But before he can dwell on it further, the labyrinth shifts again.
The sight of Wakaba Isshiki’s mangled form unsettles him further. Maruki shifts on his feet- his white coat shifting in the otherwise dark abyss. He whispers under his breath, “What is this…? Akechi was responsible for Wakaba Isshiki’s death—but why… why is this happening like this?” If it were regarding the existence of the twins- that would open even further questions. He already knew the Goro Akechi of his own universe had far greater intentions than being a meagre detective prince so-
The monitors flicker—first with the distorted form of Wakaba Isshiki, then the shifting, agonizing image of Goro’s broken body, morphing into something even crueler: a memory twisted into nightmare.
"Don't tell me you think dangling my life before us is going to have any impact on our decision."
The voice echoes across the maze.
His voice carries out into the maze, soft at first, as though he’s hesitant to interrupt. It echoes unnaturally across the labyrinth walls, bouncing back on itself like a distant, spectral whisper. “Corvus-san… please, listen to me.”
The sharp, chaotic crack of Kou’s sword against the wall echoes back to him, reverberating through the maze, but Maruki doesn’t look away. His brows draw together, and his voice sharpens—not with anger, but urgency—as the manifestations escalate.
“I don’t understand what’s happening. This… this isn’t something I created—at least, not intentionally.” He adjusts his glasses with a subtle, almost nervous motion, his hands trembling slightly before settling back down. “Wakaba Isshiki… Akechi… These are pieces of something much larger—far more chaotic than me. I swear to you, I didn’t put these here.”
He rubs his temple in frustration, whispering to himself. “These memories… Wakaba Isshiki. Akechi… why are they twisting like this? Azathoth… is this you?”
And then Azathoth stirs—dark, sly, and ever-present. Its voice slithers through Maruki’s mind like smoke, both indulgent and firm.
“Don’t look away, Takuto. This is what happens when you leave people to their grief. This… this chaos is what they create for themselves.”
Maruki stiffens, staring into the flickering maze. “…It’s because he’s resisting me, isn’t it?”
Azathoth’s voice hums with cold amusement. “Exactly. He fights you like they all did. Kou clings to his pain because he believes it makes him whole, when in truth, it’s ripping him apart. He doesn’t see the gift you’re offering him, does he?”
If I have done this beforehand then...is it all still there? Hidden deep in my memory? Why did I forget it? He rubbed his forehead in frustration. Goro Akechi's death- his affliation to Akira Kurusu for his own world: if he had the power to bend reality he would have done everything in his power to show him his gratitude.
Is...keeping Kou here the wrong choice?
But Kou doesn’t hear him. Or if he does, it doesn’t matter. Maruki watches as Kou’s grief unravels into something primal—despair, guilt, rage. The image on the monitor shifts as Kou stumbles, dragging his sword, his cries tearing through the hollow walls of the maze.
Maruki's finger hovers a bright red button that manifested out of seemingly nowhere- reading the words "STOP PROCESS". -But then what if the Akira of his world was attached to Akechi as Kou is right now."Kou is an independent variable,” he murmurs. “If I need an answer, I need to eliminate possibilities…”
Azathoth purrs, feeding his thoughts with quiet confidence. “Don’t falter now. You’re the only one who can fix him—fix all of them. Kou doesn’t understand the beauty of what you’re trying to do. If you stop here, if you let his screams cloud your resolve, you’ll be abandoning him… just like everyone else did.”
The words sink deep, dredging up the specter of Maruki’s own past failures—of her.
"Ugh," he hunches forward- fingers burying into his hair as he desperately tries to look through the patterns. The pheasants- the doves- everyone so far-
"I hate you! I hate you! I’ll kill— you piece of shit!”
The words hit like a sledgehammer. Maruki’s shoulders slump slightly, his lips parting as if he might speak, but he hesitates. The echoes of Kou’s anguish vibrate through the maze like ripples on water, and for a moment, Maruki can’t help but stare. It’s familiar. That raw, unfiltered grief—it’s a scream he’s heard before.
The faint hum of the monitors fills the void around him. Maruki exhales slowly as he sits up, leaning forward toward the screen as his voice rises again, more focused now, though still unnervingly calm as it drifts through the space.
“Corvus-san...” The words hang in the air, heavy yet gentle, spoken not as an accusation but as a quiet realization. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, his tone even as it echoes unnaturally through the maze. "You miss your brother immensely, don't you?”
His wish--
Maruki pauses, his gaze steady as he studies Kou’s trembling form on the monitor. “It doesn’t have to be this way,” he says, voice weaving through the labyrinth like a quiet current. “I know you’re hurting. I know you’re angry at me—at everything. But this isn’t the answer.”
Azathoth whispers softly into Maruki’s thoughts, feeding the fire of his resolve. “Don’t let his rejection stop you. He’s too deep in his grief to see the truth. That’s why you’re here. That’s why you must save him, even when he fights you.”
The maze warps on the screen, as though reacting to the weight of Kou’s anguish. Maruki narrows his eyes behind his glasses, murmuring under his breath where no one can hear him, “…Azathoth. The chaos. It’s drowning him.”
But aloud, his voice fills the labyrinth again, carrying that same patient, therapist’s calm, despite the unsettling way it reverberates. “You’re not alone in this, Kou-san. You don’t have to carry this pain all by yourself forever. No one deserves to lose a piece of themselves they have always held dear.”
His voice softens further, though he doubts Kou is in any state to hear it. “You hate me. I understand that. Maybe I even deserve it. But you’re not wrong to wish for something else.” He exhales sharply, sitting back in his chair with a grim expression as the echoes of Kou’s voice ricochet across the maze.
To himself, he murmurs softly, as though admitting something dreadful, “…That’s what you wish for most, isn’t it? For him to still be here.”
Maruki rests his chin on steepled fingers, watching Kou closely, the guilt sinking deeper in his chest. He doesn’t know how to reach him—not when the chaos itself seems to latch onto Kou’s anguish, feeding it, amplifying it into something monstrous.
“I’m sorry,” Maruki says again, the words resonating through the maze, though they sound like a whisper. “I truly am.”
Azathoth hums in agreement, almost encouraging. “He thinks he’s strong for resisting you. But what does his strength gain him? Nothing. Emptiness. Loneliness. Is that what he wants? Or is he just afraid to admit he needs you?”
Maruki leans back, steepling his fingers beneath his chin, watching Kou’s broken form stumble deeper into the maze. His voice softens into something almost pleading, though it’s laced with grim determination.
2/?
The sight of Wakaba Isshiki’s mangled form unsettles him further. Maruki shifts on his feet- his white coat shifting in the otherwise dark abyss. He whispers under his breath, “What is this…? Akechi was responsible for Wakaba Isshiki’s death—but why… why is this happening like this?” If it were regarding the existence of the twins- that would open even further questions. He already knew the Goro Akechi of his own universe had far greater intentions than being a meagre detective prince so-
The monitors flicker—first with the distorted form of Wakaba Isshiki, then the shifting, agonizing image of Goro’s broken body, morphing into something even crueler: a memory twisted into nightmare.
The voice echoes across the maze.
His voice carries out into the maze, soft at first, as though he’s hesitant to interrupt. It echoes unnaturally across the labyrinth walls, bouncing back on itself like a distant, spectral whisper. “Corvus-san… please, listen to me.”
The sharp, chaotic crack of Kou’s sword against the wall echoes back to him, reverberating through the maze, but Maruki doesn’t look away. His brows draw together, and his voice sharpens—not with anger, but urgency—as the manifestations escalate.
“I don’t understand what’s happening. This… this isn’t something I created—at least, not intentionally.” He adjusts his glasses with a subtle, almost nervous motion, his hands trembling slightly before settling back down. “Wakaba Isshiki… Akechi… These are pieces of something much larger—far more chaotic than me. I swear to you, I didn’t put these here.”
He rubs his temple in frustration, whispering to himself. “These memories… Wakaba Isshiki. Akechi… why are they twisting like this? Azathoth… is this you?”
“Don’t look away, Takuto. This is what happens when you leave people to their grief. This… this chaos is what they create for themselves.”
Maruki stiffens, staring into the flickering maze. “…It’s because he’s resisting me, isn’t it?”
If I have done this beforehand then...is it all still there? Hidden deep in my memory? Why did I forget it? He rubbed his forehead in frustration. Goro Akechi's death- his affliation to Akira Kurusu for his own world: if he had the power to bend reality he would have done everything in his power to show him his gratitude.
Is...keeping Kou here the wrong choice?
But Kou doesn’t hear him. Or if he does, it doesn’t matter. Maruki watches as Kou’s grief unravels into something primal—despair, guilt, rage. The image on the monitor shifts as Kou stumbles, dragging his sword, his cries tearing through the hollow walls of the maze.
Maruki's finger hovers a bright red button that manifested out of seemingly nowhere- reading the words "STOP PROCESS". -But then what if the Akira of his world was attached to Akechi as Kou is right now."Kou is an independent variable,” he murmurs. “If I need an answer, I need to eliminate possibilities…”
The words sink deep, dredging up the specter of Maruki’s own past failures—of her.
"Ugh," he hunches forward- fingers burying into his hair as he desperately tries to look through the patterns. The pheasants- the doves- everyone so far-
"I hate you! I hate you! I’ll kill— you piece of shit!”
The words hit like a sledgehammer. Maruki’s shoulders slump slightly, his lips parting as if he might speak, but he hesitates. The echoes of Kou’s anguish vibrate through the maze like ripples on water, and for a moment, Maruki can’t help but stare. It’s familiar. That raw, unfiltered grief—it’s a scream he’s heard before.
The faint hum of the monitors fills the void around him. Maruki exhales slowly as he sits up, leaning forward toward the screen as his voice rises again, more focused now, though still unnervingly calm as it drifts through the space.
“Corvus-san...” The words hang in the air, heavy yet gentle, spoken not as an accusation but as a quiet realization. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, his tone even as it echoes unnaturally through the maze. "You miss your brother immensely, don't you?”
His wish--
Maruki pauses, his gaze steady as he studies Kou’s trembling form on the monitor. “It doesn’t have to be this way,” he says, voice weaving through the labyrinth like a quiet current. “I know you’re hurting. I know you’re angry at me—at everything. But this isn’t the answer.”
The maze warps on the screen, as though reacting to the weight of Kou’s anguish. Maruki narrows his eyes behind his glasses, murmuring under his breath where no one can hear him, “…Azathoth. The chaos. It’s drowning him.”
But aloud, his voice fills the labyrinth again, carrying that same patient, therapist’s calm, despite the unsettling way it reverberates. “You’re not alone in this, Kou-san. You don’t have to carry this pain all by yourself forever. No one deserves to lose a piece of themselves they have always held dear.”
His voice softens further, though he doubts Kou is in any state to hear it. “You hate me. I understand that. Maybe I even deserve it. But you’re not wrong to wish for something else.” He exhales sharply, sitting back in his chair with a grim expression as the echoes of Kou’s voice ricochet across the maze.
To himself, he murmurs softly, as though admitting something dreadful, “…That’s what you wish for most, isn’t it? For him to still be here.”
Maruki rests his chin on steepled fingers, watching Kou closely, the guilt sinking deeper in his chest. He doesn’t know how to reach him—not when the chaos itself seems to latch onto Kou’s anguish, feeding it, amplifying it into something monstrous.
“I’m sorry,” Maruki says again, the words resonating through the maze, though they sound like a whisper. “I truly am.”
Maruki leans back, steepling his fingers beneath his chin, watching Kou’s broken form stumble deeper into the maze. His voice softens into something almost pleading, though it’s laced with grim determination.