It's only Akechi that stands there in view and immobile. Still as one of the many trees surrounding them.
He's calm because he's a murderer. He's relaxed because nothing about this is new. A mind clearer than it's ever been in the middle of this field because he can visualize a splatter of gore at Maruki's feet, knows it's only a matter of time before he wins this tit for tat. Maruki's strong. Akechi's strong. Maruki's stronger. Akechi's going to win anyway.
He's calm.
So he laughs when Maruki appears in the field, steady as ever. Confident as ever. Determined as ever.
Akechi will ruin it. He wants to ruin it. He wants to ruin him.]
Do you think you would survive in that prison cell? I wonder - it would be so easy to tell Shido who you are, put you in the same position Akira was. Tied up, beaten, drugged relentlessly until any confession came out. We could frame you, frankly, for any number of things. Another corrupt adult hiding at Shujin Academy - it would make the evening news and then you would be as forgotten as a dead couple in a rural town.
[ Maruki listens, to his credit. As ever, he listens. Stopped a dozen paces away from Akechi, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket, thumbs rubbing idly over the ridged seam of the fabric.
It's all nonsense, of course. Empty threat after empty threat. Maruki has no doub that Akechi could act on them, but why would he?
What a convoluted thing to do when he could simply kill him outright. He hasn't done anything to warrant a years-long revenge scheme. After all, he's nothing to Akechi, right? ]
Those are certainly interesting hypotheticals. Are you done entertaining yourself with them?
For now, I suppose. I'll have plenty of time in our true reality to decide what to do with a piece of shit like you.
[And he doesn't move. No Loki appears behind him, despite the erratic way it shifts through his whole body - burning his chest whole. It sears. It hurts. He wants to unleash it and doesn't. Because he's learned
over and over.
Over and over.
Over and over-
That Maruki Takuto cannot be beaten with a persona.
It won't stop him.
He'll try.
Over and over.
But Akira defeated Robin Hood. Vague memories of Loki losing to that pathetic fucking team of criminal scum live on as hazy afterthoughts. That false version of him was too weak to see through what needed to be done.
Akechi Goro can. He's stronger - much stronger. Can commit. Can shoot each of them in skull and watch them rot away in the cognitive world - wouldn't bat a fucking eye.]
Aren't you going to attack? Or do you plan to wait until I shoot Akira's skull in again to act?
You would like that, wouldn't you? If I retaliated for this absurd story you're spinning about a death that never occurred in our true reality?
[ It was staged to look like a murder-suicide rings through his head, over and over again. It was a faked suicide, Maruki knows that more certainly than anything. If Akechi was in on that, then he wouldn't be pretending the death was real. Both sides would have been staged.
It's not fake you moron. It happened - I did it. I enjoyed it. I'll do it again and again and again until he stops coming back to life. Do you really hate Kurusu that much? My, maybe you want him to die. Maybe-
[Fury rolls through his heart and incitesLoki, an ever constant presence ready to attack. Yearning for it. Fingers twitch against his sides, but he doesn't move. A gun pressed to his hip. A knife beside it. He can't temper his voice and doesn't want to - this piece of shit is just as worthless as everyone around him. ]
You want someone to kill him. Do your dirty work because you're pretending to care about some trash that will never remember you. Why don't you put him in an ideal world for awhile? Force him to live out your fantasy - you did enjoy that.
[ Akechi lashes out, and it makes contact with its intended target. A festering wound at the most vulnerable part of his underbelly. One only Akechi knows exists. He strikes like a viper, aim unerring and deadly.
Maruki blinks.
Breathes.
Perhaps there's a twitch in the muscle of his tightly set jaw, or the brief clench of his fists in his pockets. But that's it.
He'll ache over that later. Now isn't the time. ]
I don't want any harm to come to Kurusu, just like I don't want any to come to you. But what you've told me doesn't make sense.
[ The most startling, confusing night of his life spent living with Akechi thus far nags at the back of his mind. ]
Are you certain that you killed him? In the true reality?
[Nothing. Nothing. Nothing makes him react. He talks.
And talks.
And talks.
And Akechi can win. Akechi will win. Akechi must win to prove that harms exists within him, that he will always do anything to win and-
Are you certain you killed him?
A vile, bitter laugh falls from his lips.
Loud. Demanding. A palm smooths out the hair on his forehead, like thick viscous matter will stick to his gloves.
As if he'll feel the cool sensation of blood streaking across his forehead.
As if they were one and the same and two people died in that room instead of one.
Maruki doesn't want him any harm to
to come to them.
Them. Them. Them.
And Akechi wins, in that moment. In that revelation. In that passing comment that sounds like complete utter shit.]
Everywhere. [It was everywhere.] I did it. [He did it.] Kurusu Akira is dead by my hand. [Isn't dead. Might be alive. Akechi hopes he's alive - because his rival would be alive and he could kill him again and again and again and again.] He must be dead.
[Nothing works -
So he tries something new.
Pulls a gift from his side and puts the barrel to his own skull - a single second, two, three and-
Long enough to surprise. Long enough to distract. He keeps his finger heavy against the trigger, presses down with some pressure and feels -
Alive and-
A distraction. A second to drop the guard of a man who never lets down a wall and-
Peels it away just as fast to aim and shoot for Maruki Takuto.]
cw suicide, gore i guess, gun violence, near death experience ha ha yay
He knows this. He's had to come to terms with it. He's still coming to terms with it. If Akechi fails in his plan to kill Masayoshi Shido, he will die. If he succeeds, he will die. And Maruki has wondered, from time to time, if he won't simply take care of that latter possibility himself. After all, what will he have left to live for? He can see it so clearly in his mind's eye: Revenge exacted all for the sake of a woman who did the best that she could, his life's mission achieved, and then a gun turned on himself.
It plays out before him as if in slow motion. The very gun he gave to Akechi raised, the trigger depressed, and Maruki will lose him, he will lose him–
He can't lose him yet. ]
Akechi, no–
[ He feels the shot before he hears it.
He hears the shot before he sees the gun turned to point toward him.
He sees the gun turned to point toward him before he shouts.
It all happens so quickly. Too quickly. The distraction worked.
Maruki hits the ground.
He can't feel the ground. He can't feel anything. Can. His whole neck burns white hot, radiates pain up into his skull. Did Akechi shoot him through the head? He can still see. He thinks he can still see. The sky above is so dark. He can still breathe. Can he? He can't feel the ground, can't feel anything, can feel everything, sensation flooding in and dying just as quickly. Is he dying? There's a hand at his neck. Whose hand? Akechi's– no, Venat's– no, Eren's– no, Akira's– dangling high above Odaiba– it's his own hand. His own blood. He smells it before he feels it, tastes it coating over his tongue, thick and viscous metal that starts to choke him. It's his blood? It's Akechi's blood. No. His. O negative, the universal donor. Tries to press his hand to his neck, fails. It's shock or it's blood loss or it's both and he's dying, isn't he, and he's
not going to see Rumi again and
alone and
Akechi stands only a few feet away and
cold and
it's the coldest day of the year and the wedding is months away and the snow is as white as the dress she refuses to show him and he's so terrified of saying the right things to her parents and they play cards around the kotatsu while her mother tells him about flower arranging and he understands all at once where her love of a garden started and there's strawberry cake waiting for her birthday and one day when their children have children of their own this home will be theirs and the quiet of the countryside will settle around them like the snow blanketing the window that shatters and
darkness closes in and
she screams and
he tries to scream and
he will lose her and
an aurora forms in the sky above him. ]
No.
[ Not shouted, not spoken, not whispered. Barely mouthed. His lips can't move. He can't move. He can't–
Breathe, sudden and rattling as the life stream that flows between he and Azathoth surges in all at once, synapses firing and nerves flooded with all the sensation that shock robbed of him. Tears prick and sting at his eyes as the pain settles in hard, fast, it was his neck, Akechi shot him in the fucking neck, the Tentacle of Healing is pouring everything it has into him and he knows, knows innately at the base of his skull that's steadily lighting itself on fire that this is the only chance he has. This will take everything from him. Any harm that befalls either of them after this will be theirs to live with or die by; Azathoth can wrench him to safety while he has one foot in the grave but it will be able to do no more, and Akechi won't stop
can't ever stop
neither of them will ever stop.
Maruki cannot let him get another shot. Not at him, not at himself.
He's still trapped flat on his back, clutching at his neck as blood slips through his fingers and stains his sleeves from a wound that can't heal rapidly enough to staunch it, when the ball of pure almighty light begins to coalesce in the sky.
Tyrant Chaos strikes. Maruki is blind to anything but his own grim grip on life, and Azathoth is blind to all, but he has faith that their aim is true. ]
[It was only a few days ago, a week ago, a time he could count down with two hands - ten fingers, ten cracks in a fractured ceiling beam, ten seconds between a trigger pulled and a man's agony.
It sends pinpricks of
joy
absolute joy
Complete and utter joy because he was
right.
Maruki knows he's right. Maruki sees Akechi is right and it's not a
drip
drip
drip.
It stains the grass in a single blink, it drowns the earth in two. Maruki writhes in agony and Akechi knows it's more than genetic cruelty that makes him feel alive with another's death. That only a rotten heart could find happiness - pure, unadulterated and all encompassing in the scene before him.
It's power.
Akechi is strong.
Akechi is stronger.
Maruki isn't weak, but he's
Exploitable.
And Akechi is an exploiter. A manipulator. He could kill Maruki - finish the blow. Wonders why his aim veered to the side in the last second. Doesn't matter, because he sees nothing but red and flecks of gore cover the stone ground in a room too dark, too small, with a table that Maruki's head will smack against -
In a field, not a room-
Not a table, but the ground.
And he isn't dead. He isn't dead. He isn't dead and he should be dead. Akechi can make sure he's dead and he takes steps to finish the job because it was always meant to be this way.
The barrel is supposed to be pressed right above the rim of his glasses in a shitty shoebox apartment.
Maruki should look at him, know it's him, understand that it's Akechi Goro that pulls the trigger. Not Shido, not Loki, not a power completely under his control.
He's on the ground, so Akechi's on him.]
I hate you. I hate you.
[Becomes a whispered mantra - louder and louder or maybe softer and softer - Akechi doesn't know because his lips repeat it over and over, insults and curses, barrages of vile things as he straddles Maruki's chest and-
A gun still in hand, the other free - his fingers wrap around his throat, and it may seem like he's staunching the wound. For a moment, he might be. For a second, and it doesn't matter. A barrel to forehead, a hand pressed into an open wound, clumps of loose flesh and muscle sticking between his fingers - he can't take it. He can't take it. It's all he wants - it's everything he wants. He can do it again - stick his hands under the sink until they're raw and burning, puke until his throat feels the same. He can already feel bile rise when he presses the hot metal to Maruki's forehead. Swallows it down, when his palm presses tight against an exposed windpipe.
He can do it again. He'll do it again. Maruki will learn it will happen again and -
Maruki might give him peace again, as the world burns bright above them. Blinding. Explosions of color and light reflect on the weapon. Akechi doesn't pull the trigger. It blinds and burns, so he doesn't pull the trigger. He presses and holds as blood seeps past cuff and against his skin and he doesn't pull the trigger and he came over here to strangle life from flecks of flesh and bone and he doesn't pull the trigger and-
He should pull the trigger. Azathoth is above them and if he pulls the trigger they won't win and Azathoth can't attack and Akechi will live and Maruki will die and he wants Maruki to die and he
he wants to die.
And he hopes Maruki dies.
And for a second he dies. For a moment he dies. In the blissful nothing that follows after a strike of almighty hits him. It might be stronger. It may not. The final blast of someone close to the death trying to save. No persona - he never summons either. Loki's power brewing, and then nothing. Akechi doesn't want it. He doesn't want it.
It's quiet. It's so quiet, and he's happy.
It's quiet, so quiet, and it's over minutes after it began.]
cw gore, blood, emeto, ha ha yay new icons just for akechi threads
[ With the muzzle of the gun searing against his forehead, what little of Maruki's consciousness is still operating at any sort of capacity figures it's the end–
But with Akechi's furious grip holding his mending throat together, he knows it's not.
With Akechi on top of him, he has to be caught in the crossfire of his own attack. Has to hang on through it as the Tentacle of Healing works overtime to heal him faster than he can hurt, but his vision still goes white hot blank, his body still bears the brunt of the impact.
He wants to wrap an arm around Akechi to keep him down, keep him close, but he can't. He can't do anything. Anything he has left over after that Hail Mary strike goes toward keeping himself alive, knitting together a near-fatal wound, and then–
Nothing.
When his eyes eventually flutter open, Azathoth is gone. The base of his skull is heavy, and his whole body is impossibly weak, dizzy and nauseated even as he does nothing more than blink up at the darkening sky.
There's so much blood. That's the first thing he feels. Hot and sticky around his head and neck, down his shoulders, between his fingers, soaked into his shirt and the ground beneath him, coated over his tongue and teeth, everywhere, everywhere.
Maruki groans softly, raises violently trembling hands to touch is neck again. In one piece, but the damage has been more than done. His heart thuds weakly in his chest, every beat defiant in the face of– ]
Akechi.
[ His voice sounds entirely unlike itself. Broken, shaking, clogged with his own blood. He coughs to try to clear it and the cough turns to a retch; Maruki rolls onto his side and spits bloody saliva and bile up on the already filthy ground.
If Akechi took another shot now, he wouldn't have it in him to summon even a single tentacle. He's done, down for the count, easy prey.
The arm pressed between his body and the ground curls up, supporting his weight on his elbow, then on his palm, shifting to sit up as the world spins viciously around him and his eyes search for– ]
Akechi.
[ Maruki stares at him, wherever he's landed, and breathes ragged from the effort of sitting up like he's just run a mile. ]
He doesn't care. The movement, retches, gasps for air from a half destroyed windpipe - it's proof he's alive. It's proof Akechi failed. It's proof Maruki's stronger and he waits flat on the ground to see what he'll do.
And he doesn't do anything. Asks Are you done? as if this was a small argument around the kitchen and not a full attempt on his life. Are you done? like Akechi's hands aren't covered in viscera, fingers digging into wet, bloody mud.
He pushes himself up when Maruki doesn't finish the job. When he doesn't take the gun still in a knuckle white grip in Akechi's palm to finish him off, like he should.
It's not a surprise. He's furious anyway.]
Shut up.
[Is all he says as he pushes himself up from the dirt, wanders over to a man injured still. Azathoth has its limits, apparently.
Gun holstered, safety on, and a hand coated in Maruki's own flesh lowered down to raise him up.]
[ This is the summation of their bond, isn't it? Akechi destroys, Maruki revives, and in the end their hands clasp together anyway.
He feels at his neck for a moment longer – the wound is fully closed up, no more fresh blood pours, but he's weak from how much was lost. Nauseated by the way it surrounds them. He can't look at Akechi's hand, can't look down at the ground around him. He only takes it with closed eyes, whole body trembling as he's hauled up to his feet. ]
I need to go to the clinic. [ A beat. ] The– conclave. Whatever we're calling it now. [ Are the words even audible, or is he only speaking in his own head? There's a dark ringing in his ears. ] You don't– I can go on my own.
[The pitch in Maruki's voice is erratic - softer, louder, settling into muted nothing. A hand shaking in his and-
Akechi maneuvers it so Maruki is grasping his shoulder - stability, support. He'll walk on his fucking own because this is a fight he picked, a battle he knew would happen and there's no sympathy in his body. Not an ounce of care in his voice. It's only annoyance plastered on his own blood splattered face.]
Shut up and move. It's a long walk - if you pass out, I'm not carrying you.
[ Maruki does both things commanded of him: He shuts up, and he moves. It is a long walk, and he keeps expecting Akechi to tire of it and dump him on the side of the road, tell him he's taken him far enough and to seek help on his own.
He doesn't. They stagger silent step by silent step all the way to the new Healer's Conclave, and Maruki feels–
Dead on his feet. Beyond. He's not fully conscious of how he's treated; the only thing he knows for certain is that Akechi remains at his side, and against all reason, Maruki trusts that that means he'll be looked after somehow.
It could be hours later by the time he starts to feel like himself again. There's still a needle in his hand for the transfusion, still blood caked beneath his fingernails even though his skin's been wiped superficially clean.
He stares at Akechi from where he sits, jaw set, eyebrows raised. ]
[Guilt doesnt weigh on him - not a bit. It's not what makes him wait at the facility with his arms crossed, fully attuned to what's happening.
It didn't make him wrap an arm around Maruki's waist to haul him back up when he starts stumbling on a muddy, rocky trail. It's didn't force Akechi to stop when labored breaths hit his ear, a quiet voice mumbling through it all.
It's not why he turned enemies into clumps of indistinguishable flesh on the ground or shove him under an awning when a downpour began only minutes away from the shack.
It's a distrust in their system, this world. He doesn't care if Maruki lives or dies. It's his choice for picking fights, but it won't happen because some worthless creature didn't understand blood types.
Akechi will kill Maruki Takuto - no one else and-
He's awake, aware and speaking sooner than Akechi thought. He remains an undisturbed force against the wall.]
I'm always calm. I feel the same as I did in our backyard.
[ Maruki has exactly enough energy left to level a long stare at Akechi, brows raising high above tired eyes. ]
Yes, you seemed very calm when you were ranting and raving. Only the calmest person would pull a gun out, too.
[ He removes his glasses, wipes them against the clean shirt the conclave gave him. ]
I'm not going to ask you to explain again. I'm only going to say this.
[ Glasses held up to a light overhead. There are dried flecks of blood he'll need to wash off at home. They won't come off now, but that doesn't stop him from trying again, blurred gaze askance from Akechi. ]
If you told me all of that to try to turn me against you, it won't work.
Akechi doesn't give a shit what Maruki thinks of him.
Avoids focusing on how that statement makes his stomach churn. It's not nausea or unease that causes it.
He was calm. He is calm. If Maruki wants to find excuses for a bloodthirsty killer, so be it.]
Think what you want. Maintain whatever bizarre charade you wish-I don't care.
My only point was to tell you an irrefutable fact you refused to listen to.
[They won't get into it again. Akechi refuses - keeps his eyes level with disgusting creature that comes in to check on Maruki to provide the most basic level of care. A few minutes, some cursory checks and it's gone. Akechi continues, as if never interrupted.]
Though given the evidence, I may have been duped by that group of criminals in some way. I've long since thought of the possibility, ever since we were pulled to and from alternate worlds. However, it doesn't change what I did or what happened in that room. It only changes the overall outcome.
[ They won't get into it again, no. Because that tells Maruki much of what he needs to know.
In some reality, Akechi did kill Akira. Shot him in the head, splattered blood and skull fragments and gray matter against the wall, left a body limp on the floor. If it didn't result in the death of Akira in the true reality, then there are a few possibilities of differing timelines and cognitive manipulations to explain it. Maruki certainly doesn't have all the answers, but he has enough.
Duped by that group of criminals–
Please explain to me how one could fall into the Metaverse without knowing it. Without activating it. Without having a goddamn clue that they walked into a trap?
A few more pieces of an indecipherable puzzle fall into place. Maruki takes a long sip of the cup of water brought to him, head still feeling a little too light. ]
Why don't you ask him what he experienced? If our realities differ, then it may or may not help, but...
[Final, and without room for argument. Akechi won't be asking Kurusu Akira - not now.
A few weeks down the line, he may be able to eke out enough details to connect the dots. Akechi has the upper hand right now. Knows Akira's timeline, history, has a vague idea of the reality he may have been pulled from. Asking that-
Is showing too much of his own hand, or lack thereof.]
I'm no longer entertaining questions on this topic. You're welcome to mull it over to yourself or sit in silence - I don't care.
[ He's too tired to press. Doesn't think he would even if he had the energy for it.
Some unease sits in his chest, a desire to insert himself, to meddle, to fix, and a fogged over memory of a reality where he did exactly that. It didn't end well for any of them, did it?
Maruki sighs, pats the side of his bed. ]
Come sit over here. I want to tell you something.
even if u weren't do u think I care kill me in one shot or ten
[ More than satisfied, actually. He might look the slightest bit smug if he had the energy left over for it.
Instead he leans back comfortably, holds up the hand with a needle still in it. ]
Did you know that hundreds of years ago, doctors practiced milk transfusions? They labored under the delusion that milk could transform into white blood cells, so for a brief period of time, it was a treatment for a variety of illnesses.
[ A beat. ]
An unsuccessful treatment. Many died.
[ Does a morbid fact make you feel better, you pissy baby? ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cw: violent thoughts! DRUGS! MURDER
calm.
There's no Loki. No Robin Hood. No gun or knife.It's only Akechi that stands there in view and immobile. Still as one of the many trees surrounding them.
He's calm because he's a murderer. He's relaxed because nothing about this is new. A mind clearer than it's ever been in the middle of this field because he can visualize a splatter of gore at Maruki's feet, knows it's only a matter of time before he wins this tit for tat. Maruki's strong. Akechi's strong. Maruki's stronger. Akechi's going to win anyway.
He's calm.
So he laughs when Maruki appears in the field, steady as ever. Confident as ever. Determined as ever.
Akechi will ruin it. He wants to ruin it. He wants to ruin him.]Do you think you would survive in that prison cell? I wonder - it would be so easy to tell Shido who you are, put you in the same position Akira was. Tied up, beaten, drugged relentlessly until any confession came out. We could frame you, frankly, for any number of things. Another corrupt adult hiding at Shujin Academy - it would make the evening news and then you would be as forgotten as a dead couple in a rural town.
no subject
It's all nonsense, of course. Empty threat after empty threat. Maruki has no doub that Akechi could act on them, but why would he?
What a convoluted thing to do when he could simply kill him outright. He hasn't done anything to warrant a years-long revenge scheme. After all, he's nothing to Akechi, right? ]
Those are certainly interesting hypotheticals. Are you done entertaining yourself with them?
no subject
[And he doesn't move. No Loki appears behind him, despite the erratic way it shifts through his whole body - burning his chest whole. It sears. It hurts. He wants to unleash it and doesn't. Because he's learned
over and over.
That Maruki Takuto cannot be beaten with a persona.
It won't stop him.
Over and over.
But Akira defeated Robin Hood. Vague memories of Loki losing to that pathetic fucking team of criminal scum live on as hazy afterthoughts. That false version of him was too weak to see through what needed to be done.Akechi Goro can. He's stronger - much stronger. Can commit. Can shoot each of them in skull and watch them rot away in the cognitive world - wouldn't bat a fucking eye.]
Aren't you going to attack? Or do you plan to wait until I shoot Akira's skull in again to act?
no subject
[ It was staged to look like a murder-suicide rings through his head, over and over again. It was a faked suicide, Maruki knows that more certainly than anything. If Akechi was in on that, then he wouldn't be pretending the death was real. Both sides would have been staged.
Nothing adds up. Not at all. ]
I won't give you what you want. Try again.
no subject
[Fury rolls through his heart and incites Loki, an ever constant presence ready to attack. Yearning for it. Fingers twitch against his sides, but he doesn't move. A gun pressed to his hip. A knife beside it. He can't temper his voice and doesn't want to - this piece of shit is just as worthless as everyone around him. ]
You want someone to kill him. Do your dirty work because you're pretending to care about some trash that will never remember you. Why don't you put him in an ideal world for awhile? Force him to live out your fantasy - you did enjoy that.
no subject
Maruki blinks.
Breathes.
Perhaps there's a twitch in the muscle of his tightly set jaw, or the brief clench of his fists in his pockets. But that's it.
He'll ache over that later. Now isn't the time. ]
I don't want any harm to come to Kurusu, just like I don't want any to come to you. But what you've told me doesn't make sense.
[ The most startling, confusing night of his life spent living with Akechi thus far nags at the back of his mind. ]
Are you certain that you killed him? In the true reality?
[ There's a weight to those last four words. ]
cw: SUICIDAL SOMETHING, MURDER, VIOLENT THOUGHTS
And talks.
And Akechi can win. Akechi will win. Akechi must win to prove that harms exists within him, that he will always do anything to win and-
Are you certain you killed him?
A vile, bitter laugh falls from his lips.
Loud. Demanding. A palm smooths out the hair on his forehead, like thick viscous matter will stick to his gloves.
As if he'll feel the cool sensation of blood streaking across his forehead.
As if they were one and the same and two people died in that room instead of one.
Maruki doesn't want him any harm to
to come to them.
Them. Them. Them.
And Akechi wins, in that moment. In that revelation. In that passing comment that sounds like complete utter shit.]
Everywhere. [It was everywhere.] I did it. [He did it.] Kurusu Akira is dead by my hand. [Isn't dead. Might be alive. Akechi hopes he's alive - because his rival would be alive and he could kill him again and again and again and again.] He must be dead.
[Nothing works -
So he tries something new.
Pulls a gift from his side and puts the barrel to his own skull - a single second, two, three and-
Long enough to surprise. Long enough to distract. He keeps his finger heavy against the trigger, presses down with some pressure and feels -
Alive and-
A distraction. A second to drop the guard of a man who never lets down a wall and-
Peels it away just as fast to aim and shoot for Maruki Takuto.]
cw suicide, gore i guess, gun violence, near death experience ha ha yay
He knows this. He's had to come to terms with it. He's still coming to terms with it. If Akechi fails in his plan to kill Masayoshi Shido, he will die. If he succeeds, he will die. And Maruki has wondered, from time to time, if he won't simply take care of that latter possibility himself. After all, what will he have left to live for? He can see it so clearly in his mind's eye: Revenge exacted all for the sake of a woman who did the best that she could, his life's mission achieved, and then a gun turned on himself.
It plays out before him as if in slow motion. The very gun he gave to Akechi raised, the trigger depressed, and Maruki will lose him, he will lose him–
He can't lose him yet. ]
Akechi, no–
[ He feels the shot before he hears it.
He sees the gun turned to point toward him before he shouts.
It all happens so quickly. Too quickly. The distraction worked.
Maruki hits the ground.
He can't feel the ground. He can't feel anything. Can. His whole neck burns white hot, radiates pain up into his skull. Did Akechi shoot him through the head? He can still see. He thinks he can still see. The sky above is so dark. He can still breathe. Can he? He can't feel the ground, can't feel anything, can feel everything, sensation flooding in and dying just as quickly. Is he dying? There's a hand at his neck. Whose hand? Akechi's– no, Venat's– no, Eren's– no, Akira's– dangling high above Odaiba– it's his own hand. His own blood. He smells it before he feels it, tastes it coating over his tongue, thick and viscous metal that starts to choke him. It's his blood? It's Akechi's blood. No. His. O negative, the universal donor. Tries to press his hand to his neck, fails. It's shock or it's blood loss or it's both and he's dying, isn't he, and he's
not going to see Rumi again and
alone and
Akechi stands only a few feet away and
cold and
it's the coldest day of the year and the wedding is months away and the snow is as white as the dress she refuses to show him and he's so terrified of saying the right things to her parents and they play cards around the kotatsu while her mother tells him about flower arranging and he understands all at once where her love of a garden started and there's strawberry cake waiting for her birthday and one day when their children have children of their own this home will be theirs and the quiet of the countryside will settle around them like the snow blanketing the window that shatters and
darkness closes in and
she screams and
he tries to scream and
he will lose her and
an aurora forms in the sky above him. ]
No.
[ Not shouted, not spoken, not whispered. Barely mouthed. His lips can't move. He can't move. He can't–
Breathe, sudden and rattling as the life stream that flows between he and Azathoth surges in all at once, synapses firing and nerves flooded with all the sensation that shock robbed of him. Tears prick and sting at his eyes as the pain settles in hard, fast, it was his neck, Akechi shot him in the fucking neck, the Tentacle of Healing is pouring everything it has into him and he knows, knows innately at the base of his skull that's steadily lighting itself on fire that this is the only chance he has. This will take everything from him. Any harm that befalls either of them after this will be theirs to live with or die by; Azathoth can wrench him to safety while he has one foot in the grave but it will be able to do no more, and Akechi won't stop
neither of them will ever stop.
Maruki cannot let him get another shot. Not at him, not at himself.
He's still trapped flat on his back, clutching at his neck as blood slips through his fingers and stains his sleeves from a wound that can't heal rapidly enough to staunch it, when the ball of pure almighty light begins to coalesce in the sky.
Tyrant Chaos strikes. Maruki is blind to anything but his own grim grip on life, and Azathoth is blind to all, but he has faith that their aim is true. ]
cw suicide, gore, gun violence, murder, emeto, suicidal ideation
It sends pinpricks of
joy
drip
It stains the grass in a single blink, it drowns the earth in two. Maruki writhes in agony and Akechi knows it's more than genetic cruelty that makes him feel alive with another's death. That only a rotten heart could find happiness - pure, unadulterated and all encompassing in the scene before him.
It's power.
Akechi is stronger.
Maruki isn't weak, but he'sExploitable.
And Akechi is an exploiter. A manipulator. He could kill Maruki - finish the blow. Wonders why his aim veered to the side in the last second. Doesn't matter, because he sees nothing but red and flecks of gore cover the stone ground in a room too dark, too small, with a table that Maruki's head will smack against -Not a table, but the ground.
And he isn't dead. He isn't dead. He isn't dead and he should be dead. Akechi can make sure he's dead and he takes steps to finish the job because it was always meant to be this way.The barrel is supposed to be pressed right above the rim of his glasses in a shitty shoebox apartment.
Maruki should look at him, know it's him, understand that it's Akechi Goro that pulls the trigger. Not Shido, not Loki, not a power completely under his control.
He's on the ground, so Akechi's on him.]
I hate you. I hate you.
[Becomes a whispered mantra - louder and louder or maybe softer and softer - Akechi doesn't know because his lips repeat it over and over, insults and curses, barrages of vile things as he straddles Maruki's chest and-
A gun still in hand, the other free - his fingers wrap around his throat, and it may seem like he's staunching the wound. For a moment, he might be. For a second, and it doesn't matter. A barrel to forehead, a hand pressed into an open wound, clumps of loose flesh and muscle sticking between his fingers - he can't take it. He can't take it. It's all he wants - it's everything he wants. He can do it again - stick his hands under the sink until they're raw and burning, puke until his throat feels the same. He can already feel bile rise when he presses the hot metal to Maruki's forehead. Swallows it down, when his palm presses tight against an exposed windpipe.
He can do it again. He'll do it again. Maruki will learn it will happen again and -
Maruki might give him peace again, as the world burns bright above them. Blinding. Explosions of color and light reflect on the weapon. Akechi doesn't pull the trigger. It blinds and burns, so he doesn't pull the trigger. He presses and holds as blood seeps past cuff and against his skin and he doesn't pull the trigger and he came over here to strangle life from flecks of flesh and bone and he doesn't pull the trigger and-
He should pull the trigger. Azathoth is above them and if he pulls the trigger they won't win and Azathoth can't attack and Akechi will live and Maruki will die and he wants Maruki to die and he
he wants to die.
And for a second he dies. For a moment he dies. In the blissful nothing that follows after a strike of almighty hits him. It might be stronger. It may not. The final blast of someone close to the death trying to save. No persona - he never summons either. Loki's power brewing, and then nothing. Akechi doesn't want it. He doesn't want it.
It's quiet. It's so quiet, and he's happy.
It's quiet, so quiet, and it's over minutes after it began.]
cw gore, blood, emeto, ha ha yay new icons just for akechi threads
But with Akechi's furious grip holding his mending throat together, he knows it's not.
With Akechi on top of him, he has to be caught in the crossfire of his own attack. Has to hang on through it as the Tentacle of Healing works overtime to heal him faster than he can hurt, but his vision still goes white hot blank, his body still bears the brunt of the impact.
He wants to wrap an arm around Akechi to keep him down, keep him close, but he can't. He can't do anything. Anything he has left over after that Hail Mary strike goes toward keeping himself alive, knitting together a near-fatal wound, and then–
Nothing.
When his eyes eventually flutter open, Azathoth is gone. The base of his skull is heavy, and his whole body is impossibly weak, dizzy and nauseated even as he does nothing more than blink up at the darkening sky.
There's so much blood. That's the first thing he feels. Hot and sticky around his head and neck, down his shoulders, between his fingers, soaked into his shirt and the ground beneath him, coated over his tongue and teeth, everywhere, everywhere.
Maruki groans softly, raises violently trembling hands to touch is neck again. In one piece, but the damage has been more than done. His heart thuds weakly in his chest, every beat defiant in the face of– ]
Akechi.
[ His voice sounds entirely unlike itself. Broken, shaking, clogged with his own blood. He coughs to try to clear it and the cough turns to a retch; Maruki rolls onto his side and spits bloody saliva and bile up on the already filthy ground.
If Akechi took another shot now, he wouldn't have it in him to summon even a single tentacle. He's done, down for the count, easy prey.
The arm pressed between his body and the ground curls up, supporting his weight on his elbow, then on his palm, shifting to sit up as the world spins viciously around him and his eyes search for– ]
Akechi.
[ Maruki stares at him, wherever he's landed, and breathes ragged from the effort of sitting up like he's just run a mile. ]
Are you done?
cw gore, blood, emeto, suicidal ideation maybe
He doesn't care. The movement, retches, gasps for air from a half destroyed windpipe - it's proof he's alive. It's proof Akechi failed. It's proof Maruki's stronger and he waits flat on the ground to see what he'll do.
And he doesn't do anything. Asks Are you done? as if this was a small argument around the kitchen and not a full attempt on his life. Are you done? like Akechi's hands aren't covered in viscera, fingers digging into wet, bloody mud.
He pushes himself up when Maruki doesn't finish the job. When he doesn't take the gun still in a knuckle white grip in Akechi's palm to finish him off, like he should.
It's not a surprise. He's furious anyway.]
Shut up.
[Is all he says as he pushes himself up from the dirt, wanders over to a man injured still. Azathoth has its limits, apparently.
Gun holstered, safety on, and a hand coated in Maruki's own flesh lowered down to raise him up.]
no subject
He feels at his neck for a moment longer – the wound is fully closed up, no more fresh blood pours, but he's weak from how much was lost. Nauseated by the way it surrounds them. He can't look at Akechi's hand, can't look down at the ground around him. He only takes it with closed eyes, whole body trembling as he's hauled up to his feet. ]
I need to go to the clinic. [ A beat. ] The– conclave. Whatever we're calling it now. [ Are the words even audible, or is he only speaking in his own head? There's a dark ringing in his ears. ] You don't– I can go on my own.
no subject
Akechi maneuvers it so Maruki is grasping his shoulder - stability, support. He'll walk on his fucking own because this is a fight he picked, a battle he knew would happen and there's no sympathy in his body. Not an ounce of care in his voice. It's only annoyance plastered on his own blood splattered face.]
Shut up and move. It's a long walk - if you pass out, I'm not carrying you.
cw needles
He doesn't. They stagger silent step by silent step all the way to the new Healer's Conclave, and Maruki feels–
Dead on his feet. Beyond. He's not fully conscious of how he's treated; the only thing he knows for certain is that Akechi remains at his side, and against all reason, Maruki trusts that that means he'll be looked after somehow.
It could be hours later by the time he starts to feel like himself again. There's still a needle in his hand for the transfusion, still blood caked beneath his fingernails even though his skin's been wiped superficially clean.
He stares at Akechi from where he sits, jaw set, eyebrows raised. ]
Are you feeling calmer now?
no subject
It didn't make him wrap an arm around Maruki's waist to haul him back up when he starts stumbling on a muddy, rocky trail. It's didn't force Akechi to stop when labored breaths hit his ear, a quiet voice mumbling through it all.
It's not why he turned enemies into clumps of indistinguishable flesh on the ground or shove him under an awning when a downpour began only minutes away from the shack.
It's a distrust in their system, this world. He doesn't care if Maruki lives or dies. It's his choice for picking fights, but it won't happen because some worthless creature didn't understand blood types.
Akechi will kill Maruki Takuto - no one else and-
He's awake, aware and speaking sooner than Akechi thought. He remains an undisturbed force against the wall.]
I'm always calm. I feel the same as I did in our backyard.
[What a mess.]
So stop talking.
no subject
Yes, you seemed very calm when you were ranting and raving. Only the calmest person would pull a gun out, too.
[ He removes his glasses, wipes them against the clean shirt the conclave gave him. ]
I'm not going to ask you to explain again. I'm only going to say this.
[ Glasses held up to a light overhead. There are dried flecks of blood he'll need to wash off at home. They won't come off now, but that doesn't stop him from trying again, blurred gaze askance from Akechi. ]
If you told me all of that to try to turn me against you, it won't work.
no subject
Of course not.
Akechi doesn't give a shit what Maruki thinks of him.Avoids focusing on how that statement makes his stomach churn. It's not nausea or unease that causes it.
He was calm. He is calm. If Maruki wants to find excuses for a bloodthirsty killer, so be it.]
Think what you want. Maintain whatever bizarre charade you wish-I don't care.
My only point was to tell you an irrefutable fact you refused to listen to.
[They won't get into it again. Akechi refuses - keeps his eyes level with disgusting creature that comes in to check on Maruki to provide the most basic level of care. A few minutes, some cursory checks and it's gone. Akechi continues, as if never interrupted.]
Though given the evidence, I may have been duped by that group of criminals in some way. I've long since thought of the possibility, ever since we were pulled to and from alternate worlds. However, it doesn't change what I did or what happened in that room. It only changes the overall outcome.
cw violence gore etc
In some reality, Akechi did kill Akira. Shot him in the head, splattered blood and skull fragments and gray matter against the wall, left a body limp on the floor. If it didn't result in the death of Akira in the true reality, then there are a few possibilities of differing timelines and cognitive manipulations to explain it. Maruki certainly doesn't have all the answers, but he has enough.
Duped by that group of criminals–
Please explain to me how one could fall into the Metaverse without knowing it. Without activating it. Without having a goddamn clue that they walked into a trap?
A few more pieces of an indecipherable puzzle fall into place. Maruki takes a long sip of the cup of water brought to him, head still feeling a little too light. ]
Why don't you ask him what he experienced? If our realities differ, then it may or may not help, but...
no subject
[Final, and without room for argument. Akechi won't be asking Kurusu Akira - not now.
A few weeks down the line, he may be able to eke out enough details to connect the dots. Akechi has the upper hand right now. Knows Akira's timeline, history, has a vague idea of the reality he may have been pulled from. Asking that-
Is showing too much of his own hand, or lack thereof.]
I'm no longer entertaining questions on this topic. You're welcome to mull it over to yourself or sit in silence - I don't care.
[Akechi is just gonna Hang Over Here.]
i'm going somewhere with this i swear
[ He's too tired to press. Doesn't think he would even if he had the energy for it.
Some unease sits in his chest, a desire to insert himself, to meddle, to fix, and a fogged over memory of a reality where he did exactly that. It didn't end well for any of them, did it?
Maruki sighs, pats the side of his bed. ]
Come sit over here. I want to tell you something.
even if u weren't do u think I care kill me in one shot or ten
[ He's good over here. ❤️]
no subject
[ patpatpatpatpat ]
And you're going to want to hear this, trust me.
no subject
Akechi did shoot him in the neck.
Maybe it hurts to speak up. Not that's it's his problem in the slightest. Play stupid games win shitty prizes.
He stands there for a few more seconds before crossing the room to sit down at the aforepatted spot. Arms crossed, one leg resting over the other.]
Are you satisfied? Spit it out.
hehehe cw just. gross medical shit
Instead he leans back comfortably, holds up the hand with a needle still in it. ]
Did you know that hundreds of years ago, doctors practiced milk transfusions? They labored under the delusion that milk could transform into white blood cells, so for a brief period of time, it was a treatment for a variety of illnesses.
[ A beat. ]
An unsuccessful treatment. Many died.
[ Does a morbid fact make you feel better, you pissy baby? ]
awwwww mamaruki CW: gross shit
OH.
He did want to hear that - color him shocked. That information is taken in at the speed of sound.]
Really? Because of the nutrients I assume. It makes little sense in hindsight, but I can follow the logic. It must have been agonizing, frankly.
[If ONLY HE HAD GOOGLE.]
How fascinating.
(no subject)