[ It hits, and Maruki never wants to be on the receiving end of Azathoth's power– of his own power again.
For a long moment he only lays there, gasping, bruised, burning, unseeing. Pressed flat into the ground, chest heaving. His mouth opens, nothing escapes.
At his side–
Akechi breathes. He isn't dead.
Neither of them are.
The white slowly bleeds from his vision. A blurry form next to him. Curled in on himself, hunched, slight. Matted hair, streaks and swaths of blood.
Maruki reaches out–
And then he's up in motions so violently staggering that he thinks he's about to get pinned down and attacked again, but instead he only drags himself to hands and knees under his own power, of course, of course. Irrepressible, independent, inevitable Akechi.
In a marketplace of an unfamiliar town– on a dusty road leading to a castle– at a bar in a kitchen slowly becoming his own– in a ruined city filled with monsters tall as skyscrapers– in a living whipped up into a frenzy by an unknowable alien wind– in a perpetually dark forest– in a lake that knew too much– in a bathhouse that heard too much– in a club with low soothing music, in a cafe with obstinate rage– in every late night message and visit and training session– in a glowing alcove on a cliff overlooking a labyrinth they'll one day destroy together– in a grassy clearing stained with both their blood–
There's Akechi. There has always been Akechi.
Maruki hears him retching. Pushes himself to sit up, every muscle in his body screaming against it. Shattered and bent frames fall off his face, into his lap. He reaches out, lays a hand between his shoulder blades as he splutters and wheezes. ]
Akechi.
[ Voice rough, hoarse. Throat burning. Head pounding.
Maruki swallows. Rubs his hand back and forth, even that motion painful. Tries again. ]
cw get cared for after ALL THAT, IDIOT
For a long moment he only lays there, gasping, bruised, burning, unseeing. Pressed flat into the ground, chest heaving. His mouth opens, nothing escapes.
At his side–
Akechi breathes. He isn't dead.
Neither of them are.
The white slowly bleeds from his vision. A blurry form next to him. Curled in on himself, hunched, slight. Matted hair, streaks and swaths of blood.
Maruki reaches out–
And then he's up in motions so violently staggering that he thinks he's about to get pinned down and attacked again, but instead he only drags himself to hands and knees under his own power, of course, of course. Irrepressible, independent, inevitable Akechi.
In a marketplace of an unfamiliar town– on a dusty road leading to a castle– at a bar in a kitchen slowly becoming his own– in a ruined city filled with monsters tall as skyscrapers– in a living whipped up into a frenzy by an unknowable alien wind– in a perpetually dark forest– in a lake that knew too much– in a bathhouse that heard too much– in a club with low soothing music, in a cafe with obstinate rage– in every late night message and visit and training session– in a glowing alcove on a cliff overlooking a labyrinth they'll one day destroy together– in a grassy clearing stained with both their blood–
There's Akechi. There has always been Akechi.
Maruki hears him retching. Pushes himself to sit up, every muscle in his body screaming against it. Shattered and bent frames fall off his face, into his lap. He reaches out, lays a hand between his shoulder blades as he splutters and wheezes. ]
Akechi.
[ Voice rough, hoarse. Throat burning. Head pounding.
Maruki swallows. Rubs his hand back and forth, even that motion painful. Tries again. ]
Akechi. You're alright. We're done here.