The Bonds that Shape the Universe Again (A Persona/Batman Adventure)

Part 10: Escape

[X]Gust: You will blow them away with the winds from the Heavens.
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Everything on your back screamed with pain. The searing heat of open wounds mingled with the sickly slick of blood, and something else—wax, maybe, or something more sinister—stuck to your skin. It clung to you, but the pain wasn't the worst of it. No, the worst was the weight of the wings. You could feel them, heavy and unnatural, twitching at the base of your spine. They were alive, moving of their own accord as though they were part of you now.

Before you, two men stood frozen, terror radiating from their masked faces. You could see the fear in the way their bodies tensed, the way they shifted as if ready to flee. But they didn't. They were cornered, their trembling hands betraying their facade of control.

Cowards.

And then, you felt it. A subtle shifting, the wings moving. You weren't alone in your mind anymore. Icarus's voice slipped into your thoughts, calm and clear, but there was something insidious beneath his tone. Something tempting.

"What do you want to do with them?" His voice coiled around your consciousness like a serpent. "No… you want to hurt them… you want to kill them for what they've done to you. I would."

Your heart pounded in your chest, rage bubbling beneath the surface. He was right. They deserved it. After what they had done to you, after the agony they had inflicted, it would be so easy to crush them. To snap them in two like broken dolls. The wings twitched again, eager, feeding off your anger, your pain.

But you stopped, clenching your fists as your teeth ground together. No. No, I won't kill them. The thought cut through the fog of violence, anchoring you. You weren't like them. You wouldn't become like them. "But I won't leave them in any position to attack us again," you muttered, your voice low but resolute.

There was a soft, almost mocking laugh from Icarus, echoing in your mind. "Really? Restraint, is it? How do you plan to do that?" His tone was dripping with amusement. You could feel the wings pulsating with power, ready to lash out. He was testing you, waiting for you to give in. The temptation to simply end it all, to embrace the strength coursing through your veins and unleash it on those who had wronged you, was nearly overwhelming.

But you wouldn't. You couldn't. Not if you wanted to hold on to the part of yourself that still believed in something better. Justice, not vengeance. They needed to face justice, whatever that might be. And that meant leaving them alive.

You have to be better than this.

"Yes, I do," you whispered, more to yourself than to Icarus. You felt the wings respond, but this time, they moved under your control. Slowly, deliberately, you planted your feet on the cold stone floor, your muscles tensing as you prepared.

Then, you let out a growl, low and menacing, the sound rumbling from deep in your chest. "Lay down. PERSONA!"

It was like releasing a storm. The wings flared wide, and with a single beat, the air around you exploded into motion. The force of the wind was like a hurricane, a violent, unstoppable gust that blasted the two men across the room as if they weighed nothing. They crashed into the wall with bone-rattling force, their bodies slamming into the door so hard it shattered on impact, splinters raining down as the door frame buckled.

The room fell into silence, save for the ragged sound of your breathing. The two men lay crumpled on the floor, groaning, their masks cracked, but they were alive. Barely.

Icarus's voice was quiet now, almost impressed. "So… this is mercy?"

You didn't answer him. You didn't need to. You straightened, the weight of the wings settling again, your hands trembling from the exertion. They would live, but you had made sure they wouldn't forget. And in the end, that was enough.

You turned away from their broken forms, the echoes of your own power still lingering in the air. Justice, you reminded yourself. Not mercy.

You hurried over to John, your boots echoing off the cold stone floor as the remnants of your wings dissipated, the sensation of their weight lifting from your body. John was trembling, his wide eyes a mixture of awe and terror. The flickering shadows on the wall cast your figure into something monstrous, though the wings were now gone.

"John, are you okay?" you asked, your voice steady, though inside, you still reeled from the power that had coursed through you.

John could barely form a response. His lips quivered as he slowly nodded, his throat bobbing with a heavy gulp. "What the heck was that?" he whispered, his voice a broken tremor of disbelief.

*Persona*. The word echoed in your mind, clear and cryptic, spoken by Icarus as though it were both a command and a revelation. You felt his presence, lingering, watching. But there was no time to dwell on it.

"Come on," you said gently, moving closer to John. You helped him to his feet, slinging his arm over your shoulder to support his weight. His body felt frail against you, like he might shatter with any sudden movement. Together, you walked past the two guards who had tormented you, their crumpled forms still lying unconscious in the debris you'd left behind.

"How… how did you do that?" John's voice was weak, but the fear had not left it. His steps were shaky, but he kept moving, trusting you to guide him out.

"I don't know," you answered honestly. You didn't fully understand what had just happened either—the wings, the power, the voice of Icarus. It had all come so suddenly, and now, in the aftermath, it felt as though something inside you had shifted forever. But John needed reassurance, and so did you. There wasn't time to unravel the mysteries here, not yet.

The basement door was unlocked, and the way to freedom was almost too easy. You pushed it open and stepped into the damp, cold air. The oppressive staleness of the basement was gone, replaced by the polluted night air of Gotham. Despite the grime and the distant wail of sirens, it felt like freedom.

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The police didn't believe your story at first. They never did in Gotham. They saw too many people desperate to escape the shadows. But when they saw the wounds—the blood, the torn flesh, the bruises that painted both your bodies—something changed in their expressions. Their skepticism faded, replaced with a sharp edge of concern. They began calling for medics, their hands moving faster over their radios.

But it was then, in the haze of flashing lights and the confusion of the crowd, that someone new emerged from the chaos.

At first, they were just a figure on the periphery, standing near one of the patrol cars. But as you locked eyes with them, you realized there was something different about them.

There were two… but only one came forward to speak.

Who speaks to you and John?:

[]Detective Jim Gordon: He was…strange, kindly even, with thick glasses on his head and his smile was only a little bit. His mind was focused elsewhere. "Sorry, my name is Detective Jim Gordon."

[]Detective Harvey Bullock: He was a hard-nosed detective like in the movies, with a trench coat and his breath smelled of something rancid. He looked at his partner and almost wished he hadn't walked forward. "Fine, I'll do this, since you seem to have your head in the Wayne Mystery." He seemed to be elsewhere.

AN: Enjoy.