The gun in Goro’s hand suddenly evaporated—as though reality itself rejected its presence.
The cognitive Goro froze, his eyes widening unnaturally as his neck twitched toward the switch. His expression fractured—panic flashing behind those once-empty eyes. Then something worse:
Confusion.
Azathoth’s gaze—those spiraled golden eyes—surfaced in the cognitive’s expression, flickering behind its distorted face as though the chaos itself were peering through.
How did it get here?
The realization struck too late.
Goro’s body lurched forward with an unnatural jerk. His voice erupted—this time clear, raw, and entirely someone else’s.
“LISTEN TO ME, CORVUS—”
The words came from Maruki distorted into the original voice. A mad volatile mix threatening to tip over and explode.
The cognitive Goro’s face contorted violently, half-melting into something grotesque. Tentacles lashed out from his back, oozing and writhing like open wounds.
“SHUT IT DOWN! SHOOT THE BUTTON! GET OUT OF HERE—!”
The voice distorted into a scream.
The cognitive Goro’s head whipped violently to face Kou—one eye still human, panicked, and the other a hollow spiral.
Meanwhile—
Maruki screamed as Azathoth’s tentacle slammed him into the console with terrifying force. His breath was punched from his lungs as another appendage coiled around his waist, dragging him backward.
“NO!” Maruki roared, thrashing as much as he could, reaching toward the screens. “STOP! KOU, SHOOT IT—GET OUT—!”
Azathoth moved too quickly. A wet, slick sound echoed as another tentacle lashed upward, slamming into Maruki’s face. It curled sharply around his jaw, talons pressing harshly into his cheeks, forcing his mouth shut. Maruki’s muffled screams sputtered as his eyes burned with tears of panic and frustration.
He fought against the tendrils, his arms trembling with futile resistance as Azathoth pinned him against the console.
The screens—his only window to Kou—flickered violently. Static crackled as the image distorted, the labyrinth itself warping, collapsing in on itself like a dying star.
“This is your fault.”
Azathoth’s voice resonated through Maruki’s skull like a drill boring into his mind. The pressure around him intensified.
Maruki’s eyes darted back to the flickering screens, desperately trying to catch a glimpse of Kou before the images vanished. But Azathoth’s tendrils surged upward, snapping against the monitors like whips, and the scene before Kou began to collapse.
“You had one role, Takuto.”
The words rang cold, and Maruki could feel the weight of Azathoth’s disappointment seeping into his bones as the clawed talon hovered dangerously near his heart.
“You are disappointing me.”
And then the screens—Maruki’s last connection—went black.
3/3
The gun in Goro’s hand suddenly evaporated—as though reality itself rejected its presence.
The cognitive Goro froze, his eyes widening unnaturally as his neck twitched toward the switch. His expression fractured—panic flashing behind those once-empty eyes. Then something worse:
Confusion.
Azathoth’s gaze—those spiraled golden eyes—surfaced in the cognitive’s expression, flickering behind its distorted face as though the chaos itself were peering through.
How did it get here?
The realization struck too late.
Goro’s body lurched forward with an unnatural jerk. His voice erupted—this time clear, raw, and entirely someone else’s.
“LISTEN TO ME, CORVUS—”
The words came from Maruki distorted into the original voice. A mad volatile mix threatening to tip over and explode.
The cognitive Goro’s face contorted violently, half-melting into something grotesque. Tentacles lashed out from his back, oozing and writhing like open wounds.
“SHUT IT DOWN! SHOOT THE BUTTON! GET OUT OF HERE—!”
The voice distorted into a scream.
The cognitive Goro’s head whipped violently to face Kou—one eye still human, panicked, and the other a hollow spiral.
Meanwhile—
Maruki screamed as Azathoth’s tentacle slammed him into the console with terrifying force. His breath was punched from his lungs as another appendage coiled around his waist, dragging him backward.
“NO!” Maruki roared, thrashing as much as he could, reaching toward the screens. “STOP! KOU, SHOOT IT—GET OUT—!”
He fought against the tendrils, his arms trembling with futile resistance as Azathoth pinned him against the console.
The screens—his only window to Kou—flickered violently. Static crackled as the image distorted, the labyrinth itself warping, collapsing in on itself like a dying star.
Azathoth’s voice resonated through Maruki’s skull like a drill boring into his mind. The pressure around him intensified.
Maruki’s eyes darted back to the flickering screens, desperately trying to catch a glimpse of Kou before the images vanished. But Azathoth’s tendrils surged upward, snapping against the monitors like whips, and the scene before Kou began to collapse.
The words rang cold, and Maruki could feel the weight of Azathoth’s disappointment seeping into his bones as the clawed talon hovered dangerously near his heart.
And then the screens—Maruki’s last connection—went black.