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gothamcityneedsme · 4 years

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write a horrible thing, destroy me

It may have taken me months, but I finally finished this.

Below the cut is a very obscure and specific SMTIV au story. 19k words of what I would consider to be a rough depictions of some scenes, but not all that would be needed for this story.

The spacing/formatting probably has been mauled by tumblr.

This was supposed to be a 3 sentence prompt.

(Keep Reading)

“What is he doing—?!”

“What the fuck, get him on the main view screen! Someone call him!”

“Sir…he’s not responding to his radio…”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—what does he think he’s doing?!”

“Impact in…three minutes!”

“Shit! Call him again!”

“Still no response, sir.”

“We have reports of missiles heading for China, Russia, France, America—fuck, everywhere. I can’t even count all of this, sir!”

“Akira! Look, the visuals are shit but, look at the screen—is it just me or is he holding Masakado’s Katana?”

“He’s going to summon Masakado—?”

“It makes sense, right, he’s the guardian of Japan?”

“Does that even mean anything to fucking countless ballistic missiles?”

“Someone get him on the radio!”

“Still no response, sir!”

“Sir, how should I respond to the other nations?”

“No time—don’t bother. Unless they have a Mamoru doing whatever the fuck he’s doing, they’re toast. Just like we are if he’s doesn’t have a plan.”

“He must have a plan. He wouldn’t be out there for nothing.”

----

They watched, a silence falling over the command room. Despite the panicked chatter erupting from the radios, they stood frozen. Even the men and women sitting at their stations grew eerily still, all eyes turning to the screen, glued to it.

They watched their fellow, a young man they all knew and relied upon, walk calmly across the street in Ginza. He stopped, standing calmly, looking calmly up at the sky, like he expected to see something. The missiles would be too fast for the human eye, nothing but sudden fire once they truly approached, but he stood like he could see them coming. He has this cosmic knowledge of the ticking countdown on all of their lives—on the life of the world.

He held up the sheath of a katana in his left hand, above his head, standing with his feet slightly staggered. His right hand reached up, to the hilt, fingers curling around the cloth wrapped around it. His lips moved, only two words, words that they couldn’t hear over the silent broadcast.

Akira knew what he was saying. His heart felt cold.

What is he doing?! If we’re going to die I’d rather be beside him!

Masakado appeared before him in a plume of suddenly displaced earth, erupting from the ground like a volcano. His figure rose impossibly, towering into the sky, well past the view of the camera. Only Mamoru, standing at Masakado’s feet, fit on the screen.

Akira didn’t even have to bark an order, one of the technicians flipped the smaller screens around the main screen onto other views of the area, some from across the city even, so that every angle of Masakado’s great form became visible. His heart swirling with molten lava dripped down his chest, his eyes burning with the same fire, the true power of a demon.

Mamoru stood his ground, unaffected even by the majesty, looking up at Masakado unflinchingly. He spoke, calm words, and through the grainy visuals Akira could see his earnest expression. What are you doing?

“Civvies must be losing their shit,” Skins mumbled from beside him.

“At least they know something is happening now,” Akira replied, barely even registering his own words. He was frozen to the spot, unable to do anything but keep his eyes on Mamoru.

“Wouldn’t it be better to die in ignorance?”

Akira didn’t know how to answer. He shrugged, “…All we have is who we are, right now. If this is the end, at least we have that.”

“And who are you, Akira?”

“Someone who believes in Mamoru.”

----

Before the eyes of everyone in and outside of Tokyo, the grand form of Masakado shifted, the stone moving over his body as lava boiled beneath his skin. He shifted up, stretching towards the sky, and around the edges of Tokyo, rock started to jut up from the ground, as if the tectonic plates were following orders. The ground rumbled and shook as the stone continued to rise, forming a ring, then a wall, and then—a dome.

The figure of Masakado shifted up, disappearing into the rock, forming the top of this impossible ceiling. Tokyo, cut off from the sun, was dark.

On the screen in the base at Kasumigaseki, Akira could still see the dim silhouette of Mamoru, standing, in his dark armor. The katana gleamed softly in the light of the streetlamps, turning on automatically in response to the darkness.

Skins let out a slow breath beside him, relieved, “Get him on the fucking radio.”

Akira looked to the other comms officer, the one who had been tracking the missiles, “ETA?”

The officer blinked, shaking her head roughly to snap out of the reverie of what they had just watched happen on the cameras, “Ah! Uh—t-two minutes until impact! And, based on the trajectories of what we can detect, they will hit us for…for at least five minutes.”

“…It remains to be seen if what he just did will protect us at all. Or if we’re about to be buried even deeper.” Although…they knew how powerful Masakado was. This…this would probably work. Akira’s mind was running a mile a minute, even faster than it had been when the danger had been more prominent. In an instant Mamoru had just changed Tokyo’s future. They would have to move on from this, they would have to live like this if Masakado’s protection couldn’t come down, if they survived this at all, they would have to live without the sun—

The sound of radio static crackled to life, halting Akira’s thoughts. Skins stepped forward, towards the technician who made the call, taking the offered receiver from him, “Why the fuck didn’t you pick up, Mamoru?!”

Mamoru’s voice came through the speakers, and Akira could see him on the screen still, pressing a button on his earpiece before sheathing the katana. His stance relaxed, and he awkwardly, ran a hand through his hair, “My apologies, Skins. I was a little busy, I didn’t have time to explain.”

Akira stepped forward, crossing the room in a mere four strides. Skins gave him the receiver immediately, without him even having to reach out for it. He took it, speaking into it, “How did you know what was happening? How did you know what Masakado would do?”

“I…well, it’s not like all of that was planned, sir.” And Mamoru sounded relieved to hear his voice, almost as much as Akira himself was. “I just…well, we all knew something was going to happen soon, right? I…already had the katana, because I was thinking that, if something happened, Masakado would be one of our best and only options for help. So, when I heard about the missiles over the radio…”

“You just…in mere minutes, managed to save us.”

“Well…we have to see if Masakado can take the assault first. But I…well I don’t think any of us can do any better than this.”

“He’s damn right about that,” Skins mumbled, shaking his head in disbelief, “We all knew something was coming but no matter how many anti-missile defenses we’d have, no way we’d be able to prepare anything that would shoot down this many.”

Akira had still had the button held down, so Mamoru heard that, although the quality wasn’t probably that high. But still, he replied, “Do we…know exactly what is happening? It’s all over the world, right? What started it?”

“Don’t know,” Akira sighed, “All we do know is that even Japan’s missiles fired, but it doesn’t even seem like anyone gave the order. Like the whole world just…all decided to fire their entire armaments at once.”

“Not even a demon can do that,” the Mamoru on-screen shook his head, “No demon we’ve heard of, at least.”

“We’ll figure it out if we survive the bombardment.”

“ETA, 30 seconds!”

“Mamoru, I want you to run to the terminal and get in here. The least we can do is be in the bunker, and hope for the best.”

“Of course, Akira. I’ll be careful.”

Mamoru clicked the button on his earpiece again, cutting the connection as he started into a dead run for the underground of Ginza. Akira watched until he disappeared from view. He handed the receiver back to the officer at the desk.

“15 seconds!”

They all braced themselves, not that it would do anything if the missiles did strike through. The only thing Akira could think about was Mamoru—wanting him to be here as quickly as possible. If this was going to be their final moments, he wanted Mamoru here.

And if they survived this, all the better—but first they had to hope that the barrier would last through this bombardment.

-----

Eventually, the harsh sounds of explosions, muffled by the stone, dissipated. The ground stopped shaking. Tokyo was left in dark, and in silence.

Mamoru was next to him, tense and alert, still holding onto the katana with one hand, and his other threaded through Akira’s fingers. Propriety and military bearing briefly thrown out in the face of this apocalypse. Akira had been the one to initiate the contact, relieved to have Mamoru by his side, wanting to hold him this much at least if the world was truly ending.

But…it hadn’t. The damage remained to be seen, but they had—and Tokyo had—survived.

Now they had to pick up the pieces of the world.

-----

It had been clear from even the beginning of it all that the natural order of how the world had been previously would die in the wake of this rebirth in stone. What hadn’t been clear was that demons would soon start appearing in Tokyo at rates unlike anything before. Even if the CDF had been running at full capacity with no other concerns, the demons would still overrun Tokyo.

Akira quickly ended up taking over, his superiors stepping down in his wake as he regained his bearing in this new world faster than anyone else. He led the CDF to do what they could to protect the survivors and create safe zones in as many districts as possible. Some were too thick with demons to do anything more but to cordon them off and let the demons run wild inside.

They fled to the underground, where they could more easily watch entrances and exits. And then everything got even crazier as somehow the DSP got out to everyone who had a working phone. Even though there were no satellite connections anymore and internet connection through anything except a hardline was down, somehow everyone had it.

Which…was chaotic. New factions were forming, some people were using it selfishly, others to defend themselves at the expense of others. The CDF was almost flash-recruiting, anyone with a working phone that wanted to maintain peace was welcome and accepted in their new territories. For now, Akira kept their focus on the demons, but any humans who tried to cause trouble were pushed back.

Akira…didn’t look forward to what this liquid form of Tokyo would solidify into—these factions were but nascent nations, antithetical to the one he himself was trying to build. Another war was brewing in the smoke of the one they had just avoided dying to—Akira would have to prepare his people to kill fellow humans. Parlay wouldn’t always be an option, not with every faction that was forming.

That was hardly the only question he was trying to answer though—there was still the mystery of why this happened at all, of what had caused every nation to attempt to wipe the others off of the map. No surviving government official who had met him had been able to answer that either—Japan’s own missiles had fired without a known order. There was the rest of the world, if any other nations had survived. Then there was the demons, why they were so numerous, where they were coming from. What to do with Tokyo as a whole—Akira had a vision forming in his mind, but it was one thing to conceptualize and another to execute.

Akira didn’t even know why they still had electricity yet. The closest plant was outside of the barrier, and he couldn’t imagine that it would still exist after the missiles, let alone be able to run. Especially not through cut powerlines—the edges of Masakado’s barrier was littered in cut connections and drooping lines, severed by the rock.

It was too much, overwhelming, difficult to stay afloat in the wake of so much destruction, of the loss of an entire world. But the CDF stood beside him, plenty of new people joining every day, making something new, building something to keep people safe as they figured out how to live in this underground Tokyo.

---

“Akira, you need to rest.”

“There really isn’t time for that. And you’re telling me that? You’re working just as hard. Hell, I’m making you—the katana is powerful, you’re powerful. We need that to keep as many people safe as possible.”

“But I’m hardly leading people like you are, Akira. I can see how it is draining on you, and I understand why it is such. You…really are holding humanity together. But, it isn’t just you. Look, I’m not asking you to stop, I wouldn’t ask you to stop—I’m just telling you that you need to get a full night’s sleep. More than that, even, you’ve been working yourself to the bone.”

“…There’s still too much to do.”

“Then let me handle it, Akira. I fight for you—I can lead in your place as well. You know you can trust me to share your thoughts.”

“You want to talk to a crowd, corporal?”

“For you, I will learn how to.”

-----

They called themselves ‘Hunters’ now. It didn’t seem right to continue going by the name of a pre-war military branch when everyone was forced into the same fight for life. They had to give people something to belong to, a new nation, a new home. A society of like-minded people, led by Akira, Fujiwara, Skins, and sometimes Mamoru as well, fighting to keep people safe and to drive the demons back. Building a place where humans could survive and thrive together, with the simple rule of defense, of protecting, of keeping people alive and unharmed.

It wasn’t the kind of dogma that would exist easily in this new world, but they would fight for it, even if others hadn’t followed their banner. But, people were, gathering to them just as the other factions were growing—but it seemed that more people drawn to theirs than the others. Which did make sense—theirs was the most like the ideals of the previous world.

At the same time though, it was not a return to that world that Akira was seeking—he was not one to grasp for that which was gone forever. He was one to build anew, to improve, to adapt to this new situation. The old world was gone, and rebuilding it would just lead the same issues that caused it, and so he wouldn’t even try.

And, regardless, they couldn’t even think of rebuilding yet. There was still survival on the forefront, pushing back the demons, living without the sun, finding food and shelter, setting up cities for people to live in because it was now impossible to live out in the open.

-----

Akira was wearing down.

It was harder to push for hope when each day was a desperate fight for mere survival. The demons didn’t stop coming, and sure, humans were mostly safe in their shelters, but they were so limited. The Hunters had had to give up on entire cities, unable to defend them, losing swaths of the city to the never ending wave of demons. For each they cut down another two took its’ place—there was nothing they could do.

They had to eat the demons now, that’s how bad everything was fucking going.

Rebuilding wasn’t even a dream he could afford to have. It was only something he could try to keep alive for everyone else—they still believed.

He still worked. He didn’t let his feelings stop him, he didn’t let them bleed to the surface. But, at the end of the day, when he was alone, he sunk down into the muck. He let himself despair, quietly.

Of course, he wasn’t as invisible as he would like. Some of his men knew him too well—his lover, who shared his mind, knew him too well. The others didn’t say anything, they simply kept working. But Mamoru would not be content with silence, not between them. Akira knew that he would eventually speak the unspeakable.

It was late, later than usual as they had both been out on longer, more difficult missions. They had bee separate for most of the day, in other sides of the city even, but of course they returned to the same home at the end of the day. Akira had returned first, had doffed his gear and sat, heavily, on the edge of their bed. Head in his hands, he simply breathed, trying to think while also trying to forget.

Tonnes of rock weighed above them in the sky, and he felt like they were pressing down on him, a ticking time-bomb. Surely one day their luck would be out—that bubble would collapse. His hands gripped into his hair, and he tried to focus on his breathing.

He didn’t even notice, at first, when Mamoru had returned—hadn’t heard the door open and shut. But Mamoru always was so quiet when he thought Akira might be sleeping.

Akira only realized he was there when the younger man fell to his knees before him, still fully dressed in his kit, the thunk audible in their small room. Mamoru’s hands reached up to take Akira’s own, to pull them from his face, to hold them tenderly in his fingers. “Akira,” he whispered softly, looking up at him with gentle concern, eyes wide and expressive, somehow still young, despite all that had happened. Akira felt that he had aged forty years, but Mamoru hadn’t. Hs voice was quiet, “Akira.”

For a little bit, he said nothing more than Akira’s name, tenderly, but his tone grew more assured with each repetition. Akira was listless, simply looking back into his eyes, not moving, barely even breathing. Caught in this moment, he could do nothing but stare at Mamoru.

“Talk to me about it, Akira. Let us share our thoughts like we used to.”

Those words made Akira look away, his eyes downcast, to their hands.

Mamoru squeezed his fingers, “Akira. I have seen you wavering. I wanted to approach this more delicately, but if you are like this, darling, we must talk.”

His voice was so earnest that Akira couldn’t have even thought to refuse. He let out a long sigh, biting his lip as he tried to figure out how to vocalize his feelings. He couldn’t risk stealing anyone’s hope with his thoughts—and certainly not Mamoru’s.

“Is any of this…going to truly work?”

He paused. Mamoru didn’t immediately respond, probably waiting, assuming that Akira would continue. He didn’t.

Mamoru eventually replied, his voice even, “That is for us to determine with our work. Depending on what our goals are.”

“I mean—” and Akira looked up, clenching his fingers, eyes blazing with desperate frustration—the most animated he had been in weeks, “I mean humanity, Mamoru. Will we ever regain what we lost, or build anew? Will there be any sort of true future where we can be safe? Where innocents can be protected? Where children don’t starve?”

Mamoru’s gaze remained calm as he did nothing more than nod. There was no aversion in his body language, no horror at Akira’s words. He let out a sigh, still looking only at Akira, “I believe any future we wish to see is still possible if we but push for it, Akira. Humanity is bound towards endless progress—you know that.”

“I do,” Akira deflated, shoulders slumping, his whole body sagging down, sinking into the mattress, “But, even with that…that hope, Mamoru, is that…is that anything we will ever see? Does what we do now matter?”

“You know the answer to that,” Mamoru said, “You don’t need me to tell you what’s right, Akira.”

Akira swallowed, “Are you sure? When I eve dare to say something like that, doesn’t that mean I’m doubting too much to lead everyone like this? To a hope I don’t believe in?”

“You do believe in it, you know that you do.” Mamoru’s fingers caressed the top of his hands, “You just need others beside you who understand. You must share even your doubts, Akira. To me, to Fujiwara and Skins, to Tsurugi—and others, if you want. But you can’t bear it all alone.”

“You’re so sure of me.”

“Of course I am. I know you. I know who you are, how you think. I understand you, and I know that it is easy to despair, with everything on your shoulders. Let me take more from you, let others take more. This is for all of humanity, and no single man can bear that burden.”

Mamoru smiled, “I know you try to, and that you want to hold everything yourself so that no one else is hurt, but there’s only so much you can do here, and no matter what we all will feel the burden of this world. And so, share it, Akira. I am here to be a source of strength for you, just as you are for me.”

Akira let out a long sigh, trying to let his thoughts halt, to take in Mamoru’s words. Letting all of his stress out.

He scooted forward on the bed, and Mamoru blinked, shifting back on his knees a bit as Akira sank down to the floor as well. Their hands disconnected as Akira leaned forward, placing his head on Mamoru’s shoulder, his hands grasping at Mamoru’s sleeves.

“I’ll try,” was all he said, muffled.

Mamoru didn’t say anything, he simply shifted to embrace him, pulling him closer to just hold him.

It wasn’t as comfortable as it would be, if they weren’t on the floor, and if Mamoru wasn’t still wearing his gear, reeking with the scent of blood and sweat, but Akira didn’t care. This was all he needed, for now.

He could depend on Mamoru.

----

Mamoru was right, of course. Akira’s lapse had been momentary, barely a drop in the bucket of their lives in Tokyo. Because, in the end, no matter what stood against them, Akira could do nothing but believe in humanity. The best in himself, and in those he planned to inspire—he couldn’t stop, not unless he was dead.

Relying on others made it easier though, having Fujiwara and Skins, having Tsurugi, having Mamoru. All of them, standing as the forefront of the Hunters, blazing the trail for the rest to follow, that was more than enough to keep Akira on the right path.

They were digging now, in the Tower, aiming to reach the surface. If they could get up there—if they could reclaim the light, and move everyone above, they could continue. There was no way humanity could last long down here, and if it wasn’t necessary they shouldn’t. Humans weren’t meant for the dark, and there was only so many vitamin D supplements to scrounge up. Although, he supposed, fish demons were the next option for that.

But he didn’t want to have to plan for that.

So, they dug. They didn’t know what they would find up there, but the sun and sky would be a start. From there they could farm, find natural water that wasn’t groundwater, and get out of this forsaken cold.

Civilians were doing the digging, but they were in the know. A few of them had dabbled in being full Hunters, but they had remained in the lower ranks, so now they worked. They seemed to prefer it, those who agreed to the work—it was good, though, to have some more people with the DSP around.

The higher Hunters, including Akira and the rest, functioned as guards, both during and off the work shift. Up above, with the digging, to clear out any demons that appeared in air pockets, and below, at the entrance to the tower, to prevent any demons or other humans from entering and disrupting the work.

They all knew it was going to be long, but it was good to have a goal.

-----

Then, one day, they finally broke through the Ceiling.

They emerged into that brilliant world above—the sun shining in their eyes that had long-adjusted to unnatural dark. The heat of the outdoors familiar on their skin, an almost-forgotten memory. The scent of nature on the wind, the sight of an endless field of grass—

They cheered and whooped, they embraced each other in utter joy at their success. They jumped on the grass, they laid down to feel it, and they reveled in their newly found freedom, of their work finally paying off.

Of course, they all knew it was only the beginning. But, for now, they would let their accomplishment speak for itself.

----

Akira swore them to secrecy—no one was permitted to whisper a word of their success to anyone yet. Only the diggers and their Hunter-protectors knew so far, but they were planning to bring in more Hunters soon. Before they told everyone, and risked the safety of the tower, they wanted to ensure that life would work up here.

They met no immediate reason as to why it wouldn’t, but after five years in the dark, Akira wasn’t prepared to trust any sort of success so completely. Not after the reason they were here in the first place, not after their chances of survival having already been so minimized. If it hadn’t been for Mamoru and Masakado, they would’ve all died, and even then, they lost so many to merely living in the domed-Tokyo. They had to be careful, this had to be sustainable.

He directed them to build—just a small settlement to start. It was difficult to make people return back down to Tokyo once they spent a single day above, but still Akira did it. He explained to each and every person why they had to be wary, why they had to test this carefully before risking everything they had protected to this unknown place—after all, God was still here. And now they were a blight on His land—they had to learn if he was truly looking or not, or if he had left this world to damnation after cleansing it.

Everyone’s hearts shone with hope, but they nodded, agreeing with their leader, and so, for now, the truth of the world above was kept hidden.

-----

If they were going to make a new life up here, the first thing that would be needed was infrastructure. Of course the buildings were first, or at least, some of the buildings had to come first. But then they needed to think of the other needs—food and water. Food would take longer—they had seen a few birds, but hunting birds to extinction in Tokyo made them all nervous about truly hunting, so they didn’t touch the wild animals. Crops would be a necessity for their future lives, but they didn’t want to build a field and sow the seeds for it if they couldn’t be sure of the longevity of their time here, and of their safety.

Hope, but not too much.

It would be a relief though, if they could stay here safely, if they could grow food in richer soil, under the real sun—it had been so difficult in the shadow of Tokyo to get anything of worth to grow, and it was never enough. Scavenged foods, fungus, and demon meat were their staples.

So, if food wasn’t going to be their focus as they scoped the surface out, Akira selected the next best thing—water. Maybe they’d even see rain up here.

Water was one of the few things that was actually fairly plentiful in Tokyo . They had enough to even regularly bathe, although they did so outside of traditional plumbing. You could take as many buckets as you liked though. The groundwater reservoirs were so full they didn’t have to really think about it, and there were still rivers in Tokyo. Condensation would gather on the stone of the dome, dripping down into the rivers, a sort of different but equally natural water cycle. If you carried some filters with you, or used a demon to filter your water, you were set.

Heck, some people were fine even just drinking the water as it was—humanity was beginning to adapt properly to the world left after God’s Plan.

But—all of that would be able to end, if they could live above here.

Mamoru spearheaded building the infrastructure of water carrying, and they utilized demons for most of the heavy lifting, carrying jugs and sacks of water to a man-made lake they had hollowed out carefully in the ground closer to their settlement. The sources of water weren’t that far off even, there were pockets that formed lakes within eyesight in all directions, dotted around the grassy plains and thickets of trees. It was better though, to have it closer at hand.

Weeks went by like that, expanding their settlement, scouting the surrounding area, working on creating a more effective irrigation system, and simply enjoying themselves, letting themselves relax with each other in the moments in between the work. The biggest building in town became known as ‘the tavern’ even though the only drink it had was water.

Things were going smoothly. But…

Something else had been bothering Akira, though. Something he had been thinking about from before they even started digging up through the rock. It had been his first thought even when they had burst through the surface—even upon seeing the sun again for the first time in five years, his mind had been on a single thing, something everyone else had forgotten.

Where were the others?

-----

It had started as a small series of seemingly-related kidnapping cases. People disappearing all over the world, but there were no connecting threads between individuals. Sometimes a missing person would have known another one, or they lived close together, but there was never anything solid confirming a connection. It was maddening for the authorities, and when the case crossed the desk of CDF personnel, it was at first disregarded.

But, the numbers kept rising, it was impossible that there wasn’t something unusual going on. And—strange sightings were starting to be reported. Heavenly figures, like angels, the people said. Feathers found at a scene, flashes of brilliant light, and more.

Preposterous, they thought, as no one had ever seen an angel before. It was just some kind of demon—but even then, it didn’t match anything they had known before—it used magic until anything they had ever before seen. Traces of it burned in their wake at some of the sites, black burns on surfaces, but utterly unlike the burn of fire or the residue left by dark. It was something terrifyingly new.

Angels?

Eventually, they discovered where they were, even though they could hardly survive approaching, the angels too powerful and too unknown for them to push into their territory.

They were building a cocoon in the park.

----

-----

And where was the cocoon?! All of those humans who had gone missing, they were the ones chosen by God, the ones who would survive God’s Plan—the cocoon was an ark to protect them. Humans had been inside—they had to have been released, they must be here somewhere since the cocoons rose shortly before the bombardment had begun. Hundreds of humans from Japan alone, let alone if the angels were acting in other areas in the world. Those humans must be here somewhere, must have built their own society, surely!

Their society would be flawed, dominated by God, but still, humanity should be here nonetheless!

In all the years after God’s Plan, and all they have suffered and lost in the aftermath, Akira couldn’t really blame the others for failing to remember the cocoon—assuming those people dead, as they always did. But Akira couldn’t—not when that didn’t make sense. Humans had to be up here, the chosen ones to create the next world for God to enact His will over—He would never have destroyed all of his subjects.

He didn’t bring it up, didn’t speak of it to the others, even though he was sure of himself. He couldn’t bear to do anything other than search for it—wait for it.

Humans should be here. My sister should be here.

-----

Mamoru eventually noticed his wandering thoughts. They were sitting together, just outside of the tavern so that they could look up into the night sky. Akira wasn’t looking up though, and he figured that was what clued Mamoru in.

Mamoru leaned into him, using the gentle pressure to get Akira’s attention, “Akira, is something bothering you?”

It was…sort of a relief, that he was asking. They hadn’t had to have any truly serious personal conversations for a while, not during the digging, and not after breaking through either. They had been focused on their work, and this work hadn’t bothered them in any particular way where they had to speak at length alone about it.

“It’s…Maya.”

Mamoru blinked, confusion cycling in his eyes before he started to put the pieces together. “The…cocoon. You—you think it made it up here? Into God’s hands before the bombardment?”

“I do.” Akira nodded, without even a trace of doubt. “It was like the Ark, Mamoru—he would not have had his angels select humans to be taken unless he had intentions for them. And the only place such intensions could bear fruit would be…here, above, in this new world.”

“Humanity drowned, this time in a rain of fire and radiation, leaving a world entirely untouched, ready to be reforged,” Mamoru nodded. “It checks out. But then…”

“Why haven’t we seen them? Or the angels? I don’t know. Even if God was having a hands-off approach, so there wouldn’t be angels, why wouldn’t we have seen humans yet? We’ve scouted miles around here, and this is perfectly good land.” Akira let out a bitter sigh, “It doesn’t make sense.”

Mamoru grasped for his hand, squeezing his fingers gently, “We’re already doing all we can to learn, tearing yourself apart over theorizing will do no good.”

“I know. I just…”

Mamoru’s eyes were shining in the dart, pinpricks of stars visible in his pupils as he focused on Akira, “You want to find her. I understand, Akira.” His words were laced with pity, but Akira wasn’t bothered by that. Mamoru had known her too, and he would want to protect everyone in the cocoon regardless, if he could. Also, he himself had pitied Mamoru so much in the past that it would be unfair of him to be bothered by Mamoru doing the same.

“She could be alive, Mamoru,” he whispered, almost fearful to verbalize the concept, as if speaking of it would make any chance of it being true vanish. “She could be here.”

Mamoru nodded, squeezing his fingers. The response: ‘Or she could be gone’ was left unspoken.

------

They were starting to have talks of making their stay more permanent—of making their success public in Tokyo. They still wanted to be cautious, but at the same time, it had been weeks with no change—they couldn’t hide this place forever. Eventually it would be time to accept that they were at the foundation of what would be their future, and to invite others to stand upon the precipice as well.

Everyone was energized by the concept, and even Akira let the excitement reach him, despite his misgivings.

They were all meeting in the tavern discussing their future actions when the fire started.

-----

War was all-too-familiar.

Their town, hardly built, lasted for barely a week against the constant assault, leaving them to flee. Some, back to the caves of Naraku, and others to further away, still under the sky. Akira’s group were composed of those, although they had established communication with the others through their gauntlets. Mamoru was with the others, as they had gotten separated in the conflict. It was good, ultimately though, as they were able to coordinate their assaults.

Their foe, of course, were the forces of God.

They knew angels existed, from whispers of demons, from the case of the human kidnappings for the cocoon, but they hadn’t truly fought them. Even though they knew the angels caused God’s Plan, no member of the CDF had ever truly encountered one like this before, never on the battlefield. They had vanished after God’s Plan had been enacted, and they hadn’t even been the ones who enacted it themselves. They had succeeded in remaining complete mysteries.

No longer.

Akira and the rest were lucky that their allies were demons, demons older and more experienced than they could even comprehend. Some of them had fought angels before, knew what that was like. Under contract, they were bound to inform the Hunters of their knowledge. They were incentivized to as well, hardly wishing to die themselves.

And so, they learned. Mamoru leading the Hunters from the underground, and Akira leading the guerrilla force above.

It was a chance for revenge for what had happened to the world. The Hunters fought for their past, for payment. But, they also fought for their future—for that brilliantly bright sky they had longed for.

They wouldn’t just let it go.

----

“How are your men?” Akira spoke softly into his gauntlet. Night had long since fallen, and he was several paces away from their camp, but he didn’t wish to disturb his men’s rest. He wasn’t worried about those keeping watch, they were only demons, the sleepless ones, dutifully watching for their ancient foes. It didn’t matter if they overheard him, not when they had just as much to lose, if not more. Their loyalty was of no concern, and he doubted they would pay much mind to his quiet conversation.

“Tired. Scared,” the voice of his lover whispered. Unlike him, standing below the stars, Mamoru was in the darkness of Naraku, shoved away in a corner from where his men patrolled and rested. It was as dark as Tokyo, and Akira could barely even see the light from a far-off lamp reflecting off of Mamoru’s eyes. “I’m trying to keep up their spirits, but…Akira, they’re afraid that they’ll never get to see the sky again. And I…don’t know what to tell them anymore.”

“I know.” It wasn’t anything Akira wasn’t expecting. Of course people’s hope would falter in the face of this—in the face of God’s personal forces, true evidence that he wanted humanity dead or ground up under his heel.

And it was…dangerous, that they were losing hope. Mamoru had been forced to grow their forces with reserves from the Hunters of Tokyo, and through that all of Tokyo now knew what the Hunters had accomplished, and now they were all brought to the forefront of this war. The information had to be shared in order to motivate the reinforcements to bring all they had to bear, the truth was the only way to bolster them, and so they had to share the secret of how close they were to attaining freedom under the sky once more. And so…now everyone knew.

It was both a strength and a weakness. It drove them, but it was a final push, a quickly-exhausting supply of motivation, of humanity’s hope as the fuel of an engine. It would sputter out, in time, soon, if they did not make headway against the forces of God himself.

Akira understood Mamoru’s struggle. He was right there with him, just aboveground. Everything they had dreamed of was slowly crumbling, and they were all starting to get God’s message—Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate[1]. The Kingdom was not for them—not for God’s previous humanity. It was only a place for the new world—He had already chosen the survivors, those who would be His next children. No other human was meant to be granted entry, no other human was supposed to even exist at all.

God had said that He would never again curse the ground because of humans[2], but He had said nothing of the sky. He drowned them in fire, His indifferent eyes watching over the chaos He wrought.

Their God was a savage one, a heartless being who only cared for His own power. And they could do nothing to fight back. Nothing but scrape by with demons under a starlit sky, knowing that the next light would simply bring more attacks, more running and hiding.

A slow whittling away of what little hope they had left.

Mamoru was silent, watching Akira as he thought, his eyes focused on him, dark, focused entirely on him, even though he was silent. He held his gauntlet close enough so that Akira could see little more than him in the shot. He must have been almost cradling it in his other hand, curling his body closer to it, taking comfort in this pseudo-closeness they could have while on the line. He didn’t rush Akira for an answer, didn’t push for a response, simply content to be with Akira in this moment.

An answer wouldn’t be easy to come by, if they could even find one at all. They might not be able to fix this, and certainly they couldn’t now, so they could only take comfort in being able to share the burden together.

Akira let out a long sigh. “All we can do, Mamoru, is remind them what we’re fighting for. Until I find another way, this path is our only option.”

“You aren’t thinking alone,” Mamoru replied quietly, “But, you are in a slightly better position, topside. You have more options than I do to oppose. But, even though I am not beside you directly, I am with you.”

Akira allowed a smile to tug at the corners of his lips, an expression that almost felt strange to him now, “I know, love.”

“Stop saying that you’re the one who must find the solution—it is something we must find. It might even not be you or I who discovers it.” Mamoru’s chiding was caring, gentle. Akira recalled the days where he was the one convincing Mamoru to rely on others, to open up his vulnerabilities and allow others in, coaxing him to be comforted. And now, here he was, easily stepping into what had been Akira’s role, all for his benefit.

Akira could truly rely on him.

-----

They continued to fight, but the slow inexorable push of the angel’s forces seemed insurmountable. Whenever they were able to speak, Mamoru told him, exhausted, of how they were barely able to hold their ground—that the only reason the angels didn’t push them further down the tower is because the angels themselves hardly wished to enter that space, let alone Tokyo itself.

A relief, in part, that Tokyo was below their purview, uninteresting. Perhaps it was too vile to them, for them to even consider doing anything more than wipe out the pests that came from below to the surface.

So…on Mamoru’s front, there was no progress. No success. No matter how much drive the humans had, no matter how many new bodies they brought up to join the cause, nothing was changing. They even considered allowing other factions to join the fight, but ultimately didn’t pursue that. They couldn’t trust the others enough, and they couldn’t afford a knife in the back when they were facing God’s forces.

But, no matter how hard they pushed, there was no progress to be made. They were trapped in a battle that seemed like it would be endless—they would rise only to be driven back by a foe that would not pursue. They would lick their wounds, push up again, only to be driven back below. A cycle of losses—eventually there would be no one left with the will to fight.

No matter how much they hoped, how many plans they tried—this…wouldn’t work. But, not all was lost. There was still an avenue to victory, a path that humans could walk. A plan that Akira could make to save all of their efforts from being rendered meaningless. Like puzzle pieces, the thoughts started to slide together in his mind, not quite fitting yet, but an inkling of a theory, of a way out, started to form. A clearer picture of the actions he might have to take.

----

Akira realized the terrible truth.

-----

It wasn’t long before all of Akira’s forces above were decimated. Men and women, dead. Demons, dead. Supplies, low. There were only a handful of them left, not even enough to truly set up a camp, let alone orchestrate an attack.

Akira led them back to the entrance of Naraku, pushing them to nearly their breaking points—it was the only way they had a chance to survive. He pushed, letting the angels see them retreat, letting them see their fear and judge their cowardice. Shimmering wings high above, golden eyes peering down upon them from the skies. Watch us flee like good little heathens.

The angels watched, and let them run. They reached Naraku, darting into the safety of Mamoru’s defensive line. They were embraced heartily, despite the fact that their return meant that there was no one now who got to stand in this world they had fought so hard to reach. They were pulled back so they could rest and recover.

----

Akira, being their leader, was granted his own little room, and as much as he missed the open air, it was a relief to have privacy again. As much as he dreaded all that was to come, he could close his eyes here and let the mantle visibly fall upon his shoulders. He could let it drag him down the way it would for the rest of his life. This responsibility, this plan. He could let himself sink in the waters of the future, for just a moment.

He wasn’t left alone for long, though, and he honestly wasn’t expecting to be. Fujiwara or Skins, or…just as he suspected—Mamoru.

Mamoru closed the door as softly as he could, although the metallic clunk of the handle still rung a little too loud. The door was heavy and thick, good for keeping out some of the sound from the outside, although if Akira listened, it was still easy to hear the soft rumble of human speech beyond. If they were attacked, the sound would be clear as well.

Mamoru turned to him, and it was the first time Akira had a chance to really take him in since his return. He had been too focused on getting to safety and making sure they all got the healing they needed, he hadn’t been able to really focus upon Mamoru, not with so much going on.

He looked…tired. His eyes were hazy, exhaustion drawn deep into the lines of his face. He was presenting somewhat of a front, his best side, as he had just been speaking with people outside. But, even with that, the worry on his face was clear. His hair was dirty with flecks of stone dust from the mining, and clearly not as well-kept as usual. Not while trapped up here in the fight. His clothes were similarly so, his armor scuffed and dented, especially along his elbows and knees. Maneuvering on this relentless stone wasn’t kind to him. His fingers were twitching slightly, tending to stay near his belt, near the Katana, ready to draw at any time. They had often been used to spending so much of their lives fighting, but there was something different about how Mamoru’s hands moved—how careful he was—paranoid. More than anything else, though, he looked tired.

Akira wondered how much fighting Mamoru had taken upon himself, rather than risk the others to it.

There wasn’t just exhaustion in him though—Akira could also see an undeniable strength. It was in how he held himself, the line of his shoulders, his posture perfect and unaffected, a solidness of steel—a constant readiness. Akira saw in Mamoru the heart of a leader, the countenance of a man who would be relentless in his drive to be an example for others, a man who would lead them towards hope, no matter what. A man who was tired, but who would always be in the fight, never doubting in his own ability, or in his allies.

Akira had seen that potential in Mamoru before, had seen those thoughts—it was one of the things he loved most about him. But it was…different now. He was more confident, less demure, looking as though he would be willing to speak up to anyone, not just to those he trusted.

Mamoru had truly become so much stronger.

Mamoru’s expression shifted as he looked at Akira, melting away all of his exhaustion to fondness and care. Worry was still there, a slightly haunted look in the depths of his eyes, but it was overshadowed by the rest of his expression. He moved closer to where Akira was laying down to rest, sitting in the chair beside his cot. Akira watched as his lover let out a relieved breath at the sight of him, smiling bright.

Akira reached out, offering his hand to him, and Mamoru quickly grasped it, holding him with both of his hands. “Akira,” he sighed, relieved, leaning down to press his lips against Akira’s fingers, “I’ve missed you so.”

The ‘I’m glad you’re safe’ was left unspoken, but Akira knew that’s what his eyes were saying. After all, Akira’s eyes were saying it as well.

“Mamoru,” Akira whispered, his voice soft, cherishing this moment, that here he was finally able to speak softly to the man he loved. He sat up properly, swinging his legs over the edge of the cot so that he faced Mamoru, his other hand moving, palm up, and Mamoru quickly grasped both of Akira’s hands in his, holding him preciously close.

Akira leaned closer, watching how the green of Mamoru’s eyes shifted to gaze reverently at him, taking in every detail of his face. A sadness whispered quietly in the back of Akira’s mind—he wondered how long he would be able to keep this, to share such closeness with another. It would be so easy to tear them apart, so simple for one of them to die one day, and then they’d never have this again. Never have this gentle warmth of their hands, never have this enamored awe of each other, and never have this love again.

He closed the distance between them, pressing his lips softly to Mamoru’s. It started as just a little pressure, a reassurance of presence and care, but that wasn’t enough, not when it had been so long. Not when they had fought so much. Mamoru’s hands released his own, one rising to his face to cup his jaw while the other grasped at his sleeve, clinging to it, tight and desperate, as if he was afraid to lose him if he let go. He pushed closer, opening his lips to tug at Akira’s, insistent.

Akira followed his lead, returning his fervor in the kiss, also taking comfort in this contact he had so missed, but allowing Mamoru to dictate their pace. He did wrap his arms around him, pulling him closer, a bit awkwardly with the space still between them from the chair and cot.

For a few minutes, that was all they did, that intense pressure breaking only when they shifted to breathe before pushing right back. But, slowly, Mamoru grew less desperate, not needing to push as much, and the kisses turned longer and gentler. Soft and sweet, their lips sliding together with the ease of two people who were used to this. Akira’s eyes were closed, reveling in the feeling, allowing it to entirely overtake his world.

Then, they naturally parted, Mamoru only pulling back enough so that he could rest his head upon Akira’s shoulder, his hands shifting to return his embrace. Akira could feel Mamoru’s breath hot on his neck, the bridge of his nose pressed into his shoulder. “I was afraid for you,” the younger man admitted in a whisper. “To know you were in such danger, without me by your side…I hated not being there to protect you.”

“I understand,” Akira said softly, a hand tracing soothingly up Mamoru’s spine, “Even though I know you’re fully capable on your own, I would rather be by your side. But sometimes that just can’t be.”

Mamoru let out a sigh, nodding into his shoulder, “I know. We always do what’s best for the mission—what’s best for humanity. Sometimes that’s going to mean fighting without each other. But I still…”

“Mhm,” Akira hummed quietly, pressing his lips into Mamoru’s hair. His lover let out a soft sigh, his body relaxing, melting into him. “Stop worrying, I’ve got you,” Akira whispered, “I’m here now.”

“…is it alright if we figure out what to do next a little later? I know we should. But I just want to stay like this; I’ve missed you.” His voice was low, a familiar sort of tone underneath his exhaustion. It was that needier side of him, a side Akira hadn’t seen much of since long before the end of the world.

“We’re alone,” Akira said as he shook his head, “There’s no perfection to uphold here. Do as you wish.”

-----

Of course, they couldn’t avoid their duty forever. Neither of them would even dare to wish for that, utterly content with their escapism lasting for only mere moments before it was time for them to focus on what was important.

First, the simpler parts, planning on how to maintain their safety. Mamoru shared with him their current procedures, and Akira had very little to suggest. Not much had changed when it came to the war belowground. They had two points to focus on guarding, and they mostly only had to do a weak show of force at their front line—as long as they kept below a certain level, no angels dared approach. In Tokyo, they had to maintain a more strict guard, mostly as a show-of-force. The other factions knew what the Hunters were trying to achieve, and hadn’t approached much since. Apparently they had even offered aid—which Fujiwara was quick to refuse on their behalf.

They would be on the defensive for a week or so here, to let Akira and his men recover, to plan their next steps. They…did have to push above, again, and figure out how to do so without being immediately pushed down again.

The nagging thought tugged once more in the back of Akira’s mind. The path still open to them—what could be their only path of resistance shining in his eyes like a light—one he would rather look away from.

Mamoru noticed the change in his demeanor, the mantle once again coming down over him, weighing his shoulders down. Mamoru, who was lying beside him on the small cot where Akira had shifted over for him so that they could relax as they spoke of the serious things, reached up to touch his cheek. “What’s that sigh for?”

Akira…hesitated. He…wasn’t ready to share this thought, not even with Mamoru. So, he…would try to be discreet. After a long pause, he finally settled on asking, “…Are you afraid what we will become if we can never reclaim above?”

Mamoru blinked, “I…want to win, of course. I want to bring the angels down so that we can make the lives of all humans better, but…if we must relent for now, I believe that we will find a way to survive and thrive. No matter what happens, this is not the end. We will always find a way to live.”

“How long can we scavenge for?”

“Demons are endless,” Mamoru replied immediately—he had thought of this as well. He didn’t wish to admit as such, but he clearly did. “As is their magic. They can fashion things out of their own bones that we can use for other methods—and their meat is enough to sustain us. We can grow underground-compatible plants, until we can make enough light to support other types. Population will be low, but it’s perfectly possible for us to thrive.” Mamoru sighed, sliding his thumb over Akira’s cheek, “We will find a way. As long as there are leaders like us, as long as people share our thoughts, we can lead humanity towards community.”

Akira swallowed, “…and would it not be better, though, if we were able to live above?”

“Of course it would, that’s why we’re fighting for it.”

“…Should we not do everything possible to reach that goal, then?”

Mamoru sat up. His back blocked out the light, casting Akira in shadow. Mamoru loomed over him, looking down at him from above, “Akira,” he whispered, carefully, tense, “Speak more clearly. What are you thinking of?”

Akira’s pressed his lips into a thin line.

Mamoru frowned. “…Akira?”

“A way out.”

------

He said nothing more of the thoughts whirling in his mind.

Mamoru only grew more concerned, but that feeling did not lead to anger. It only made him stay even closer by Akira’s side, looking at him questioningly, trying to understand, but waiting for him to finally offer an explanation.

Akira couldn’t bear to speak it.

-----

In the following weeks, Akira’s men recovered. With their forces once again bolstered, they returned to their skirmishes with the angels, although they always originated from Naraku now. Sometimes they did break through the angel’s guard, dipping further into the surface proper, but they never went too far. They didn’t want to get cut off again.

And so, they shifted, back-and-forth. Gaining ground, losing it. Killing angels, losing Hunters.

It was to be an endless war.

-----

Akira knew that the angels would eventually have enough of that. There was only room for one endless war under their purview, and humans were nothing compared to the denizens of Hell.

Of course, eventually, it would be too much. The angels would appear in full force, to smite them from existence. They fought, as much as they could, losing many, but slowly, inexorably, they were pushed back to Naraku.

And the angels didn’t stop.

Into Naraku, into the rock, into their quarters, getting ever-closer to the scaffolding that they had built up to this point—but then. A pause.

The angels called out for parlay, their voices screeching like metal over stone, their wings shining like the sun itself. If their wish were not granted, they would only push more.

And, Akira realized, this was the opening he had been waiting for. This was the path, the dawn of it rising right before his eyes. He stepped forward. “I accept your offer.”

All of the Hunters behind him bristled, an electric energy coursing through the air, snapping as they all tensed, staring at him. Even Mamoru’s eyes were on him, deep and dark. Akira wondered how much he had figured out himself.

Akira looked away from them, back to the angels, taking another step forward. Only one person moved to follow, a single step echoing off of the stone floor. It was Mamoru. He didn’t need to look to know that.

The angels moved in unison, shining as their wings unfurled to halt them. Their voices rang as one. “Not you—Guardian-Summoner.”

“…What?” Mamoru stepped back, his eyes widening. “What do you—”

“The creator of the Firmament that guards the Unclean from the Lord’s Wrath is not welcome to gaze upon us,” the angels boomed.

“Oh—Masakado…” Mamoru’s jaw tightened, his eyes flashing with concern. “Akira…are you certain?”

“I will handle this,” Akira nodded, trying to be reassuring, even as a darkness started to sprout in his heart, “Fujiwara and Skins will come. And…Kiyoharu. Bring your team. Everyone else can remain.” Perhaps it wasn’t wise to have three of the four major leaders of the Hunters together to speak to the angels, but he wasn’t about to leave them out. And with Kiyoharu’s people, that should be enough force to deter the angels from attacking.

But…now, with this many present, his plan would be much more difficult. But…he knew all of these people. They could all be sworn to secrecy, regardless of the choice they’d make. He could trust them.

“Mamoru, pull the others back, below the scaffolding.”

Mamoru nodded. His eyes were like flint, sharp and severe—concerned, but too guarded to show such in front of their enemy. “Yes, sir,” he replied, turning on his heel. Despite the tenseness in everyone’s stances, they obeyed, following Mamoru out of the area. Their eyes, glancing back, watching them with fear and anxiety was something that would forever be painted in Akira’s mind.

He had a feeling that it could be the last he ever saw of them.

Akira turned, leading his chosen people further up in Naraku, following the angels’. It felt wrong, still, to even consider this, and to follow in the footsteps of angels—but he had no other choice. No other avenue would bring them out of war, and no other form of victory would be something they’d get to see. If they wanted to make life better for everyone, not just themselves, they had to change their tactics. They had to sacrifice something greater than everything else they had thrown aside.

They had to make a different kind of move.

His people stayed close to him, silent but still wary. But, they trusted him, and kept themselves alert as his defenders. He had fought alongside all of these people from before the end of the world. He trusted them all utterly.

They were lead, not to the surface proper, but close to it. He could almost smell the fresh air that was not fifty feet above—but not quite. They were still deep in the winding caverns, but the presence of the surface was so close—he was certain that they brought them here to sweeten the offer he knew they were about to make. Angels weren’t that different from demons, they were just more sanctimonious about their tricks.

They…were met by angels unlike all of the others, four angels who shone even more brilliantly, their strange mechanical appearances somewhat human, somewhat recognizable, but ultimately alien. They were larger than the others as well, their power rumbling, even in their current silence.

These, he thought, must be the Archangels. He hid the surprise from his face—he hadn’t expected to have garnered quite that much attention with their little rebellion. He had been expecting perhaps one of them, but all four? God’s Chariot, here in the ‘flesh’ before him, deeming him worthy of their presence.

Ah, how foolish they were. If they were already this far, manipulating them would be practically simple. Something calmed in Akira’s heart, that dark tugging panic he had been struggling with, that heavy mantle, suddenly felt much lighter. This was possible, and it was a worthy cause. He lifted his chin, looking at them expectantly.

They looked right back, through both their human-like eyes, and through eyes-that-weren’t, orbs encased in their strange apparatuses.

The light emanating from one of them started to shift, shimmering and moving, coalescing into a smaller form—a human. She wore clothes not too unlike medieval-style robes, white with blue trim. Her face was serene, and her voice was calm and gentle, but still with the undertone of angel’s music tinkling, “I am the Archangel Gabriel, humans from Below. We are pleased by your choice to engage in parlay with us.”

Akira stepped forward, ahead of his people. “I am Captain Akira Amano—I have been leading these people. What made you decide to speak to us, rather than continue the fight?”

Gabriel smiled, an empty thing, “We have not reveled in shedding human blood on the earth of the Lord’s Paradise. The purpose of the Second Flood was not to continue the cycle of sin humans are endlessly prey to—it was to be an end to all of that, to create the world our Lord has always envisioned. Where peace reigns eternal and there is naught but joy.”

Akira sneered, “I’m well aware that we were never meant to survive. But, we have, and would that not, too, be the will of your Lord? Would it happen at all if he did not will it?”

Gabriel’s eyes sparked, briefly, in a sort of mirth, “That is one way to view your situation, I suppose. The Lord saw your opposition and deigned to not smite you—to let your man-made Firmament keep you from the Heavens.”

“So you kill the rats who dare come above and break that barrier. What do you want from us, to scurry in the shadows forever? To be the Hell you can warn your new humans about?” Akira’s eyes narrowed, and he was aware that his words were harsh, but these if these angels weren’t going to kill them for having fought and killed their fellows, then they wouldn’t for harsh words either. And, the words were necessary. He had no reason to bow to them, not yet, and not without these words of hate to start.

The winged freaks had to make their offer before he could change his approach.

The angel blinked, her smile faltering for but a moment before it returned, still water, unrippled. “That is not the Lord’s vision, no. You were not to be allowed above because you are Unclean—you are all what the Lord had meant to cleanse the world of with his fire. But…those we saved, the ‘new humans’ you mention, were like the Ark. They are from all parts of the world, chosen carefully by our Lord and his holy host. Suffice it to say, they too are ultimately from the world below,” her smile shifted, eyes twinkling, “Just as you are, Akira and his loyal Hunters.”

Akira kept himself from displaying disgust—held himself back from flinching. He wanted to retch, to grit his teeth, to snarl at these awful creatures—but he remained still. He simply blinked. “…Where are you going with this?”

“We have an offer to share. This is something that will only be offered to you, a hand that we shall only extend once. So, consider carefully, Akira and his Hunters. Only the humans currently in this tower can accept this—no one may be brought from Tokyo itself.”

“What are you offering?” Akira asked, playing the part. He already knew the answer.

The angel held out her hands, palms up, too-perfectly in a pose just like holy statues, “We are offering to you, humans who have fought so valiantly for the sky, a chance to live below it. Properly below it, with the stars visible overhead.” The Hunters around him gasped, their breath stuttering with Gabriel’s words. None of them had fathomed this.

Akira, meanwhile, had been counting on it.

“We are offering to you, and only you, the right to forgiveness. Renounce your land, and your prior sins. Confess, repent—and you shall be offered eternal life through the Lord. You will come to live above, and help us build the New Kingdom.”

Everyone was hesitant, stiff as boards behind him. They were unsure, and Akira honestly wasn’t sure if any of them would truly take the offer outright. He hoped that none would, not without hearing his plan first, but…he would not fault someone for choosing the sky over fighting an endless war in the darkness.

Despite himself, he looked back, examining their faces, carefully keeping his own as blank as possible. Simply analyzing them. They were all tense, alert, and hesitant. He could see hope glimmering in some of them, a softness in their eyes, but such was quickly undone by the tenseness of their shoulders and the furrow of their brows. In others he saw utter disgust, hidden only enough to fool angels who knew nothing of human expression.

None of them seemed like they wished to speak out, to take the offer. Not even Yuudai, who had been religious before God’s Plan. Their expressions all wavered, their eyes turning to meet his own, seeking his guidance. Waiting for his choice.

The angels were serenely patient—simply letting them take it in. Their sense of time was likely different than humans’, and for that, Akira was grateful. He turned back to them, “…This is not something I can answer immediately.”

He could practically feel the eyes on his back. He could only imagine what they were thinking, what they were wondering about his intentions. Still, no one said a word.

Akira continued, “Please, allow us to discuss. Without your presence. We should mention it to the others as well—the ones still in the Tower, I mean. As you said.”

Gabriel clasped her hands neatly, as if in prayer, holding them to her chest. She nodded, “Very well, but we will not wait for long. Return to your paltry defensive line, we will be here for those who choose to accept His mercy. You have two hours. Those who accept shall come together, and we will accept them all at once.”

He nodded. “Thank you,” he said, before turning on his heel, walking through his group behind him. He did not pay attention to their expressions now, simply shouldered his way through them so that he could lead them back to where they had come from. He felt that if he looked too closely at their faces that he would see the horror that was settling in his own heart—that dark mantle sinking over not only him, but all of them.

The choices they made in the next hour would determine not only their own futures, but also the future of all of humanity.

----

The angels were long out of sight now, but Akira still led the way to descend farther. He wanted to return closer to their front line—hoping that Mamoru would be there, having snuck up to wait for them, and if he wasn’t, he would have to summon him, he couldn’t—

Kenji’s voice interrupted his thoughts, an affronted hiss from close behind, “Akira—!”

“Not yet,” Akira replied without turning back, “Let us go down a bit lower. I don’t want them to hear.”

-----

They moved, down, further, in the room past the massive doors that blocked off the majority of Naraku from their mining staging point. They weren’t in ‘their’ territory, but they were as close to it as they could be without leaving Naraku entirely. Akira…did not intend to leave Naraku now, never again. He couldn’t see his Hunters or Tokyo again, or he wouldn’t be able to do what had to be done. They had to take this deal, it was the only way they could continue to fight.

Akira let out a breath as he opened the doors to that final great room, trying to prepare himself for what was to come.

To his immediate relief, Mamoru was there, sitting on a rock in the center of the room. He stood upon their arrival, moving to meet them, his eyes clearly concerned, curious. There wasn’t time to fill him in, not completely. Not with how he could feel his Hunters eyes burning a hole in the back of his head. He had to address them first, leaving Mamoru to catch up.

A sudden spike of icy dread stabbed into his heart as Mamoru came closer. Mamoru had been alone, waiting for them, leaving the other Hunters behind. That would make this easier. But still, Akira dreaded. Mamoru should be a part of this conversation, and Akira hadn’t quite been sure how to call him without alerting the others who had been left behind to what was about to happen, but now he didn’t have to worry about that.

He only had to worry about everything else—about revealing this terrible truth to them. He would see the hope die in their eyes as soon as he spoke. He had to be ready for that.

He wasn’t.

He met Mamoru’s gaze, watching as Mamoru’s concern shifted from the group, suddenly focusing solely upon him. Those eyes he knew so well, gazing into his own with a deep apprehension swirling in their depths. He knew something was coming, but not what, and Akira’s expression frightened him. So he could do nothing more but stare at him, waiting for him to speak, and seeing in Akira’s own expression that he was intending to. That soon, finally, what had been weighing on Akira all this time would come to light.

Mamoru said nothing.

The others behind him were clearly disquieted still, muttering to each other in low voices, anticipating Akira’s explanation.

Akira turned to them, resolute, raising his head, keeping it foremost in his mind that he wished to present himself with dignity. He spoke, calmly, as Mamoru moved to stand with the others, across from him. He didn’t let himself focus on him. What he was about to say was important to everyone there. “What we are about to discuss should not leave this room. It cannot. And, before you ask, I already lied to the angel—we are not telling any of the others about what transpired.”

Fujiwara spoke up, his eyes wary, “That isn’t the lie I was hoping for, Akira.”

“I promise you, I lied about more than just that,” he said, a harsh smile curling over his lips, “And it is my intention to do nothing but lie to those feathery bastards.”

Their manner shifted with those words, calming, just a touch. Their anxiety was lessened—he was still the same Akira. He wasn’t going to tell them to just give in to the angels.

Akira sighed, closing his eyes a moment, his smile disappearing. “Do not tell anyone,” he said again, harsh and biting, “Regardless of what it is you decide to do after I explain everything, no matter what, you can never breathe a word of this to a soul. Only us, present, here, can know. Does everyone understand that?”

He opened his eyes to his most trusted allies, only to see them all nod easily in agreement. With a movement that small, they all swore their loyalty to him; their endless hearts, forever tied to his word.

Akira let out a slow breath. Then, he began, “…You all know we can’t win. I’ve seen it in your eyes, even as we keep fighting, because we must keep fighting, but…we all know this won’t end the way we dreamed. So…we must find another way towards victory. Or…the closest thing we can grasp towards it.”

Tsurugi narrowed his eyes, “You don’t mean to take victory for ourselves, do you? To—accept this offer?” he spat, shaking his head in open disgust.

“No. Of course not—whether or not we live above doesn’t matter. What matters is if humans can live under their own power, or someone else’s. I do not intend to submit under the heel of God.” With those words, Akira saw his people calm, their expressions shifting from worry or disgust to thoughtfulness. They knew he wasn’t on the wrong page now, but they still weren’t exactly understanding his intentions yet. He would have to fully lay it out and explain his newly formed goal. Explain how they would continue to fight towards victory while accepting that they had lost.

He took in a slow breath.

“The first step of my plan is accepting their offer, though.”

“What offer?” Mamoru asked, his brow furrowed.

“To join them, in the Kingdom above. To abandon Tokyo, swear loyalty to the angels, and be complicit in the destruction of humanity’s will,” Akira scoffed, allowing himself a small smirk, “Of course, there will be much more going on. But…ever since we were fighting them, above, a part of me realized what they would do. That they…really don’t know how to handle the humans above—which is why they we didn’t see any. The feathery bastards don’t know how to control the humans, and so they’ve left them in that cocoon. So they want to use us to do it for them.”

Skins frowned, “And why…would we want to do that?”

“Because,” Akira’s eyes lit up, excitement overtaking him, for a moment overshadowing his dread, “That’s how we win. We help them build their society—but we put flaws in it. Make it a powdered keg that one day humans will break under the pressure, just as we did under God. We just make a revolution happen again, and fight the angels on another front.”

He hesitated a moment, the spark of joy slowly fizzling out. The seriousness of what he was suggesting, this endless future, weighed upon him once more.

This fight, which had been open combat, humans fighting for their freedom, would instead become hidden, secret sabotage. It wouldn’t be a quick victory, and it might not even be a victory at all in the end—it could just as easily be a sacrifice. They could just as easily fall under the will of the angels, lose all possible avenues of success and be trapped up there to die. Never to see Tokyo again.

But, they were already doomed as it was. They had to try to get back up there—that was the only place they could fight. He couldn’t just watch them all retreat to Tokyo, to tell humanity of their failure and to know they had all accepted that failure.

“Perhaps, while I’m up there, I’ll see a weakness in the angels. Something we can take advantage of, to take them down. Maybe we can find a way to win. But if we can’t do that, if victory is truly impossible in our time, we must do everything we can to set up those who come after us for success. It is our duty to humanity to ensure that one day we will be free from the influence of angels and demons. This is the only way I see where that remains to be possible.”

Akira paused, letting them take it all in, watching their wide eyes upon his, watching the gears click together behind their horrified expressions. He saw that they could see—that they knew he spoke the truth. They saw his path, shining before them, as much as they wished to remain on their shadowed dead-end. They could see what must be done.

He swallowed. He wasn’t asking them to follow him. If Akira had to do it alone, he would. This was something that he couldn’t ask anyone else to do.

If they wished to come, wished to aid him, that was their decision to make. He would not ask them to sacrifice themselves to this—not to an uncertain future. Not when he couldn’t promise anything more than to never relent, to never give in to the angels. To endlessly fight, in this secret hidden way, until the time of his death. If victory was out of grasp, he would do all he could to ensure that it wouldn’t remain that way endlessly.

He was preparing himself to live a lie, to maintain that lie for everyone’s sake as he worked to find a better way.

He knew they would hate it. He knew they would want to lash out, but that they would be rendered powerless in the face of no other option—in the face of realizing that it was this or to forever submit the humans of Tokyo to an endless night.

Akira lifted his head, setting his jaw, “I am not telling you to come with me. I am not ordering it in any capacity. If I must pursue this alone, I will. But I am going above. The rest of you need not follow. I will fight there, and whoever remains will fight here.”

They all knew it was coming, but still, every one of his people tensed. Coiled tight like springs. Ishihara’s fists were clenched, her eyes sharp like flint, bearing down upon him. Fujiwara was shaking his head, horrified but stern. Akira knew he had an ally in him, but it still felt so awful, to see the despair dwelling in his friend’s stance. Kiyoharu was looking down, solemnly, thinking. Akira had a feeling the Major would come with him, follow him above. Tsurugi’s expression was direct, unafraid, and he nodded when Akira’s eyes moved over him. Kimihiro pushed up his glasses, glancing at the people beside him, rather than meeting Akira’s gaze. Skins was hesitant, considering, shifting back and forth on his feet. He was usually more a man of action than a thinker, usually quick to make a decision. But, even he was brought to pause and deliberate.

And Mamoru…

Akira was too afraid to look. For just a few moments, as his eyes traced over the figures of the others, avoiding the only person who could change his mind. Regardless on whether Mamoru agreed or not, Akira was afraid that the moment he saw his eyes that he would be rendered frozen—that he would unsay everything he already said. Break his already-made promise to humanity.

But, he couldn’t keep his eyes away forever. And so, he looked.

Mamoru was entirely still, but not tense. He was attentive, his eyes oddly serene in this cluster of stronger emotions. There was no panic, no underlying sadness, he was just…looking at Akira. Staring right through him, knowing his body and his mind.

Had he known the path they were headed towards all along? Had he seen the same truth that Akira had?

Akira remembered how he had felt when God’s Plan had been executed. The sheer panic and desperation clawing its way through his gut, around his heart, stabbing into his lungs. Of how he had thought that not only was the world ending, but it was going to do so without giving him the chance to ever speak to his beloved again. It was going to take away even the grace of dying together—he was going to lose everything.

He hadn’t been able to hide his fear, his despair, his control over himself only slipping as Mamoru was spotted on the cameras. It had not been until he watched Mamoru save them, and remain safe himself, that his heart had been able to calm. And that, then, he had been able to focus on the mission, on how to drive on towards humanity’s future.

He wondered…if Mamoru was feeling like that, in this moment. Watching Akira make this choice, say these things. Did he see that he was saving them? Could he see that brilliant shining possibility of a future—if only they but drive towards it? Did he see the necessary sacrifice?

Could he watch Akira martyr himself?

------

The decision had been made.

They had discussed Akira’s plan, his views, and the angels’ offer. Some of the Hunters tried to push back, but their protests were quickly pushed aside—they even tended to negate themselves as soon as they spoke. They all understood that they were cornered now. It was this or admit defeat. They could go above in the light or accept darkness—and their time was running out to make this choice. The angels would not be endlessly patient. There was no other way to continue the fight.

Once that was established, the conversation shifted to the logistics, to the vague-specifics of Akira’s plan. They could only know so much with as limited as their information was from Above, but Akira quickly explained his view—that those in the cocoon hadn’t been awakened, that the angels had been lax in their work, over their heads as they were to comprehend mere mortals.

Throughout the discussion, as they spoke of how to build a society made to fit God’s vision that would also fall apart in time, Akira’s gaze kept drifting to Mamoru. He was still eerily calm, his expression neutral. It was disquieting, as he remained largely silent, only speaking up in brief moments to add to their planning.

At some point, he had stopped looking back at Akira.

-----

They had sat down on the rocks of the cavern as they discussed, unwilling to remain standing for such a long discussion. When silence finally descended upon them, Akira didn’t push. He let them all remain in silent thought for a while, listening to the sound of water softly shifting over the stone. It was cold here, just as it was cold in all of Tokyo, but there was no wind in this cave, no movement of the air at all. It was just pervasively chilling, even through their armor, the wetness of the air sinking in on them, dampening their clothing and pressing on their skin.

Some of them muttered to each other. Kimihiro and Tsurugi, Fujiwara and Skins, Ishihara and Hirata. Their voices were lower than the rumble of the water, so Akira could hear nothing. He didn’t try to either; he wished to grant them the privacy to think. To make their own final conclusions.

Akira sat, and closed his eyes in thought.

This was what must be done. He was prepared to dedicate himself to this—who would he be if he wasn’t? Certainly not Akira. He wouldn’t leave it to someone else, and it was their choice how to follow.

No one approached him.

------

After several minutes, when even the soft mutterings of his people started to quiet down, Akira stood up. Immediately every pair of eyes turned to him, even Mamoru’s, although they were still hidden, dark.

Akira slowly started to pace around the room, eying them as he moved. He stood up straight, marched with heavy footsteps, not minding as his boots splashed through the water.

He spoke as he walked around the room, “So. I have laid out both choices for you all. I leave the choice of what to do for yourself to each and every one of you. I am not asking any of you to come above, to be known as a traitor as I will be. None of you must abandon Tokyo, possibly to never see it again.” He turned, his pacing slowing, looking over all of them, not trying to guess their thoughts, simply leaving them to continue thinking, to make their ultimate decisions. “Regardless of your choice, I will not judge you, and I will not question you. I know you all believe in me, and I believe in you in turn.”

He stopped, near that large thick door that led to the rest of the caves, further up and closer to the surface. He turned on his heels to face the rest of the chamber, increasing the volume of his voice just a bit so that it would be easily heard by all, “The only stipulation is that we cannot all make the same choice. Some of us must remain below as some go above. As I am taking their offer, it is alright if none of the rest of you do. You can all stay.”

Akira let out a soft sigh, refusing to let his shoulders sink, refusing to show weakness in this moment. “I will stand alone, and I promise to you all, that you can trust me to spend the rest of my life deceiving the angels.”

There was silence, hanging in the wet air.

He didn’t truly think that he would be alone, but he also didn’t think that many would be willing to entirely abandon Tokyo for this, to be deemed traitors so that the angels would fall for the ruse. To be hated bitterly by those below as they built above.

Out of twenty-one people, gathered to listen to him, eighteen suddenly stood. Their boots pounded on the ground in unison, like the sound of a formation all coming to attention at once. It echoed over the stone, reverberating in his ears, every single one of them turned to face him.

In unison, they came closer, footsteps thudding heavily in the chamber. It was natural for them, to line up before him, reminiscent of the days where he had been their commander. But—even Kiyoharu was standing with them now, before him rather than beside, and that meant…

Kenji was the first to speak, his eyes bright with a familiar fire, “If we come with you, the higher the likelihood you’re able to kill the bastards. I’m in.”

Ishihara was next shaking her head with a grim smile, “It only makes sense to attempt to ensure victory in a quicker time frame—and you will be more effective if we all stand beside you.”

Kimihiro tsked, “As if we would leave the rest to you when we’ve all come so far. No, you shall not fight alone.”

The rest of them said similar things, all simply standing there before him, declaring their support. Their intention to follow him above. Akira was blinded in awe of them—he had expected to be alone, or to only have one or two of them with him in the sun, but now they had all rose up beside him, resplendent.

------

----

Akira looked to the ones who had not approached, already knowing who they were based on who had—but he had yet to examine the others. There were only three of them. Three of his most trusted and loyal, left here decreeing that they would not stand with him now, would not go above.

The ones who stood with Akira turned as well, following his gaze to take in the rest of the room, to see the reactions of the others who must surely intend to remain in Tokyo. And, of course, there was no animosity concerning it, Akira had said himself that at least one person would have to stay behind, to lead below as they led above, but—

Something electric crackled in the air. A hot and uncomfortable spark making everyone stand just a little more tensely. Akira knew why—he felt the same.

Mamoru was one of them.

Everyone knew of their love, of their continuing endless support of each other. How tied to each other they were. Akira was sure none of them could even fathom why Mamoru didn’t stand with him, or why he wasn’t the first one to stand.

Akira had a suspicion, a thought nagging at the back of his mind, the part of him that understood Mamoru more than anyone else whispering to him that this wouldn’t be perfect—that a sacrifice would still be made—that—

Mamoru wasn’t a fool. He knew why everyone’s eyes were upon him. And yet, still, he held onto the calm he had been projecting since the truth had been stated. He stood slowly, but the movement gave Akira no hope, “The angels already refused to let me listen. I doubt they would tolerate my presence above, and even if they did, it would only cast doubt upon the rest of you. If this is truly our only path, I cannot risk threatening it.” He paused a moment, his expression shifting, a soft bitter smile curling over his lips, “I will have to put my hopes in you, and protect Tokyo until you win. If I am to wait below, I expect you all to win.”

This whole time, Akira had been sure to convey the conceit of their decision—that they were to build a future they might not see. He hadn’t supported hope like this, let alone demand it as a point of finality. But, of course, if Mamoru were to stay below, he would say nothing else but to order them to reach victory.

If he truly was to remain below, victory was the only thing that would allow them to meet again.

Mamoru made no other move. Said no other words. He sat back down again, after a moment, after the others did nothing but nod to him, accepting his words. No one thought to look at Akira at this moment, no one but Mamoru. It gave him brief privacy while surrounded, as he still stared at Mamoru, Akira’s fingers slowly curling into fists as his sides.

Something was swirling, deep in Mamoru’s eyes, but he masked it well. He wouldn’t speak of his emotions now, and so neither would Akira.

If this truly is to be the end—I need to be alone with you.

Akira swallowed down his despair and forced his fists to unclench. He couldn’t show it—not now, it was far too important to hold himself together—to prepare to lie for the rest of his life, no matter how much it ached. No matter the state of his heart.

The others had already turned their attention to the others who had remained seated. Fujiwara and Skins, who sat close to each other. They had been muttering together softly while everyone had been thinking, clearly intending to come to the same conclusion together. Akira wasn’t surprised—they often remained by each other’s sides.

Fujiwara smiled at him, his expression tired, but he still had that familiar steel in the set of his jaw. He had grown to become a leader—in the aftermath of God’s Plan, he had become Akira’s right-hand man in terms of leadership over the Hunters. He still held himself like that, sitting up straight, friendly but composed. Unassailable. “Old friend,” he said softly, “If you are departing, my answer can only be to remain here. Someone has to watch over Tokyo for you, and someone has to keep an eye on the Hunters.”

Skins nodded, gruff as always, although there was a slight strain to his voice, a stress, “And someone has to keep the Ashura-kai and Gaeans down. The Hunters are strong, but they’d be shaken if they lost all their big players in one night. Especially to…angels.” He grimaced, “They aren’t going to take that well.”

Fujiwara nodded solemnly, “We’re going to have to focus on the damage control. But, don’t fear, Akira. None of you need worry. That is what we will do, down below, while you work above.”

Skins forced a grin, genuine enough to pass, but still somewhat tense, “You just kick some feathery ass for us, alright?”

-----

Since they had all made their decisions, they spoke a little more, planned a little more specifically. Fujiwara, Skins, and Mamoru would handle Tokyo. Fujiwara asked questions about things he hadn’t been entirely involved with, things that others knew about specific areas or Hunters. They talked about who would react the worst to the betrayal, and how to mitigate that upheaval. They would have to keep people below without completely extinguishing their hope. They couldn’t let humanity give up, even in this endless night. It would be Fujiwara’s task to keep people from despair, and to keep the Hunters in power. They had to either be the most powerful or at least one of the most powerful. If they weren’t, things would only get worse for the civilians.

Fujiwara and Skins swore to uphold everything they could.

Mamoru, despite his decision being shared as well, was silent. He kept looking at Akira, and Akira did the same. He didn’t know what Mamoru was trying to say—it was as though a wall had suddenly crashed down between them, and he could barely see through the cracks. Mamoru spoke nothing of his plans for the future. No one else seemed to notice, probably assuming that Mamoru would just continue supporting the Hunters alongside Fujiwara and Skins. Mamoru would be the face of the field commander, the same kind of role he had enacted while holding the line here in Naraku.

No one doubted that, and Akira didn’t either. But…there was more to be said, more to understand. A reason for Mamoru’s silence, for those eyes that kept lingering on him, unknowable.

------

It took maybe another hour or so of conversation for the rest of them to feel confident in their roles, and that it was time to return to the angels. To tell them their answer. Fujiwara, Skins, and Mamoru would, of course, not be going above. They would return to below, return to Tokyo to work on that side, while the rest of them built a crumbling kingdom for God.

They all knew, though, that Mamoru and Akira would need to speak alone. Even though they didn’t see through Mamoru’s mask, they knew them both well enough that they would need to speak before separating. They knew of their love for each other.

With that, it was easy for Mamoru and Akira to linger, even as the rest moved to leave, without even questioning them for staying behind. Akira knew the eighteen who were following him would wait, just outside of those doors. And, he was also sure that Fujiwara and Skins would wait in the miner quarters for Mamoru to return.

And they would be split apart, separated by this dome of stone.

Mamoru had sat back down during the discussion, as had Akira. Akira was standing now, having stood when the others had moved to leave, even though he remained. He pressed his lips together, frowning, looking at Mamoru, waiting.

Mamoru was sitting with one leg pulled up to his chest, his arm resting upon it, his hand cupping his chin. He was looking down at the water that ran over the stone of the floor. He was a strange image of peace, despite the chaotic emotions swirling around them; his breathing slow and calm, a center to the storm. His hair had gotten a little damp from being in this wet air for so long, the nearly-imperceptible mist clinging to the tips at the end of his ponytail. Akira could feel similarly in his own hair, slightly heavier and colder on his head.

He had wanted to wait, to let Mamoru speak first as Akira had spoken so much during the last few hours. But, his lover made no move to speak. He made no move at all, simply sitting there, watching the water, listening to the sound of it drip around them.

Akira was afraid to break this silence. But their time was running out.

“Mamoru,” he said eventually, when he couldn’t bear to wait any longer.

Mamoru shifted slightly, as if broken out of a trance, leaning back just a bit, raising his head from his hand. A soft exhale left him, although he still said nothing. Akira could see him slowly grit his teeth, his jaw tensing.

Akira did not question any of his actions, any of his decisions. He knew Mamoru must see what he and all of the others had seen. He hadn’t tried to argue, and so surely he understood. He must. Or…so Akira thought. This silence was deafening to his thoughts, his anxious wonderings quieted in the wake of a rising stress, of something being wrong, of something being deserving of Mamoru’s silence.

“Mamoru,” he tried again, but this time the other didn’t stir, “I know this is—I know this truth is awful, but you—you could come with me, I’m sure I could convince the angels to—”

“Akira.”

The single word shut him up.

Mamoru turned to him, shifting to stand on his feet, but not in the quick dramatism that the others had when they had stood to be by his side, no. He was just fluid in motion, standing as if he had been upright this whole time, looking right at him, unabashed.

“Akira,” Mamoru said again, his tone unlike anything Akira had ever heard from him before. Sharp, commanding. Cutting him off with just the sound of his voice and the stark clearness of his eyes. His jaw was set, and he stood with perfect posture. He was no longer calm like he was before, but he was still composed, holding his ground with the familiar confidence of a soldier—of a leader.

It’s a mask. Akira thought.

“I understand what you are saying, and why you are saying it,” Mamoru began, his voice ringing around them, “I understand the conclusion that you have reached, after all this time. I understand how you brought everyone to see what you see—and I do see it as well. I understand.”

Mamoru’s eyes tore away from him with difficulty, his gloved hands clenching into tight fists at his side.

Akira had been correct. Mamoru’s strength here was a façade, slowly crumbling away, revealing his real thoughts underneath. Akira wasn’t sure if he was ready to face it, but if he didn’t face it now…he never would. He stayed silent, simply watching as the man before him started to fall apart.

“You—” and his voice broke, briefly, straining as he tried to hold onto himself, keep full control. Akira could see the conflict in him, even without meeting his eyes. “You didn’t tell me this was what you saw. Is this the way out? Is…is this the only way out you could see, after so long?”

Akira opened his mouth to respond, but he was stopped by Mamoru’s fiery eyes snapping to him, bright and brimming with tears, the bitter fury of the one who he loved most—he said nothing.

“You never told me. You didn’t ask me to help you find a way!” his voice wasn’t angry, despite his appearance—no. He spoke desperately, defeatedly—he spoke as a man crying in despair. “Akira…you…”

He wavered on his feet, even as he stepped closer to him, reaching out to grab his sleeves in his trembling hands. He almost collapsed on his feet, only standing as Akira’s hands quickly grabbed his shoulders, holding him up. Mamoru collapsed into him, burying his head in Akira’s shoulder. Akira held him. It was all he could do.

Akira’s voice was dry, as he whispered, “Can you see another path, Mamoru? Another truth?”

He didn’t think so. But a secret part of him dared hope, dared to dream. Dared to wish that none of this was necessary, that he could remain, that they could—

“No,” Mamoru shook his head, pulling back, steady again, his eyes still brimming with anguish, “No, I can’t. But you didn’t even invite me in—of course I can’t when I haven’t been able to think of this.” He shook his head again, more quickly this time, looking down, backing off, but not quite out of Akira’s grasp, “You aren’t doing this, Akira. You wouldn’t, not after we’ve suffered so much. You can’t—Akira—” he wavered again, eyes darting away and back, “Let…let the others go. Let them go and do all you’ve said but you—Akira—you remain. Akira—”

“Mamoru…”

Mamoru continued, his voice rising in a desperate plea, tears slipping from his eyes, “You must! Akira, I can’t—” he shook his head violently, his hair whipping with the movement, “I can’t go with you. I can’t—I can’t do that.” His voice lowered, losing all energy as he hissed, “I can’t…follow you.”

…

He slumped, defeated, unable to tear his eyes from Akira, melancholy swirling deep in his expression, “I…I always followed you…but I can’t. Not there, and not for this. I can’t leave Tokyo, I can’t leave the Hunters, I can’t leave this world I’ve worked so hard to save. I can’t lie for the rest of my life, I can’t accept the sun when I would have to leave others in darkness—I—”

“Mamoru,” Akira slid his hands up, cupping Mamoru’s face, keeping him from looking away again. Mamoru’s mouth slowly closed, as he just looked at Akira, trying to figure him out like a puzzle, trying to hold together as he stared into the eyes of the man he adored. Trusting Akira to speak, to lead, to share the truth. “Mamoru…I knew you wouldn’t be able to join me. I didn’t want to think about it, but…”

Mamoru blinked, more tears spilling down his cheeks. Unbidden, a small sob left his mouth, a whimper. Please, don’t let that be true.

“I knew,” Akira said again, softly, “Just as you know what must be done, I know as well. You know what matters most, and I knew you would choose to remain below. That is why I must go above. I can trust that where you are is safe, that you will do all that is within your power and more to uphold humanity. That means that I…I must…”

“But don’t you wish for me to go with you?” Mamoru whispered, desperate.

“I do. But I always knew that you would never leave Tokyo, my love.” Akira traced his cheeks with his thumbs, brushing away the tears, smearing Mamoru’ skin with saltwater even as more slipped down. “I know you better than I know myself. I can dream for you to come with me, but just as you will not abandon Tokyo, I cannot leave this fight. I must take it to the angels themselves. Tokyo isn’t an option for me, even if all of the others are to join me—I must go.”

Mamoru’s hands clutched tightly at him, his breathing heavy as he tried to be strong, to hold it back. Akira felt it too, tears pricking into his own eyes, his own breathing stuttering as he spoke. Neither of them wanted this—this was the farthest from anything they had ever dreamt. But…they both knew what they must do, and what the other had to do.

Mamoru could say nothing. Despite his own wishes, he understood. He couldn’t stop himself from understanding—he, too, knew Akira better than he knew himself. He didn’t have to speak to say that. Akira could see it in his eyes, in his quiet desperation. In how his fingers clung to Akira, afraid to let go. Akira’s hands still cupped his face, and he leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together. Mamoru let out another soft sob.

Akira swallowed, tears dripping down from his own eyes at the sound. Mamoru’s hands rose to his shoulders, his skin sliding against Akira’s neck as he grabbed at his clothes, tugging him closer. Akira closed his eyes, unable to keep looking at Mamoru so close like this. “Do you hate me?” he whispered hoarsely, bitterly. “What I’m doing to you is awful, when I’ve always known your choice. Do you hate me for it, love?”

“I can’t hate you,” Mamoru whispered back without even thinking, his breath brushing hot over Akira’s face. “I could never hate you, Akira. I just—I never wanted to be separate from you. It…it took me so long to find a place where I felt right in life. And, despite even the end of the world, I feel right, to be beside you. I—I don’t…I don’t want to lose that. I don’t want to lose you, Akira…”

Akira could feel his hands trembling on his shoulders, feel his stuttered breathing over his lips, and hear the wavering of his voice as he sobbed. He opened his eyes to meet Mamoru’s, finding the same incredible sadness he felt in his own heart reflect there.

This was what must be done, the mantle of responsibility covering the both of them. It was the price to be paid for caring more for humanity than oneself. It was the sacrifice that must be made. The loss of something that may never be regained.

“I love you,” Akira mumbled, slipping his fingers through Mamoru’s hair as he still cradled his face. “I will always think of you, I will always—always love you, Mamoru.” He tried to smile, but the expression felt broken on his face, everything in his heart cracking in two as he spoke, “No matter what, I will adore you—you will always be first in my heart.”

Mamoru kissed him, pressing close and sliding their lips together in a way that was both so familiar and so alien. Familiar, to have this contact. Unfamiliar, to have this desperation, to be crying, to know that this could be the last time either of them ever saw the other.

Akira kissed him back, slowly, softly, the sort of lingering kisses that they would share right before falling asleep. Lazy and sweet things, the gentle pull of pressure, but now with the salty taste of tears mixed in as well.

He lost track of time as they kissed, breathing in between, but pressing together again several times before they pull away. Still close, holding each other, foreheads pressed together, as they took the time to breathe.

“This…doesn’t mean we won’t ever see each other again,” Akira said quietly, and even though the possibility had always been there, they both seemed to…not believe. Even as he said it, he wasn’t sure he did think it was possible at all, “If we manage to defeat the angels, we will all be reunited, and we will bring Tokyo above.”

Mamoru let out a breath, slightly shaking his head, “Akira…I’ve seen the look in your eyes. I know that you don’t believe that. Of course, that is what I want, but…” he sighed, “My love, we seem to have been made for suffering. We’re lucky enough that we’ve made it this far, through the end of the world, through warring with the heavens themselves. I think we’ve reached the end of our luck.” His eyes flickered down, “I think you’re right, when you speak of building towards the success of future generations. …That is where our hopes now lie.”

“I hate it,” Akira sighed, leaning forward to kiss him again, briefly, “I will fight to return to you, even if…”

“I know,” Mamoru cut him off gently, looking at him with such devotion that it left him breathless, “I believe that you will never give up, that you will achieve all you can. I will never doubt you. Whether you return or not, I know you will always be doing the most possible, and that…that your actions will always be what I would have done myself, if in your place.”

“I’ll come back,” Akira said, unable to help it. Even though he doubted, even though they both rightly doubted, he couldn’t not say it. He had to try to promise it, “I will live beside you again.”

Mamoru pulled back, not out of his arms, but enough for his red-rimmed eyes to study Akira’s face more clearly. “Akira, you will always be by my side. I will never take another step without you in my heart.”

Akira wavered on his feet, tears pricking at his eyes again. It was so difficult to hold it in enough to even speak. He drew close, pressing his forehead against Mamoru’s shoulder, his tears dripping into the fabric of his uniform. “Wait for me, Mamoru.”

“I’ll be waiting, Akira. I will keep Tokyo safe.”

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Under the careful guidance of the angels, Captain Akira Amano became King Aquila Mikado. They never saw through his lies, or through any of those who had followed him. To the holy ones, they seemed like perfect soldiers, dedicated knights of God.

Together, they built the foundation of the new world. A pressure cooker, the heat set so low that the angels would never see or understand why humanity would eventually rise up. That the inequalities built into this society would cause discomfort, create unrest. That it was humanity’s nature to seek the ability to live free, without being under the heel of angels or demons.

It was almost too easy, to build this society, and Akira wondered if anyone would ever look at the history of Mikado and understand why he had done what he had, or if they would only think of this flawed world as nothing but the will of God. Either way, this history would lead towards his goals—if he had to be thought an enemy of humanity in order for humanity to escape God—he would. That was a more than worthwhile cause.

Of course, he and his people did aim for victory. They even managed to defeat three of the four archangels in the shadows, but of course doing so made all others retreat, hidden. It became too difficult to seek them out, and they were all only growing older.

He had known that he would never return, but it still hurt to have it proven to him. To think about Mamoru as his far-off love, as someone he knew for so little of his life compared to how long his years stretched. Every day the gap between the parts of his life he had shared with Mamoru and the parts he had not grew ever wider. Even if they were to meet again, that chasm would stretch between them, endless.

Akira could not regret, but he allowed himself the right to feel sadly wistful. To miss what, in another life, he could have had. If only, if only…

He became known as a melancholy king, even though the reasons for his sadness were unknown to his people. The others who had followed him were better at hiding theirs—they had made lives here, but Akira had just remained the same stagnant liar, longing for his home.

He often would wander, when the time felt right, when no other duties called, to Naraku. It wasn’t the safest place to do so, but Akira’s demons had only grown in strength in time, even if he himself had weakened. He feared nothing, certainly not the demons that wandered Naraku.

It felt right, to be there, to at least be belowground, inside what the angels had called the Firmament dividing Heaven from Earth. Of course, the Kingdom was nothing Akira longed for. But he remained nonetheless. He had to.

But, in these moments, he would go to the final area of Naraku, before the cutoff the angels had decreed. Never had he betrayed that decree, and he never would, as it was vital to keep the ruse forever. Even though the angels might not be constantly watching, even though they didn’t reveal themselves, Akira and the rest could not risk the future. They had to pretend they believed, even now, so that the angels would never think to question what they built.

But, he would stand before the cutoff, in the room that he had last seen Mamoru in. He would sit on the stone, dwell there for hours, thinking longingly of the past.

He had named the Hall of the Minotaur, as he placed that demon here to hold the line, to keep others from being tempted, if they ever were. Of course, when he arrived, the Minotaur would depart, standing just outside the door, allowing him solitude. No one else was granted that privilege, and no one else dared to come this far.

Still though, somehow, this room had been dubbed by the other samurai by another name: ‘the Hall of Grief’. They whispered it, when they saw him walk. He never corrected the colloquialism. It was fitting, after all.

This was the place where he forever closed the door between himself and what he loved most. The people he wished nothing more than to protect, those who he fought for even though they would never see him that way, even though he had sullied his name for them. This was the division between him and his home, between a world he didn’t love and a world he would never reclaim. A world that would spin on without him, struggling under the weight of what God had done to them. And…his beloved, still there, waiting for him.

Waiting endlessly for him.

Akira still remembered the final expression he had ever seen on Mamoru’s face. That last sight of sadness, love, hope, despair. It all intermingled on his face, open and clear, before he had turned, never to face Akira again.

He longed for a world where that sacrifice never had to be made. But, he had to accept what he had, accept the success he had found, along with his failures. The future was still worthwhile, even if the past was what he longed for.

So, no matter how much he wished to stay in that chamber forever, he would eventually stand up and return to where he belonged, standing beneath the starry skies alongside his lifelong friends, his allies, and the people whom he had built up from nothing.

His eyes never stopped drifting down, to the world below their feet.

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(footnotes)

[1] Inferno

[2] Genesis 8:21

#shitpost #yarrayora #my writing #it's okay to reblog this #im not posting this on ao3 because it isn't polished enough and i really dont think many ppl would even care #IF YOU READ THIS YOU HAVE TO TALK TO ME ABOUT IT!!!

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thedistantstorm · 4 years

Text

Project Compass 31

Read along on AO3 here

<< Previous Chapter << >> Next Chapter >>

This time: Eli is pissed.

Next time: Ar'alani and Vah'nya conduct an interrogation.

Note: this chapter through the end of the story will contain violent scenes. I don't feel that they're out of line with what's been seen in SW content on screen (or in this fic previously), but it doesn't hurt to mention it since tumblr doesn’t do fic warnings/ratings like AO3.

For a long while, the hum of the small ship's engines had been the only accompaniment to either Chiss's thoughts. Un'hee, head bowed, allowed herself to sink into the trance-like state required of her to safely navigate them toward the Compass. She could feel Thrawn beside her all the while, like a greyish presence at the edges of her vision despite her eyes remaining closed as she deftly made the micro-adjustments necessary to keep them from sinking too far into any gravity wells created by planets they streaked by at lightspeed.

She could sense his disquiet. He wasn’t nervous - if he was anyone else, she’d say it was nerves, but she felt like he was more irritated than anything. A nudge of the controls had them avoiding an asteroid cluster in the dark depths of their current system. Thrawn hadn’t noticed. It was impossible for anyone who wasn’t actively in the Navigator’s trance to notice the tiny adjustments necessary to pilot a ship through the Unknown Regions.

Except, that wasn’t quite right. Lately Un’hee had noticed herself more aware of the subtle adjustments when she wasn’t at the helm, like her mind had unfurled like a flower, extending out toward her surroundings. Ever since she’d healed Thrawn, she’d been different somehow. The same - it wasn’t like she was a different person, but using her Sight felt second nature. She felt like she was capable of steering the ship without needing the deep pool she’d been trained to wade in when steering the ships of the Ascendancy.

Her skin prickled a little, charged and alert. She remained calm both inside and out, despite her fear. She knew what was coming. Thrawn’s frustration, afterall, was because she’d forced herself on his plans. She was a variable he hadn’t planned for. Thus, she could feel the swirling pressure of his thoughts, their cool, silky texture as he tried to determine the best course of action to secure her safety while still achieving his goals.

It was why she volunteered. They would both be taken captive. Volunteering, foisting herself upon him absolved him of blame within the Ascendancy. Or, at least, it would, once she explained herself. Ultimately, she knew that didn’t change his perspective. He would bear any harm that befell her as a badge of his own failure. And unfortunately, there was little chance of either of them escaping unscathed. She did not doubt they would be rescued. She was too valuable to the Ascendancy - she and her rare abilities. She would exploit herself in this way, if only to make sure she was able to keep both Thrawn and their remaining allies safe.

When he inevitably toggled the comms sometime later - time seemed to lose meaning in the depths of hyperspace travel, though a quick reach with her Sight told her they were a little more than two hours away - Un’hee allowed herself to devote some of her energy to listening even as she continued to guide the ship.

It was a Chiss that answered Thrawn’s hail. A Chiss that Un’hee didn’t recognize by voice. If they were a member of the Compass’s crew, they were new. She nudged the controls to the right, careful to avoid a planet’s field of gravity, then back to the left, feeling an obstruction in her path that needed to be shaken loose. Thrawn spoke slowly, confidently but without pride or arrogance.

He offered himself as a prize. His surrender in exchange for the Navigators, alive and unharmed. It was not much of a trade, but it was all he was willing to offer.

“Your surrender will be unconditional,” The Chiss said. Un’hee dared to open her eyes even as she continued to divert her mind’s eye to her task of piloting the ship. Looking up through her lashes, she saw the pale blue holo of the Chiss speaking with Mitth’raw’nuruodo. The holo was not colorized, so she wasn’t able to tell for sure, but the uniform he wore looked strange. Pale. Not the deep space gray-black color of the CDF. “Or we will execute those aboard the ship, beginning with the Navigators.”

“You are easily manipulated by your overseers that you would commit the highest crime against your people?” Thrawn’s voice almost seemed small, but no, she realized, it was rage. Violent and turbulent and sealed away so firmly as not to be allowed to escape, Thrawn’s rage made the hair on the back of her neck prickle.

This wasn’t the way to negotiate with them, she thought, and refused to think about it too hard, trusting her intuition as she made arrangements to intervene.

“Prepare for real-space reversion,” She murmured, lifting her head entirely and allowing him just enough time to look at her from the pilot’s chair in a cross between concern and fury before the stars stuttered to a stop. The ship’s drop out of hyperspace was rather calm, all things considered.

She regarded the Chiss projected above the center console with an unimpressed look. “I wish to speak to your superior,” She said, ignoring Thrawn’s twitch of disapproval. She knew he did not like

“You will speak to me,” The Chiss replied stoically.

Un’hee pursed her lips, closed her eyes and clenched her fists tight enough to draw blood. When she opened them again, Thrawn was watching her with a guarded expression, no doubt aware of her discomfort. She looked at their enemy and spoke once more. The sounds that came out were not Cheunh or Meese Calf.

Thrawn didn’t know what it meant. She could see that on his face.

Then, suddenly, an armored arm threw the Chiss on the other end of the comms device out of range of the projector with a violent swing. “To whom do I speak?” The Grysk asked in Meese Calf, voice low and dangerous. He did not respond in kind.

Un’hee bowed her head in servitude. “I am called Un’hee,” She responded in Meese Calf this time. “I served your Hegemony before being retrieved by the Chiss Ascendancy.” The Navigator chose her words carefully.

“I will not negotiate with your Defense Fleet,” The Grysk said. “You will surrender.”

“Admiral Ar’alani of the Defense Fleet has not authorized our actions,” She said. “She does not know of our plans. The Ascendancy was unwilling to part with Mitth’raw’nuruodo,” She added, “Thus we were forced to act.”

To Thrawn, the Grysk tittered scathingly, “Is this true?”

Thrawn nodded once, sharply enough to indicate that it was in fact the truth.

“I do not trust you,” They responded.

“You have the means to communicate with them,” Un’hee pressed. “Ask them.”

Thrawn reached out, pushing down on her shoulder to stop her from speaking. “You wish to send me to the Galactic Empire in exchange for the Emperor’s favor in the future,” He said. “I am proof that Emperor Palpatine does not value his allies.”

The Grysk growled, “You know nothing of Palpatine.” It stroked its armored face with long, skeletal fingers. “And you underestimate your value,” He said. “You are a gift,” He sneered, “Nothing more.” They studied Thrawn through the projection. “Though I appreciate your selection of Navigator. The young one will reprise her role as a hireling with less effort than it would require to train a new one.”

“Our people will not stand for this,” Un’hee declared, shaking Thrawn’s hand from her shoulder. “They will not be enslaved by your will.”

“They already have been. You will remember your place soon enough.” The Grysk gestured to someone outside of the scope of the projection, when suddenly the projection itself changed to show the expanse of the room. “Since you seem so unconvinced,” The Grysks’s voice held something like amusement. Glee.

Thrawn hissed and swore. “Do not look,” He murmured to her, feeling Un’hee’s entire being freeze with the knowledge of what would happen thanks to her Sight.

Shaking her head even as tears leaked from her eyes, she kept her gaze level with the display of the scene before her. Even as a Chiss - a different one, still wearing that strange, too-pale uniform - dragged a Navigator to stand before the Grysk. “I have to,” She said, even as her lower lip wobbled and the young Navigator on the display was murdered brutally, screaming and crying until life fled her entirely. Her execution was committed by a Chiss.

“It is a high crime for a Chiss to kill a Navigator.” The Grysk cast the murdered Navigator’s body to the side without concern. “And yet you are tools to your Ascendancy, the same as you once were to our Hegemony.”

“We are not tools,” She snarled. “We are warriors.” There was a bright spark in Un’hee’s eyes. To Thrawn’s surprise, her anger far outweighed her fear. “If you continue to kill my sisters, the CDF forces will annihilate the warship Compass,” She said vehemently. “Whether we are aboard or not.”

“We shall see,” The Grysk said. “Consider this your incentive to arrive promptly,” They barked. “Perhaps it persuade me to be merciful towards the rest of your… ‘sisters.’” The last word was said with such contempt that it made the shuttle craft’s speakers crackle.

“They were not the commander,” Thrawn said slowly, once the communications device ceased transmitting and the connection was severed on their enemy’s end.

Un’hee swallowed hard and nodded. “There is more than one aboard,” She said shakily. “They must not have the number of allies required aboard the Compass to hold the ship.”

Thrawn considered that for a moment. “Do you believe they will execute those who refuse to surrender?”

“Not all of them,” She supposed. “But many of them will die. They will use those deaths to inspire hopelessness. And those who are already their clients-”

“Which?” Turning to her, Thrawn eyed her warily. “Explain.”

“Their uniforms were different. More like coveralls. It is hard to tell the difference over the holo but I remember the type. They aren’t the same between client species, but they are duller than the color of cour uniforms. I think those were what the Chiss we spoke to was wearing.”

“It will not be universal,” He speculated cautiously. “But it is worth our consideration.” Then, he returned his hand to her shoulder, patting it gently. “You must continue our course,” He urged her. “I do not wish to ask it of you,” He said, his words infused with honesty, “But there are lives at stake.”

Un’hee nodded. “I understand the gravity of our situation now, Captain Mitth’raw’nuruodo,” She whispered, steeling herself. “I will not serve another Grysk, nor any of their clients,” She uttered vehemently, clenching her fists. “They will have to kill me, and I will not give in without a fight.”

Karyn Faro was mostly trained in Imperial protocol and procedure, but some skills were more or less universal - like this one, she thought, locked in with the bridge crew, openly interviewing the officers presently in command of the Steadfast. Ar’alani was an impressive - and arguably frightening - commanding officer when furious, assuming she allowed it to show. She was far more terrifying when she did not.

The sensor officer was not impressed with her pointed personal questions or the level of disbelief she let drip into her tone. No matter. She was hardly an interrogator, the Empire had had ISB for that, but she could hold her own, and she’d gone toe-to-toe with Thrawn. He was far more frightening than any of the officers aboard Aralani’s bridge.

There was, of course, a method to the madness. She’d retained the information after only a cursory glance on her datapad, deleting the message she’d received moments before the Admiral had been called to the Hangar.

She wasn’t particularly keen on asking officers whom they spent their spare time with, or what familial obligations - off the records, of course - each officer upheld, be it due to some social obligation or simply political beliefs. And, worse of all, that it was a lowly human questioning them, well - Faro spoke more than enough Cheunh to know just what they thought of her. Frankly, she just didn’t care.

It was the younger officers that gave her the hardest time. The sensor officer she’d just finished up with, the petty officer overseeing two weapons terminals that were running diagnostics just in case they’d be needed later. The older officers - the first officers and mid-commanders were far calmer, understanding of the questioning.

Faro went lighter on them, per Ar’alani’s instructions. Of course, they had far more to say, speculations and fingers to point. Such was their way. Pride, arrogance, a flair for the dramatic… she laughed at herself, remembering the days when she assumed Thrawn was a representative of his people. He was just as much of an outsider as she was.

She’d made it a point to give away little, though she worded her commentary to the senior staff with specific phrasing, allowing keen ears to monitor who spoke to whom, and which stories would get back to her. None of the staff made it a point to speak to her, or actively sought her out.

Except one.

“Commander Faro,” Mid-Commander Tanik, who oversaw the bridge with Eli and Thrawn both away from the command walk, greeted her as she paused to key a few notes on her datapad.

“Mid-Commander Tanik,” She returned, stiffening ever-so-slightly to indicate that she respected him as the senior officer. She doubted he had more experience than she did, but she’d been instructed to get along with the crew in all things, whenever possible. Ar’alani might find her perspective… amusing, but right now she was gathering intel.

From her experience, Faro had a feeling she was onto something. She also had a feeling that Ar’alani had positioned her to spring the trap. Tanik did not have an excellent facade, but he did have a wide, disarming smile. She nodded curtly in response to it.

“Have your interviews borne any suspicions?” He asked her.

“Some,” She admitted thoughtfully. “Unfortunately, I cannot speak to them. The admiral was very specific about not speaking to anyone regarding the results of the questioning, despite the need for them to occur in such an open space.”

Tanik hummed thoughtfully. “Well, the Admiral would not lead us astray,” He said, and looked around the bridge, gaze sweeping over his subordinates with a sternness she was almost surprised to see. He shrugged, reverting to his usual passive demeanor, lips tilted upwards ever-so-slightly in what was nearly a smile. “If there is anything I can do, or any other questions you need to ask, just let me know, yes?”

“I appreciate it, Mid-Commander,” While blunt and businesslike, Faro spared a glance around, checking to make sure no one was obviously listening to her, then added, “I don’t believe I’ll have any more questions for you.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “The Admiral believes it is one of the sensor or weapons officers. She knows her senior staff would never betray her.”

Tanik tutted, sounding almost like a disappointed parent. His voice held an edge of placation, as if trying to soothe some invisible hurt he believed the human to have. “I shall keep my eyes and ears open to what is happening around me. Just let me know when you go to give your report.

“Yes, Sir,” Faro said, then waved with one hand in the direction of the helm. “I appreciate your assistance.”

She felt bad for the weapons officer she was about to pressure - and likely embarrass. However, it was better that she do this than allow the Mid-Commander to gain any sort of insight about just how much Ar’alani and Faro were onto him.

After all, he was a good actor when he knew he was being watched. What he did not know was that Ar’alani had caught a flash of unmistakable glee during their enemy’s missive earlier, reflected opaquely in the mirrored transparisteel of the ship’s windows. Faro was content to look like an idiot for now.

Both Ar’alani and Faro would enjoy watching his downfall.

Upon awakening, Eli was granted exactly ninety-six seconds of carrying on in his native tongue, a language Admiral Ar’alani understood very little of. Not that translation was necessary, some things transcended language. The set of his jaw, the way his lips twisted over his teeth in a snarl, how his chest heaved for breath because his rage seemed to punch it all from his lungs, these were all universal indicators of his mood, of the heat behind his words.

Beside the cot Eli'van'to was now sitting up on and standing to Ar’alani’s right was Vah'nya. She kept her mouth in a straight line, but her eyes danced, finding some of this amusing. To Ar'alani's left was the young Jedi, and his face and ears glowed like a beacon. Perhaps her Senior Navigator was correct, no doubt Ivant had some colorful words to describe his feelings about things. Ar'alani certainly didn't regret her lack of fluency, but she couldn't help but wonder about the specifics.

When she held up a hand, Ivant cut himself off. He went entirely silent, closed his eyes and forced himself to take a deep breath. Centered when he opened them again, he spoke in Cheunh. "Apologies, Admiral," He began, and she heard the anger coiled just beneath the surface barely contained,"It's just," He exhaled, and exclaimed, more than a little surprised and definitely furious, "That - he - he shot me."

"It was a stun bolt," Vah'nya said dubiously, as if he were being overly dramatic. Perhaps his rambling had been, but Ar'alani was content to give him the benefit of the doubt this time. "It's not like you have been harmed. I don't think he has it in him to actually hurt you, at least, not physically."

Eli opened his mouth, no doubt to press something else just as emotional, but Ar'alani interrupted. "Mitth'raw'nuruodo was not the one to stun you. I reviewed the security holos of the incident. It was Navigator Un'hee."

“Un’hee?” The startled yelp from Eli would have been comical in other circumstances, but the lack of denial was the only confirmation Eli was given. The human smoothed a hand down his face and sighed. "They've gone off on their own, haven't they?"

"Yes." Ar'alani was frowning. "I have questioned Navigator Mi'yaric about the events leading up to this. She believes that Un'hee pressured Mitth'raw'nuruodo. He did not coerce her." Something sharpened in the elder Chiss's expression. "He is very lucky I am inclined to believe that, given her actions towards you, lest he inspire my ire in addition to yours.” She retained eye-contact for another two seconds, just enough to let him know that she’d seen what had happened in the hangar. She knew all that happened aboard her ship. He didn’t flinch away, even though his anger had receded beneath his impassive command facade. Good, the admiral thought. There would be time for his arguably well-deserved fury later. For now, they had work to do.

At that, the Jedi turned his head, looking up to her as Eli swung his legs over the cot, satisfied that he did not feel any of the residual tingling or vertigo associated with being stunned. "Admiral?" The young man asked, wincing at her reproach for her first officer gone rogue.

"I am accustomed to Mitth'raw'nuruodo making a mess of our plans," She said, her heavy gaze sliding to the left to regard him. "Make no mistake," She added, "He is a fool and he will be dealt with." She nodded to Eli. "But we have other matters to attend to. Things have changed."

Before the admiral could ask if he was fit to leave, Ivant was on his feet, steady. He turned to Vah'nya. "Do you have their trajectory?"

"Trackers were disabled on the shuttle."

"And on Thrawn?"

Vah'nya smirked. "I cannot believe you got away with that, but yes. The micro-tracker will work so long as he's in the shuttle. If they meet up with another ship, it will not communicate wirelessly with its interface unless it's the Compass.

Ezra looked horrified. “You think she’d actually take him there? She’s terrified of the Grysks and she wouldn’t want Thrawn to just give himself up to them,” He pressed.

Eli frowned, then looked to Vah’nya. “What do you think?”

The Senior Navigator shrugged, almost imperceptibly as she replied. “I was surprised she volunteered herself.”

Eli shook his head. “I’m not. She’s far braver than she lets on. She just doesn’t realize it.”

“Even so, Navigator Mi’yaric’s recount of their conversation was concerning. When we spoke to Ezra,” Vah’nya added, nodding in the Jedi’s direction. “He indicated that Un’hee was not acting strangely, but in hindsight he was able to recognize her words as suggesting she was preparing to do something incredibly dangerous that she felt ‘only she could do.’ I would hope she does not deviate from the plan, but,” She exhaled softly. “I think it may be a possibility.”

A grim smile coveted Ivant’s features. “If there is one Grysk aboard the Compass, they’ll have a warship nearby. Deviation probably won’t be possible, but...”

Ar’alani regarded Eli with sharp skepticism. “You have a plan?”

He exhaled slowly, the motion of his diaphragm controlled. Ar’alani could see him organizing his thoughts, fitting them together into something more cohesive. “I might.”

A smirk crossed her features, like a predator scenting prey. “That makes two of us,” She mused. “Come. Let us see what opportunity we can make from our comrades’ poor decisions.”

Ezra stood one step behind Admiral Ar’alani and to her right. Commander Faro waited for them at the blast doors that opened up to the bridge. They both seemed strangely calm. He had been instructed to go with the admiral following their impromptu strategy meeting and that he’d know what he’d be needed for. It didn’t take an idiot to know that meant that Ezra would be expected to use the Force in some capacity.

Which was fine, he didn’t mind, but nobody was telling him what was going on. If there was someone who was a danger to the crew, a little warning - or even a direction in which to focus his attention - would be nice. The Force usually gave him a nudge in the right direction, but he was far from all-knowing.

The Chiss were like that. They spoke in these riddles that only made Ezra have more questions, until the very last second when he realized what had been so infuriatingly obvious to them the whole time. Usually Thrawn took a teaching approach, guiding Ezra to make the connections necessary. He noticed that Captain Ivant had done the same for him at least once, as well.

But Ezra didn't dare question Admiral Ar'alani at this point. Her shoulders were tight. He considered Faro. She stood in parade rest, a gentle, moderately disinterested look upon her face that reminded him that she had most definitely been an imperial.

"Which officer," Ar'alani began, not needing to complete her question before Faro was indicating an officer over by one of the weapons consoles. Said officer was tense, well aware of the eyes on him, but Ezra sensed only a flicker of nervousness. He didn't think the officer was guilty of anything besides the lack of enjoyment of all the negative attention he was receiving.

Ar'alani didn't even pause in her sedate walk onto the bridge, continuing down into the crew pit and approaching the officer's station. By the looks of it, Ezra realized he was a lieutenant, and probably a newly promoted one if the way he trembled under the admiral’s gaze was any indication.

The weapons officer straightened to attention, rising hastily from his seat in front of his console. Ar’alani’s eyebrow went up, an action Ezra could only see via her reflection in the gleaming viewport to their left, looking out amongst the stars. She did not say anything, only looked at the officer for a long, inscrutable moment.

“Treason is unbecoming of you,” Ar’alani said, almost gently. There was an undercurrent to her voice, indicative of looming danger. Whatever happened now would ultimately change the tone of this entire encounter. Ezra tensed, waiting in anticipation for when he would be needed. He had no doubt it would be soon.

The entire bridge seemed to be holding its breath, just waiting, waiting for the lieutenant paralyzed under the weight of his admiral's gaze to buckle under the strain, for the admiral to put him in his place, to finish her accusation and have Faro usher him away.

None of that happened, though. Instead, Ar'alani's eyes shifted up toward the command walk, disregarding the terrified officer entirely.

"Mid Commander Tanik," Ar'alani said, sounding almost disinterested.

Tanik was not a large man, of average build for a Chiss. Tall and lean, but not wiry. He swallowed hard, no doubt feeling the strange tension, before his eyes focused and he stood at attention, ready to serve. "Yes, Admiral?"

"I said," She annunciated, turning now to face him directly, "'Treason is unbecoming of you.'"

Ezra saw what was happening in his mind's eye with stark clarity, the Force whispering in his ear, alerting him to the imminent danger about to present itself with seconds to spare. Seconds that allowed him the intervention necessary to reclaim the vial in Tanik's hands, the one he had been about to throw at his admiral hard enough to break and that Ezra caught with an invisible hand. He did not need to see the vial to know what it was.

Still with that unimpressed air to her, Ar’alani retrieved the vial where it hovered in front of her by Ezra’s intervention. No one moved, but Ezra felt the shock of fear, the electricity of it as it coursed through the rest of the bridge crew. They all knew what it was, too.

“Do you know why our enemies carry poison like this, why they kill themselves before they can be detained and questioned?” The crooning tone to her voice gave Ezra gooseflesh, made his hair stand on end a sort of sympathetic terror. Tanik made an abrupt about-face and headed toward the door.

Faro stood in front of him, her face slack and stoic, but her eyes alight with fury akin to her admiral’s. Tanik made to shove past her but she dropped quickly, tripping the Chiss with her lower center of gravity and sending him sprawling onto the durasteel walkway. Her show of strength as she hoisted him back up to his feet, his arms twisted painfully behind his back was impressive.

And yet, Faro whirled him around to face Admiral Ar’alani, forcing him to look up into her ruthless eyes. “Our enemies do not wish for their secrets to escape them,” She said, her voice as cold as the vacuum of space. “Your selfishness will be their undoing.”

“I will not tell you anything,” Tanik said.

“No?” She supposed, and a grim smile curved her lips. “I disagree.”

#thranto #mitth'raw'nuruodo #eli vanto #vah'nya #un'hee #ar'alani #my writing #sw fanfiction #ezra bridger

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