It's like nothing he's experienced before, or even seen: a Shadow flying apart and swallowing someone. He can't see, or hear anything besides his own breathing, and every time he inhales he takes more of the despair and guilt of Akechi's Shadow into himself. Why does the Shadow feel guilty?
He isn't sure he could fight back right now, or even stand up. Blood trickles down the back of his neck. But it doesn't matter. He doesn't want to struggle. He deserves this. He belongs here, in the dark, soaking in the reality of what he did until Akechi's Shadow does whatever he's going to do. You're making me pay for your cowardice. The Shadow had been wrong about the rest of it, but that's the truest thing anyone's ever said to Ren.
He thinks of Akechi, the one on the surface, his constant concern and his voice, calling frantically for Ren on the street in Kichijoji; and he thinks of the way Akechi talks about his mother now. It'll be like that with Ren. Out of sight, out of mind, except when someone brings him up. He went when it was his time. Maybe Ren's doing him a favor, honestly. Not sitting in front of him being sad all the time, where Akechi can't distract himself. He'll be better off once Ren passes out of his memory.
"I'm sorry," he breathes, to Akechi and to his Shadow. With steady hands, he takes off his mask and sets it down beside him. It doesn't make any practical difference, in terms of whether he can fight; he could call it back with a thought. But the gesture speaks, nonetheless.
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It's like nothing he's experienced before, or even seen: a Shadow flying apart and swallowing someone. He can't see, or hear anything besides his own breathing, and every time he inhales he takes more of the despair and guilt of Akechi's Shadow into himself. Why does the Shadow feel guilty?
He isn't sure he could fight back right now, or even stand up. Blood trickles down the back of his neck. But it doesn't matter. He doesn't want to struggle. He deserves this. He belongs here, in the dark, soaking in the reality of what he did until Akechi's Shadow does whatever he's going to do. You're making me pay for your cowardice. The Shadow had been wrong about the rest of it, but that's the truest thing anyone's ever said to Ren.
He thinks of Akechi, the one on the surface, his constant concern and his voice, calling frantically for Ren on the street in Kichijoji; and he thinks of the way Akechi talks about his mother now. It'll be like that with Ren. Out of sight, out of mind, except when someone brings him up. He went when it was his time. Maybe Ren's doing him a favor, honestly. Not sitting in front of him being sad all the time, where Akechi can't distract himself. He'll be better off once Ren passes out of his memory.
"I'm sorry," he breathes, to Akechi and to his Shadow. With steady hands, he takes off his mask and sets it down beside him. It doesn't make any practical difference, in terms of whether he can fight; he could call it back with a thought. But the gesture speaks, nonetheless.