It's still the 29th. I really regretted not getting a full night of sleep before the infiltration. Not exactly sure about the time.

  I woke up, meaning that I wasn't awake. Even when I could barely feel my fingertips, my powers were protecting me from the fires that were wrapping through the little fleshy parts of my hands. All the feelings that you'd expect from losing consciousness were present. Not fun. The most pressing was a burning in my throat. I picked myself up without the acrobatics that I could usually expect. Feeling around found the painting and my bag still attached. Everything important was in order, making me not as worried as I should've been. Maybe the brain damage knocked my senses around more than I could recognize.

  Calling the place a hellscape still may have been giving it too much credit. I've never been in a wildfire or seen actual footage from it. I was unprepared for what being inside an oven felt like. The sky was missing. There was no sky. The lights which had been visible from the rooftop had disappeared, turning into a tunnel of horrid gray smoke that smelled like cancer. It made my head swim worse as I picked myself up. I landed on my back on top of something that must've been burning or burned since I felt the disintegrated remains cling to my costume. I was forced to stand hunched so I didn't bump into the ceiling of gray thorns.

  The still night became a raging dust storm. Rolling clouds around me fought over each other to become the largest. Intermittent bright lights stuck past like lighthouses. It somewhat reminded me of when my parents took me to see the fireworks when I was little, only for a sudden bank of fog to roll into the show midway through. Celebratory explosions became somewhat eerie when the colors rolled over the ridges of the clouds, with only a brief glow rumbling inside its stomach before dissipating into the moody gray. Angry orange bursts of flame would occasionally pierce through the arm's length that I could actually see through. For the most part all of these visual oddities were waylaid by literal burning chunks boxing me in.

  There were only two things that stood on their own merit in this atmosphere: the statues that withstood the flames and those pillars which burned greater than the statues' height. The silhouettes of Madarame and abstract shapes had spires licking around their edges. Trees that hadn't succumbed yet became twirling infernos that spat out cinders into the surroundings. Even the brilliant gold of the palace was subsumed into the lively orange. Thinking about it too much would remind me that there was a blanket like a lit bed of coal making up the floor. Double-checking that the treasure was still strapped on, I started guiding myself out. My powers didn't kick in. I was stumbling like a kid with the wall as my guide.

  I wasn't going to head straight out of the palace. With my head swimming as it was, I didn't trust my senses to properly guide me through what must've been a swamp of fire, slowly dying fires, and the remains of fire. Each cough made my world quake. Guiding myself was a slow process of shuffling ahead hoping that my powers continued protecting against the heat. Surely the courtyard where I started the mess was starting to die down since it was the first to burn. The best case scenario would be that a path of ash would lead me straight through the corridor of flames semi-safely. I was 100% that this whole situation wasn't safe. I was breathing in burned magical chemicals which smelled about the same as sticking my nose down an exhaust pipe. If I didn't come out like yakitori, then I was at least going to have lungs like those people who live within a commute's drive of a volcano.

  I was sweating, tired, coughing, walking more with the wall than with my legs, tasted acid, sore, and felt like vomiting after I already vomited, but I had made it to the courtyard. Very nearly the rapid onset change tricked me into mistaking it. When I released myself from the corner and stumbled onto the path, it took me a few seconds to realize that I made it to my goal.

  Whatever decorations that once were there had scattered to the wind. Shadows were melting like snow cones, laying out in various states of decay around the pathway. The one who was the most cognizant grunted at me pathetically, lifting his arms as if he'd be able to choke me without his legs. There was a puddle of black, the consistency of tar, leaking into the dirt. The glass from the hallway had shattered inwards. What remained of the pool was gone underneath the fire that blew out from the museum. Behind me gigantic black streaks were slowly eating away at the door which caused me so much grief. They ran like waterfalls over the beautiful design, trickling from the sky and poisoning the earth. I couldn't see inside the inner museum because of the smoke.

  The only thing that remained were the same golden trees. They were constants, standing tall despite the bonfires that licked at their feet. Golden streaks still ran across their bark. Around me mired in the gray pellets that wildly whipped around irrespective of the breeze were the golden leaves. I could still see them, clearer than ever, ascend through the clouds and disappear into the sky. Against the orange, against the black, against the blue they still twinkled. I couldn't believe that something so beautiful belonged to such a rotten heart. Transfixed, I was incredulous as they spiraled around me and flew into the pillars of red.

  I was too busy admiring them to dodge the poles that suddenly rose. Around me there were walls of lasers similar to those in the museum. I had a feeling that these were of the deadly variety however. The arcs that were dancing around them looked sharper than the red ones, if that made any sense. Past the noise, his yellow eyes were visible before the rest of him. Gold cloak, gray hair tied up, and confident gait despite kicking aside the flaming remains of his palace. Flanking him was a guard carrying a covered up painting. An arm that was half-melted, still twitching, was kicked into the murk.

  Madarame looked around at the destruction dispassionately. It was annoying seeing how nonchalant he was about the whole thing. I can't say that I had some masochistic pleasure where I wanted the victims to cry and suffer. Still, it would feel nice to throw the big assholes off balance rather than getting to hear them gloat for a few minutes.

  "Despite the detours, I see that you've still fallen into my trap, little mouse. It would've been preferable if you were to go down quietly, but I've come up from greater disasters than this. Imagine all of that effort being wasted on a trap too. Hmph! It's only because of my magnanimous self that I allow you to see the real—" His sentence was cut off as his voice descended into angry, truly angry, angry down to the guttural growls that built up to his next sentence, intervention. "What are you doing!?"

  The branches of the tree had drooped just low enough that my hook was able to catch onto a crook of the branch. I started lifting myself up like a firefighter on a pole, slightly swinging before speaking. "I'm getting out of this. I don't think that these are nice lasers, so yeah. One sec."

  I leapt, landing in front of the two. My knife was in my free hand, ready to stab, as I yanked down the hook. The lasers turned off.

  He was too busy fuming to react. Shadows reacted to emotions the way I guess we all want to deep down. His eyebrows were nearly covering his entire eyelids, mouth pulled all the way back, forehead creased like the Roof of the World. It was just a comical amount of anger for a little slight. To be fair, I guess that I also just burned down his house. And broke in. Also I attacked his pupil, no matter how little he thought about him. Also I guess my plan looked really stupid from the outside which would annoy the person who's the 'infinite tree' or whatever. Maybe it was actually a justifiable amount of anger.

  "So is that the real treasure then?" I asked.

  The transition between humanoid to shadow was generally covered up by an explosion of smoke. The only exception so far was the palace owners. Because I was so near, my vision was distorting seemingly everywhere. The lights reflecting off the floor became like the surface of the sun. Each individual fire started swallowing the ash and plumes, the end of the world playing out in front of me as they rose up and became the pillars which held up the sky. The stars which had been hidden away once again speared through the murk. One, two, many more trumpets ringing as the roaring flames sang louder and louder. Through all this I was given a front row seat to the unburdened transformation.

  His face started bulging. All the features that made a face recognizable ballooned outwards. The parts of his face which weren't growing turned smaller, sucking into a point inside his head as his eyes started looking like that human-looking squeeze toy. Eventually all his features had turned bigger than an elephant's. It was uncanny to the point of horror. I'd never seen anyone imagine body horror so visceral, and I'd like to think it's because people don't like things that disgusting; nobody wanted to make a human whose eyes were spilling out, mouth sagging off its jaw onto the ground. Finally the horror show ended with the characteristic explosion.

  Thankfully the lasers were down or else I would've been pushed into them. I tripped onto my butt, witnessing as the smog had been cleared for a brief second before filling back in. In front of me were four paintings of a mouth, nose, and two eyes floating in the general shape of a face. None of them were coordinated, like a stroke victim's would be. His fluttering eyes had a hard time focusing directly on me, and the mouth kept licking the bushy mustache that formed on its upper lip. I was under no illusion that the appearances amounted to anything. When it attacked, it'd be coordinated.

  The shadow who was carrying the real treasure disappeared alongside it. I assume that it's a rule that the treasure is absorbed when the palace ruler transforms. With a deep breath, I unhooked the painting and threw it into the fire. I'm pretty sure that his transformation made the fires around us even worse. The entrances to both museums were spewing out carpets that were hard to directly look towards. Fires crept back up to the corners of the path, tall enough to nearly reach the branches of the tree. It was hot. It was hot enough to be painful just standing in the center. I brandished my knife and pointed it towards him.

  The taunt was a horrible idea. I should've guessed the second that I realized the portraits weren't synced up with each other and, like I've said before, the first moves are the most important in a fight.

  From one eye came a glowing light that enveloped the mouth.

  From another eye came black paint that spat out in projectiles that I narrowly avoided.

  From the nose came a fireball which almost tore off my head.

  And finally, unbalanced from hastily dodging two attacks, the mouth leapt forwards and bit down on my arm.

  What struck out was how much it hurt. The teeth grinded down. There were nerves underneath getting caught on the specific ridges of my bones and his molars. This wasn't like the fall from the palace or one of Kamoshida's punches. I screamed as my outfit was splain, skin opening up invitingly so he could gnaw on me like a chicken wing. My blood must've tasted horrendous because there were grunts of disgust before long. Little peels skinned off my arm as the clenched teeth slid downwards. I was flung into the air. The pain and oxygen deprivation may have made me woozy, but I knew what would happen if I flew too far.

  Arsene came out and caught me before the flames could envelop me. Already the nose was twitching in preparation—which sounds weird but I swear makes sense if you saw it. It glows a little and the twitching is different from its other twitching and, y'know, it's preparing an attack! Whatever you think, I was proven right when Arsene tossed me to the side. It still hit, yet I landed on solid ground instead of being knocked into the furnace. My butt slammed down into the ground hard enough that I felt something in my back get readjusted. The momentum carried me into a roll until I was skidding on my butt.

  Immediately I pressed myself down onto my back. The mouth descended like a titan, snapping down where my neck would've been. Slobber ran down his teeth and fell onto my face. Each twitch of his muscles was way too visible from where I laid.

  "Don't you understand!?" he yelled, flicking spittle all over me. "I am Madarame! The one who carries Japan's cultural legacy! Compared to me you're a flea! And just like a flea, you'll disappear from history without a grave to remember you by!"

  The mask flew off. I was acting based on my assumption that the mouth couldn't 'see'. It must've been true as it just barely reacted when Arsene appeared at the very front of it, claws discreetly raised. They sliced downwards. The claws ripped straight through the bush of a mustache, the cracked lips, and the surprisingly normal-feeling frame. When the attack was over, I had a second to marvel over the results: no change, except a few stray hairs had been shaved off. I had no time to ponder that as I rolled out away from the chomping teeth, picking myself up and trying to get my bearings.

  An explosion from behind knocked me forwards. My arms raised so I hooked onto the painting instead of falling into the waiting mouth. I was so distracted by my death being so near that I just watched as the black curdled in the back of its throat, bubbling up slowly. His tongue writhing against his lips made droplets of it splash against my chest.

  It finally shot out like a geyser. I was pushed back into the center of the courtyard, stumbling around like the ground had frozen over, reminding me of the singular time I tried ice skating. I finally slipped onto my back when a puddle caught underneath my sole. The fall was agonizing, more so than the one from the rooftop. I imagined that it was because my body was finally protesting against all the abuse that it was suffering. I tried brushing it off as I slowly picked myself up, wary as my arm kept slipping on my own knee. The black gunk had coated me head to toe. It was moist. It was sloughing off in chunks. The only good of it came because its strange oily texture was already cleaning itself free from me.

  The purple aura surrounding me nearly distracted from the arcs of lightning that were sparking around the nose hairs. I leapt to the side as branches of searing light leapt like a slinky on the ground. The black stuff on my shoes made me slide as the mouth once again tried decapitating me, teeth clenching shut with the same sound a car crash made. Before I could even pull off my mask, the mouth flew forwards and smashed into my hand. It pressed against my face painfully, letting me hear the individual knuckles that cracked from impact. The last of the black stuff was rubbed off as I was sent like a hockey puck backwards.

  I coughed on the ground. Red mixed in with the black. My left hand was refusing to put up with my weight so I had to make do with my right. Madarame had started laughing at me. It made sense. My hair was matted down by sweat and black junk while blood was dribbling down my chin. I could barely stagger up to my feet. There was swelling somewhere around my hips.

  The downtime made me recognize that I had a new power for a reason. Pinching my thigh gave me a sharp bit of pain—enough. I needed to make myself acknowledge that there's a world I can control. Finally my invisible hands started extending past my body. They swirled around the globes that were in front of me and recoiled.

  It's the same sort of feeling that I got from the twins. Incomprehensible parts laid in front of me, as though I were seeing high-tech military bases scattered around a barren planet, storms laying over entire swathes of the landmass that made it literally incomprehensible for me to see even if I could understand the globes. It was also large. We're not talking inhumanly large to the point of the twins as much as a largeness that clearly communicated that this thing was beyond my weight class.

  I regretted having the sixth sense at that point. Seeing myself underneath a comet's shadow made me freeze up, probably having some kind of obvious terror considering that Madarame started laughing louder. Fear, like I'd never felt before, made me tremble. It's unnerving, seeing your life clearly, unambiguously being threatened. That's what Madarame was, something that Kamoshida didn't inspire in me because I didn't know his damn power level.

  But finally came the emotion, what was lost in the agony of indecision, guilt, in the little mistakes and the big ones, which I could only feel when looking up towards the bastard who was gleefully laughing at my impending death, the same position where dozens of people had been because they dared to be underneath the heel of his monster. I wanted to spit in his face, both the real one and the fake one. The pain echoing through my body stopped mattering nearly as much as reciprocating. The globe was allowed to dissipate, becoming that ambient pressure that reminded me this thing was terrifyingly powerful. Who the hell cared? Kamoshida had been a fluke. This was planned from the bottom up. That meant I should have a better chance. All my attacks glancing off was ignored as my knife pressed against my mask like a crowbar.

  Pixie looked uncharacteristically concerned when she was summoned, healing me quickly before fading away. What disturbed me was that the healing which had made me ready for school the next day didn't get rid of the aches that were pulsating across my body. Instead of the desperate sprint away from the Reaper, I felt like the crash came immediately. My hands were fishing for something to latch onto and vision occasionally blurring into broad strokes of orange.

  I started running. A gust of wind came from the nose, easily passing my left as I swerved. The eyes once again summoned those red and purple auras which were probably bad. The mouth flung forwards. A pattern! Each of the paintings had their individual roles. They were different! My old reliable method worked on autopilot as the waiting teeth got close enough. The smell of mint washed over me as my face neared the pearly whites. At the last second I leapt, catching onto the frame before leaping once again. Arsene's wings spread wide as he manifested behind me, a black bullet that sped ahead towards the nose. His claws tore a chunk out of the ugly mound sticking out, making the piece thrash in pain.

  The distraction allowed me to easily grapple onto its sides. With only a slight rebound upwards, the painting fell down alongside me. I held onto it, landing on the ground running. It pushed against my chest harshly. Each breath made the skin swell against me as it was Pinocchio. Arsene's black claws overlaid on my hands, indenting into the skin where they were tightly grasping. We flung him into the wall of fire.

  It was only because I clumsily slipped back onto my butt that I didn't immediately die. My neck tingled as the teeth wrapped around empty air above me. Painfully, I forced myself to roll backwards. I never did that outside of the Metaverse. I'm not sure how you're supposed to do it from a sitting position. But I rolled onto my back and flipped my legs over. The mouth flung forwards again, denting the ground. I responded by summoning Arsene once again.

  Now, and anybody is free to correct me, I'm pretty sure that this is the first time that I noticed there were weaknesses and strengths against different elements. Before I was freely throwing around physical attacks and the curse magic that Arsene had without much thought. It was only when I was faced with the culmination of it that I realized all these spells weren't just cosmetically different. There was a gap between us but not enough that I was convinced my attacks were literally doing no damage. The theory was tested by another attack driving forth, the ball of shadows that I so rarely used, and was rewarded when the teeth chattered in pain.

  I felt the battle tilting back over. Not wasting a second, I aimed towards the last two portraits who were doing something. They floated far above the others, far above my knife's reach. Arsene came out once again, snapping his fingers to create another black projectile.

  The eye I was aiming for leaned to the side. A black meteor flew into the clouds uselessly.

  Before I could lament the loss, the other eye started twitching. A grinding sound came out like—remember those stone slides that I mentioned before? Cardboard against rock has a particular sound. It was similar, loud and harsh that it immediately got my attention. The nose was dragged along the ground face-up, charred black all the way through. It slowly rose. The floating seemed to give out every now and then, but eventually it resumed its rightful place below the eyes.

  I just watched. The knife felt like it was slipping out from my grip.

  "That's not fair!" I screamed.

  Instead of biting me, obviously annoyed at how many times I narrowly avoided it, the mouth swung like a baseball bat. I was sent in the outfield, limbs flailing without thought as I waited to skid. The ground hit my shoulder first. The Metaverse must've had a sense of humor because I bounced way higher than any human should, getting enough time to spin around and land on my other shoulder. Another wave of black gunk flew across the courtyard and pushed me further until I needed Arsene to grab the back of my collar so I didn't get burned. The final finish was another aura of purple surrounding me.

  Feeling like hell yet knowing that it could get worse, I slowly propped myself up on my elbows. The paintings were zipping over my carcass. Crows, the lot of them. They circled around me in preparation to finish the job. I barely staggered onto my feet before they descended.

  Black tears leaked out from both of the eyes. They dripped onto the floor, making it even more slippery. At the same time came a bolt of lightning trailing around the nose. I could see the mouth's uvula clearly visible. Something would hit me. The mouth was poised to clamp onto me if I dodged while the lightning forming above me was directed to where I was standing. Really, it wasn't a choice. In that split second I staggered forwards, barely able to stop myself from face planting.

  The teeth that tore into my shoulder seemed to sink even deeper than in my arm. Whatever pain that could've struck would've been a million times worse if it weren't for the little present that had landed on its tongue, making a confused grunt leak through its teeth. It was so bright that I could see the seams between its teeth lighting up like a jack o' lantern. It thrashed around. I was like a dog toy. I may have blacked out.

  Little spots drifted around before coming back into a whole. Orange fireflies, combining together until I could feel the uncomfortable heat at my feet. The eyes were glaring at me. Something slick was working down my legs. Blood stained the golden path. From the nose came flecks of frost that were coalescing into a gigantic snowball. My knife was somewhere. The rope from my grappling hook was on the floor. Above was the mouth, smashing itself down on the floor as the fireworks were somehow still going off.

  It's only because of Arsene summoning himself to drag my sorry ass off the floor that the attack skidded off towards nothing.

  "Get a hold of yourself! You're not carrying yourself as a proper thief should!"

  Honestly, I didn't retort because I couldn't. The attack knocked something loose inside me. There was a general feeling of dread that I couldn't place. It was probably my body saying frankly, "you're going to die."

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  Pixie replaced Arsene. The healing was definitely not working as well. My mind cleared, yet this time the blood was still coating the back of my mouth. It combined horribly with the smell of acid. I kept coughing, unable to keep myself together as I looked down. More black. I'd rammed into buckets that were full of the stuff.

  Slow realization dawned on me. Across the entire field were more buckets of the black stuff—black paint. Stains of it were all across the field from where it had been vomited on me. I connected the dots. Whatever it did, Madarame really wanted it to be constantly on me. As the mouth slowly picked itself up, I finally put a name to the black saliva that was trailing down the corners of its lips.

  My hands groped where I'd been bitten. There was still a crater there. Combined with the black stuff that was being splattered on it, I already knew that the doctor (I'd forgotten her name) was going to be pissed.

  The heft of the flashlight replaced the knife. In my other hand balanced the only bucket that I hadn't knocked over. Instead of waiting for the paintings to surround me again, I ran forwards to meet them halfway. The mouth flew ahead, turned sideways so it could swallow me whole. It was a good plan anyways considering that I couldn't jump high enough to leap off its portrait again, at least in my condition. The tilt made it way easier to just sidestep around it however. The compromising position let me see straight up into the nose where a whirlpool of flame was already starting to be formed. Throwing the bucket first created a wall that blocked their vision. I ripped off my mask to summon Arsene.

  Spinning to the side made the blind blast of fire hit nothing. Arsene flew upwards to grapple with the nose. Both of the eyes were staring down in alarm as their compatriot was being manhandled again. It was exactly where I wanted them to be staring. Keeping my hands steady, I let the shotgun of light blast. The eyes both clenched shut, bulging further from their portraits.

  I could hear the mouth behind me blindly chomping around like Pacman. Even if it was blind, each chomp brought him nearer to me. Every so often its tongue would stick out and swing around before it continued mowing the lawn. Tasting the air? Either way, my plan was mostly carried out. Another set of firecrackers were thrown into the mouth as I leapt up onto the nose's portrait. It literally bounced like a trampoline as I was given an even line with the shuddering eyes. One was mine, the other Arsene's. These proved much more receptive to my attacks and were left behind in tatters with a few quick slices. My knees wound inwards and shot down. The Smash-like attack sent the nose's portrait hurtling alongside me, wedged between the ground and my shoes.

  I trembled with anticipation, the portrait struggling as each individual nose hair twitched like a mouse's tail. Kicking it up like a skateboard brought it into my hands. Spinning around felt good, powerful. Depositing it into the fires again was immensely satisfying.

  Behind me, the final portrait was doing damage control. Instead of eating the explosion, the mouth vomited the black stuff alongside the fireworks. Their fuse was dampened by the paint. Undeterred, I recalled Arsene and brought out Pixie to finish the job with a few shots of fire and a healthy dose of the paint. It was way more than a few shots, as I could feel the strange drain leaving me way more tired than before after smattering its entire portrait with a barrage, but eventually the mouth wilted to the floor.

  And that was that. The eyes were rapidly glancing around while the half-free portrait of the mouth had its tongue hanging off its lips. I allowed myself to collapse against the ground, trying to get my breath in order. Soothing words came from my personas. The heat of the place seemed to get that much worse when my muscles relaxed. The pain doubled. My various aches ached.

  More black started leaking out of the portraits. I groaned, staggering up to my feet as it started to gush like a geyser. This was a different black stuff than the black paint. See, that's the problem. Everything in the Metaverse was either black or red. So I have to specify that the black stuff that was leaking from them was a more metaphysical, flowy kind of black that shadows generally were associated with than the slick black paint that had been thrown around (which, now that I'm thinking about it, doesn't have any of the characteristics of actual paint), still coating half the arena. Adrenaline thankfully started coursing through my system as the black stuff started congealing into the normal shadow. He didn't seem repentant as Kamoshida had when I beat him.

  That's because he wasn't beaten. Madarame was back, glaring at me with his hands raised.

  "Fool! Dirty peasant who's attempted to dismantle my beauteous life! I said to myself when I learned about my sanctum being trespassed that you'd rue the day when I found you! Come and witness my creation! My unmatched masterpiece!"

  More bursts of black fanned out at his sides. Four doppelgangers stood, each with a different colored robe. They were about as obvious as could be. The red one had fire around him, yellow electricity, you get the idea. Testing their souls at least confirmed they were weaker individually and much weaker than the portraits, yet that's a cold comfort when each has his own ocular ability. Blinding a single one wouldn't cripple them all. Fiddling with the knife between my hands brought me back into the combat mindset. Yep, I nearly died during phase one. Only spite kept me from ignoring that either this was the halfway point or this was the final stand part of the fight.

  Adrenaline didn't cover the fact that I had two open wounds. I knew that I had to finish the fight quickly. There was a very clear power discrepancy that I only evened out through using the fire. I had a loose plan. The problem really was actually carrying it out.

  I reacted before any Madarame started raising their hands. Again, the paint buckets were everywhere. The group of them seemed alarmed that I noticed them and were working to cut off my path instead of taking me down. It was a little strange considering that my run was more of a hobble than a genuine sprint, but I was grateful that some kind of opportunity existed. Pillars of ice and lightning bolts struck between me and the buckets, giving me the perfect opportunity as the scattered debris gave me very brief cover. The second to last of my fireworks was thrown at the group, making them back away warily like the old men they were.

  Grabbing the buckets made little splotches of the strange material dribble down onto my feet. Arsene appeared next to me, healthy enough to grab four in each arm. The old men covered their heads in fear as black tidal waves splashed around the clearing. Each of them slowly peeked behind their arms to realize that I had completely missed them, creating a black moat instead. We were already headed to the next buckets, Arsene flying closely behind me. Whatever spells were forming were ruined as they shielded themselves from the blinding flashlight, those not prepared screaming as their eyes were seared. Another set of buckets were tossed haphazardly, more focused on actually expelling their contents rather than maintaining any degree of accuracy.

  Another set of buckets would completely create a sea of black around the men. I didn't have time. Already I'd used all the tricks up my sleeves, and I was more focused on keeping myself alive than perfection. Limping on a battlefield was comical in the dark sort of way and I didn't like being the butt of a joke.

  I'm pretty sure that even as I stood there with my plan fulfilled, the old men didn't realize what situation they were in. It must've looked like a moat separating me from engaging rather than a trap. Disregarding their eyes, none of them looked away this time when I shined the flashlight at them. They probably didn't think that it mattered when walls of elements sped towards me. Lightning streaked towards where I was standing while golf ball-sized hail smashed down onto the ground. A stream of fire swung around like a sword while a strong gust pushed against everything. Dredging up the last of my energy, I pushed ahead the last bit of distance.

  All of their visions were clearing up when I was finally getting near. Five different sets of eyes locked with mine as I dashed as gracefully as I could (not that well) across the slippery surface. Hands crackled with power. I'm going to be honest and say that I was resigned to my fate. If they hit me then I died as a convict whose body would never be found. If I won then Madarame was finished. Either way, I was certain this was the final encounter.

  The colorful Madarames were surrounding the original. It's only when the final firecracker was sparking in my hand that they seemed to understand the situation they were in. The ice and fire Madarames tried escaping, slipping down onto their backs when running. The others squatted down in preparation to fire their spells. It was like looking down the barrel of a loaded gun seeing the lightning that was arcing off the yellow one. The only difference was that he didn't understand that I had a loaded gun too when pulling off my mask, Arsene forming with his bladed foot raised. He kicked, making the man fall face first into the muck.

  The firecracker flew towards the green-robed Madarame. Either shoot at me or run away—both were bad. He chose to try to fire his spell at me, wind scattering the golden flecks when the fireworks blew up in his face. Lowering my head and gritting my teeth thankfully let me keep my position. It hurt, but the satisfaction of pushing them acted as an okay painkiller.

  The final Madarame had edged to the corner of their little island of safety. He grinned at me, nervous, purple orbs in the palms of his hands. If they were deadly at all then he would've been attacking the entire fight. Still, I wasn't playing around at the very end. The mask flung off, Bicorn forming with his legs already raised. The buck that would cave in a normal person's face made him fly like a shot put. He landed heavily, skidding on the slick floor that I had worked so hard to coat. The realization must've not hit him until the heat started getting unbearable. To the very edge of our little ridge of safety he was carried. Just when he was about to sigh in relief, a shot from Arsene carried him the last bit of distance.

  He was delivered into the oven. I'd done it. The various Madarame clones tried saving him. Each of them failed, tripping and falling onto their faces and then pathetically scrambling to try fishing him out. Walking over was just as hard for me. Each step had to be taken carefully, then the next planned out. One had fallen into the fire by the time that I'd arrived. All I could see of his body were his legs that were flailing around.

  One by one, the clones started fading. They turned transparent, screaming, before fully leaving reality. The golden leaves swirled around one last time before settling onto the ground. The fires rose, then receded. Skyscrapers of ribbons reached towards heaven before turning into charred ground. There were a few pockets of sputtering fire in the far distance, but suddenly the whole palace had turned clear. It reminded me of those pictures of China before and after industrialization except backwards. I could breathe again. I could see the stars.

  And, damn it, I was in the shitcan in terms of pain! It was worse than the Reaper and worse than what awakened my Persona because unlike both of those, shock was allowed to set in. I'm not talking about the shock where you're like, "oh my!" but the shock where you stop feeling things! I was brought to my knees as my body recognized that we were in relative safety. It was like the night's cool breeze was the key that unlocked all the nastiness that the adrenaline had been hiding away. I actually made a sound like I was being shocked in an electric chair, clutching my heart as it felt like a lance was being driven diagonally through my torso.

  Pixie helped. After using the rest of my juice, I was able to stand. I was pretty close to just keeling over there, I'm pretty sure. And even after dumping all the healing there was still a stupid indent in my shoulder! Sure, it wasn't bleeding, but it was literally driven down to the point where my fingers could wiggle in there! I didn't look too closely because I didn't actually want to know what 'to the bone' looked like.

  Instead I went over to Madarame. He was sobbing, clutching the painting that had given me so much grief. I grabbed one end of it and yanked. He held onto the other and clutched tight.

  "Get," I grunted, putting my foot against his crotch for leverage, "off!"

  I fell with it in hand. After a few moments of my sight swirling I stood back up, glaring at the sobbing body.

  "What was so wrong with what I did? Everybody cheats! Everybody steals! Everybody does these things despite not knowing what it's like to be poor. Everybody admires my facade for living in poverty despite never having known poverty. It's because they know! Without ever being poor they know the indignity, the torture of living like I was! Yet they have the gall to laugh at any little misstep, thinking that they're so high and mighty when half of them were born with a silver spoon in their mouths! I never wanted to return to that life! Don't you understand?"

  There were no more golden leaves. The trees had shriveled into black husks, collapsing under their own weight. Charred remains showered around us as the branches started turning into ashy snow.

  "I do," I said. "I understand. But you can't cheat like that. You can't steal to the point where you're ruining other people's lives. Because then you've lost the ability to be sympathetic. You're now a predator, and like any predator, you're open to being predated too. Er, that's a word, right? Anyways, you have to understand that at some point it's gone past reason and turned into plain greed. You understood that yet you continued anyways. That's the problem."

  He sniffed, looking up straight at the sky.

  "Am I truly irredeemable?"

  I scratched my cheek, feeling a little put on the spot. I guess that the whole thing with Kamoshida being motivated by rage was different than when I was doing it for a job. It was like my words had a little more weight, you know?

  "Um, I don't know. Ask your victims. And other people. Go ask them if you're irredeemable and listen instead of being the jerk that you are. Apologize. Be better. Um, yeah."

  That was good enough that he started fading, turning into white particles that started floating into the air. I didn't stick around to see the process finish. With how slow that I stumbled out, the palace would've fallen out with me still in it.

  It's only because of my experimentation that I noticed something. The sixth sense wasn't automatic. I was consciously using them to make sure that cops or shadows weren't blocking my way. They swam outwards, fingering the ridges of the buildings. Thankfully my powers hadn't abandoned me despite the pain. Maybe I'm being melodramatic on how horrible it was? All that I know is that when the chips were down, my knife reached up to calculate the exact path of the bullet. Instead of chunking into my chest, I was knocked backwards and sliding on my own trap. The knife pressed against my skin. Somewhere on the path was the steaming lead. I was stunned, more from the attack than the pain. There was pain too. There was also rumbling. The palace started collapsing.

  I could feel the signature quickly retreat across the rooftop as I flung towards the indoors of the outer museum. A smear of black paint tracked where I went. I stood up. The rumbling was getting worse. Heaven was falling, long cracks working down from the tower that had pretentiously jutted into the sky, from the crown of its head to its base. I could hear the shuddering. I could hear the earthquake. My body protested but I couldn't be caught in the palace collapsing. So I stumbled ahead with little care for how much it hurt. I can't even tell you what exactly hurt or what was happening with the little glances that I threw back behind me. The garden was reduced to a crunchy matte black. I can't tell you how I threw my grappling hook up and managed to roll onto the top of the wall.

  Nothing that I did during this time was graceful. Nothing I did was planned, really. Because half of my attention was based on fearfully glancing for the crazed gunman that had nearly assassinated me, another half trying to fight past the crippling pain. What I mean is that my escape plan transitioned into simply rolling off from the wall.

  The pain from landing on the concrete blinded me. I patted my waist. Yes, the painting was still tied around my back with the grappling hook. I'd done that. A lot of the specifics during this come up blank.

  It's why there were so many short-term mistakes that were paying dividends. I rolled off and made the pain worse. I staggered up too fast and had to stand still to get my bearings. I was milling around as if there wasn't anyone in the area. The bright lights made me instinctively block my eyes, the ridges of my arm the only visible thing. Initially I was unsure of what was happening. The voice that came through the loudspeaker made it abundantly clear.

  "Put your hands up! Put your hands up!"

  Here was the idiot with the painting who was lowering his arm, confused, glaring straight into the only eyes that he could see. It kicked in. And when it kicked in, I moved by instinct again. The car that was nearest put cover between me and the vehicle. People were shouting. I sprinted across the rest of the street. They couldn't follow me across dimensions. I just needed a moment. The illusion of magic was already broken. Disappearing into Mementos would save me.

  That's what carried me ahead into the alleyway as I heard engines converging towards me. Labored breaths caught in my mask. Ahead, a single obstacle. It barely registered. The sharp jaw, the wide shoulders. How he stood at a height greater than mine. That he was a human being, and I couldn't blame stupid magic for the splatter of blood that squirted onto the walls. It's all me. It's only me. He was unsteady. I pushed past him. He fell to the ground. I didn't look back. The stench of blood was more pungent than the sweat gathering behind my mask.

  The world faded back into normalcy. I could hear more shouts behind me as I jabbed down on 'BEGIN NAVIGATION'. The world washed out. There was no more paint and sweat. No blood staining my knife. Still the pain. And because of this, I was hobbling across the faded city. The victorious feeling they described after men came home from a battle was getting smothered by all the bad things I had to do during the heist. Not guilt or regret, something close to those. I didn't feel like going home and I didn't feel like continuing to interact with the Metaverse. I'm not sure what I felt. Only people who got really emotional understood that feeling where you didn't want to be smart, where you wanted to lay down and hope that your brain can sort itself out.

  I wanted to be stupid, just like when I publicly tried to find my next target. So instead of arriving back home at a reasonable time, I waddled towards a part of town I wasn't too familiar with. I'd exit the Metaverse and check an alleyway. Tokyo really is a marvel. Everything is lit. Everything feels safe. Even the places where I couldn't see light there'd be a light blue bathing the crummy brickwork. It continued until I found the perfect place where the piece of garbage could lay with the pieces of garbage until his brain worked out a solution about how I could justify myself as not a piece of garbage.

  I wanted a drink but didn't want to get up. Sitting down made me feel fixed to the floor. I didn't feel the motivation to move. I imagined the way that the knife tore through that guy: easier than a shadow, harder than the air. Like cutting through jello. I made the motion and laughed. Laughing hurt. I'm pretty sure that the laughter was more of incredulousness, that I'd done it, that the no-good criminal who was getting harassed by the school managed to steal a second heart, a real Sun Wukong fighting against people he shouldn't be fighting, a criminal who wasn't a criminal doing his first acts of real crime. Then I became worried again that the cops saw me and would be at Leblanc waiting for me. Then I laughed again. Then I laughed even harder because I was a single day off from accomplishing the deadline. Did it count since I sent the calling card in the middle of the night? I really wanted to count it.

  My brain worked itself out. I still felt bad that I hurt people, but I had done it. The little idiot boy managed to steal another heart with a plan that he himself made. The first heart wasn't just dumb luck.

  From the mouth of the alleyway came a person. Even if it was a copper, I felt too tired to press down on my phone. I looked up at the gruff face that stared down at me. Maybe there was a bit of resiliency left over because I felt like I could take him. Nevermind that I'd be tottering around like a newborn if I tried standing up.

  He looked towards the painting then back towards me. He walked off. He came back a bit later, water bottle in hand. I drank it. I looked up to my savior, leaning against the wall opposite to me. I didn't want to assume that he was bad, so I let my head fall down.

  It must've looked dire, because he spoke up.

  "Is there anyone I need to call?" he asked. His voice was both more gritty and less gritty than I expected.

  I laughed again.

  "No. I just," I barely had the energy to meet his eyes, "I'm fine. I've," I looked down again, "done something huge. Didn't want to go home just yet. Felt like I needed some kind of privacy but there's no privacy in these huge damn cities, huh?"

  "When you've lived here for a while, you tend to make your own privacy. Not that it matters. Anyone with a family will hardly have their own peace," he said.

  I made a noise that could be interpreted as agreement or disagreement depending on what you felt like. Pushing myself against the painting proved that it was a pretty good crutch.

  "Sure, I guess. Thanks for the water and keeping me company. Guess it's kind of stupid hanging around dark alleyways when I feel like I'm about to collapse."

  As proof, I clearly struggled with getting myself to an acceptable height where my legs worked to keep myself steady. The way that he was staring probably meant he was unsure if I could be trusted to get myself home alright. It's the little things that let us see how another person's personality works. How he clearly did this good thing yet remained unmoved.

  "Be sure to look out for yourself better," he grunted. There was something in his mouth, barely caught as it adjusted to the other side. Couldn't be a cigarette. At least, it didn't feel like it was a cigarette.

  "Sure. Thanks again."

  Normally this would be the part where I'd say that I went straight back home looking like a WW2 veteran. However, remember that I had a gigantic treasure that I was using as a crutch. I didn't know about the painting but I assumed that it probably had greater significance than the statues that I stole, and that meant greater recognizability when they had just gotten a profile about the sole Phantom Thief. I immediately went to Mementos and slowly trawled towards the subway where I stored the previous one.

  It was a horrifically long process to stupid Mementos. At the bottom, I looked around for the portraits I stole from Madarame's shack, where I was going to stack the treasure as a final spit in his face. Blue door, twin smirking at me, and all the same oddities of the Metaverse were there. Nothing else.

  They were gone.