asks, looking up at him.
He takes the phone from Makoto, and staring at the screen. Though his eyes are on the phone, it doesn't seem to be what's in front of his eyes. Instead, a memory. “I remember, once, Akira and I were speaking, whilst in the depths of Mementos. I asked him to bring me so I could paint, to attempt to illustrate the darkness of the heart… The conversation we had then, discussing the intricacies of society, and the masks we wore, the chains that held us down… I remember his voice, in a tone I had never heard come from his lips before…”
The Phantom Thieves wait with baited breath for Yusuke to continue.
“He said that we were all held captive. Jailed by society, jailed by ourselves… The look on his face then was one that even I could not capture flawlessly...” He pauses, lips an inch away from the mic of Makoto’s phone. “Prisoner.”
The Metanav dings.
“A… prisoner…?” Haru says, softly. “That’s how he sees himself…?”
“Not as the leader of the Phantom Thieves… not as a student, not even as a worker…” Ryuji doesn’t bother trying to conceal the emotion in his voice. “He sees himself as a frickin’ prisoner? Even after all this time…?”
Makoto takes a shuddering breath, clearly shaken like the rest of them. “...That’s the first keyword. We need to find out the other… We need to figure out the ‘what’ keyword.”
“Since he sees himself as a prisoner,” Ann mumbles. “A prison?”
No reaction.
“A jailhouse, perhaps?” Yusuke offers, but this garners no reaction. He lets out an irritated sigh, chewing on the fingernail of his thumb.
Ryuji stares at the ground, fists clenched. “I… I remember, when Akira first awakened to his Persona. I just barely remember--everything was so fuzzy, since that shithead Kamoshida had his guards beat me half to death, but--” He’s shaking. “I remember what Akira’s Persona said. Arsène… I could hear it because it was so goddamn loud.”
He clears his throat, sorting through foggy memories, reciting all he can recall. “Thou who are--art, whatever--willing to perform all sacrilegious acts, for thy own justice.” The word hangs off of Ryuji’s lips. Justice. The ideal upon which the Phantom Thieves of Heart were founded. Their foundation. Their hope. Their desire. Their reason for existing. “Show the strength of--thy, thou, whatever, will, though you shall be chained to Hell itself…”
The Metanav dings, and the mechanical voice fills the air. “Route found! Navigation starting.”
“Hell…” Yusuke says, his deep, baritone voice unable to contain it’s shock.
The world around them begins to distort. Red and black fill their vision, drowning them in darkness. LeBlanc fades, and the sight that replaces it, is...
...A town that none of them recognize. A scenery that none of them know. It seems like a sleepy town, with barely anything in it. The world around them is all varied shades of browns. There's no color whatsoever, and no sound. It's... a ghost-town, really. There's no one around, save for the Phantom Thieves...
“Where… are we?” Ryuji asks, looking around. “Wait, no, this is… This is the entrance to his Palace, isn’t it? But… it just looks like…”
When he first went home, Akira had sent a wide variety of pictures of his hometown--from the train station, to the path he walked home, to the shitty 24/7 hour liquor store on the corner of his street… They were in Akira’s hometown.
“Is his Palace… His hometown?” Haru asks, tilting her head, looking around. She glances down at her clothes. “Ah, we haven’t changed… Does he not recognize us as a threat…?”
“We’re only at the entrance, I believe. If we were to be recognized as a threat, I assume it would be further in...” Yusuke says, glancing around. “I wonder, how are we supposed to delve deeper…? We aren’t even aware of where Akira’s treasure might be.”
“God, Morgana’d be really useful right about--” Ryuji pauses, whipping his head around to stare at his fellow Thieves. “Morgana! Where is he? He was with Akira, wasn’t he?”
Futaba’s tapping away at neon green keys that have appeared in front of her face. She gasps, adjusting her glasses as she leans in close to the screen. “This--this reading! It’s Morgana! He’s in here! In Akira's Palace!”
Ann rushes over, leaning over Futaba’s shoulder to get a look at the screen. “Do you see where he is?”
“Hrrm, it’s really hard to make out, but for sure, he’s past the entrance… At least with his reading, we have a vague idea of which direction to go. It’s the only thing close to a map we have right now.” She types with one hand, using the other to poke and prod at the screen. “It seems like he’s below us… Woah, geez! This goes so deep… Just how big is his Palace? It’s even bigger than mine…”
Makoto peers at the screen, eyes narrowing. “There’s so many floors, but… it seems to be seperated in levels, doesn’t it…? One, two…” She counts quietly, and then gasps. “Hell… I get it! I understand, now!” Her voice quiets, and she begins muttering quietly to herself as she takes in what little information they have on Akira’s palace.
“You wanna share with the class, Makoto?” Ryuji asks, staring at her.
Makoto blinks. “Right, sorry.” She points at the levels displayed on Futaba’s screen. “I can’t make out how many floors there are--and I doubt we’ll be able to tell until we explore, but I know that there’s nine levels total. Akira’s keywords were ‘Prisoner’ and ‘Hell’--I know where we are. We’re in Dante’s Inferno…”
Haru gasps. “That’s--”
“Um,” Ann cuts in. “What’s that, exactly?”
“Dante’s Inferno,” Makoto starts, “Is the first part of a story written by Dante Alighieri--Divine Comedy. Inferno tells details a journey through Hell--depicted as having nine total circles. Nine circles. Nine levels. Akira’s palace is Dante’s Inferno--the Hell depicted within Divine Comedy--the recognition, and more importantly, the rejection of sin.”
“The rejection of sin, hmm... Well, in any case, there’s nine levels total?” Yusuke frames the area in front of their eyes. “Is it a fair guess, to assume we’re to go down, and delve deeper into Hell?--Into the psyche of our beloved leader, who sees himself as a prisoner in his own heart?”
“Indeed.” Makoto replies, hands clenched into fists at her sides, striding up to the apparent entrance of the Palace. “There are nine total levels, and to start, the First Circle: Limbo. Where those who are not sinful enough to deserve to go down further into the depths--but those who have rejected Christ, or at the very least, not accepted him.”
Futaba closes all the screens, walking up next to Makoto. The rest of the Thieves follow. She stares up at the unfamiliar town. “I have a funny feeling that we’ll find Akira in the deepest part of Hell.”
“Heh.” Ryuji scoffs, cracking his knuckles. “I was just thinking the same thing. Welp, no point in hesitating, right? Let’s go save our leader!”
Their triumphant cry fills the air, and they walk forward into the First Circle of Hell… Completely unaware of the journey that lay ahead of them, but feeling prepared of anything and everything--any trial, any tribulation--no task was too much if it meant seeing their precious leader again.
In the deepest depths of Dante’s Inferno, a dark laugh echoes through the icy halls. A figure clad in black and grey rises from where he’s seated on the floor. He spins a knife around in his hands, a sinister expression on his face.
He grins, and gently taps the block of ice with the tip of his knife. He leans up against it, feeling the cold surface against his back, feeling the chains gently rub against his skin. He laughs, again, and turns to stare at the prisoner trapped in the ice, held down by chains.
“Joker” smirks at his mirror image in the ice. His golden eyes bore into the image of his other self, and he drags the knife down the hard surface. Despite the sharpness of the knife, it doesn’t leave a single scratch on the ice. Another laugh resonates through the Ninth Circle, and Akira’s Shadow glances upwards, staring through floors and floors--he sees a merry band of Thieves, breaching the First Circle.
“My, my… It seems we have visitors.”