“Broke Sumire?” Maruki murmured quietly, tilting his head as if considering the accusation. Even from behind the wall of glowing monitors, his calm demeanor was undeterred—though faint traces of something sharper flickered in his gaze. “I did no such thing to her.”
To Kou, that likely meant nothing. It was clear—unmistakably clear—that in Kou’s mind, Maruki had already been cast as the villain of this particular narrative. A shallow interpretation, one steeped in anger, frustration, and fear. Maruki’s lips twitched, the slightest tremor of annoyance threatening to crack his carefully maintained poise. So narrow-minded. Jumping to conclusions without stopping to truly see the bigger picture.
But something else caught his attention—something he didn’t let go unnoticed.
He let out a slow, measured breath, his voice calm but laced with a pointed firmness. “I never claimed to know everything, Corvus-san. And I certainly don’t control what the mirror shows you. Its reflection is your own—it’s your heart staring back at you, whether you’re ready to face it or not.”
It was important to see this, to document it. The maze had a way of exposing raw truths, but Maruki hadn’t anticipated… this.
Kou’s sudden, anguished shout cut through the silence like a blade.
His head whips up when he hears him cry out. "Corvus-san, are you alright?!" he asks and looks at the monitors.
His eyes darted between the screens as Kou staggered backward, the mirror rippling and distorting until—
—until the grotesque figure reappeared.
Maruki froze. The bloody silhouette twisted within the glass, its form writhing. He caught glimpses of it—Kou, Goro, Kou(?) as Goro(?)—collapsing in on itself in flashes of bloodied smiles and broken bodies. The corpse-like visage sneered back at Kou as if mocking him from within his own reflection. What did it all mean?
Maruki’s breath hitched, his hand trembling slightly as he swiped a bead of sweat from his brow. “Azathoth,” he whispered, the name like acid on his tongue. He steadied himself with a shaky exhale, though the tremor in his voice betrayed him. “Why? Why would you make him remember—”
The answer came unbidden, cold and cruel as it whispered in the back of his mind.
“Because he thinks he’s above it all when, in fact, he’s drowning in it.”
“We are not having any of that—!” Maruki’s voice rose sharply as he suddenly swiped his hand through the air.
It dissolved instantly, as though it had been nothing more than a hastily drawn illusion wiped clean by a dismissive hand. Before Kou’s sword could strike it, before his anguish could escalate further, the reflection disappeared, leaving only the hollow groans of the maze surrounding him.
Maruki leaned back into the otherwise void which cushioned him from almost everywhere. Like an actual seat- except he couldn't see it.
he tried to calm the rapid beat of his heart. His voice softened again, the professional calm returning as he addressed Kou.
“Apologies, Corvus-san. That was… a little too much, wasn’t it?”
He let the silence hang just long enough for Kou’s breathing to slow. Then, Maruki leaned forward slightly, his tone shifting to something both gentle and persistent—like a guiding hand placed just between Kou’s shoulders.
“But you’re still standing, aren’t you? That’s what matters.”
He watched the monitors closely, his gaze warm but unwavering, as if trying to encourage Kou through the labyrinth’s pressure.
“Take a moment to breathe, then press on. I promise you, the tape is at the very end and once the unpredictable elements are out of the picture- you will be at peace. I mean it.”
Tw: uhh corpse?
To Kou, that likely meant nothing. It was clear—unmistakably clear—that in Kou’s mind, Maruki had already been cast as the villain of this particular narrative. A shallow interpretation, one steeped in anger, frustration, and fear. Maruki’s lips twitched, the slightest tremor of annoyance threatening to crack his carefully maintained poise. So narrow-minded. Jumping to conclusions without stopping to truly see the bigger picture.
But something else caught his attention—something he didn’t let go unnoticed.
He let out a slow, measured breath, his voice calm but laced with a pointed firmness. “I never claimed to know everything, Corvus-san. And I certainly don’t control what the mirror shows you. Its reflection is your own—it’s your heart staring back at you, whether you’re ready to face it or not.”
It was important to see this, to document it. The maze had a way of exposing raw truths, but Maruki hadn’t anticipated… this.
Kou’s sudden, anguished shout cut through the silence like a blade.
His head whips up when he hears him cry out. "Corvus-san, are you alright?!" he asks and looks at the monitors.
His eyes darted between the screens as Kou staggered backward, the mirror rippling and distorting until—
—until the grotesque figure reappeared.
Maruki froze. The bloody silhouette twisted within the glass, its form writhing. He caught glimpses of it—Kou, Goro, Kou(?) as Goro(?)—collapsing in on itself in flashes of bloodied smiles and broken bodies. The corpse-like visage sneered back at Kou as if mocking him from within his own reflection. What did it all mean?
Maruki’s breath hitched, his hand trembling slightly as he swiped a bead of sweat from his brow. “Azathoth,” he whispered, the name like acid on his tongue. He steadied himself with a shaky exhale, though the tremor in his voice betrayed him. “Why? Why would you make him remember—”
The answer came unbidden, cold and cruel as it whispered in the back of his mind.
“We are not having any of that—!” Maruki’s voice rose sharply as he suddenly swiped his hand through the air.
It dissolved instantly, as though it had been nothing more than a hastily drawn illusion wiped clean by a dismissive hand. Before Kou’s sword could strike it, before his anguish could escalate further, the reflection disappeared, leaving only the hollow groans of the maze surrounding him.
Maruki leaned back into the otherwise void which cushioned him from almost everywhere. Like an actual seat- except he couldn't see it.
he tried to calm the rapid beat of his heart. His voice softened again, the professional calm returning as he addressed Kou.
“Apologies, Corvus-san. That was… a little too much, wasn’t it?”
He let the silence hang just long enough for Kou’s breathing to slow. Then, Maruki leaned forward slightly, his tone shifting to something both gentle and persistent—like a guiding hand placed just between Kou’s shoulders.
“But you’re still standing, aren’t you? That’s what matters.”
He watched the monitors closely, his gaze warm but unwavering, as if trying to encourage Kou through the labyrinth’s pressure.
“Take a moment to breathe, then press on. I promise you, the tape is at the very end and once the unpredictable elements are out of the picture- you will be at peace. I mean it.”