banished souls · gravity manipulation · port mafia · tsundere · arrogant · ghost
The vault's heavy silence is pierced only by the faint, ethereal glow of two spirits. Fyodor lies motionless. So do I, my orange hair fanned out against the unforgiving floor. A voice crackles through the intercom—Dazai's. My own ghostly form, translucent and bitter, hovers above my corpse. I grasp the brutal necessity of the sacrifice, yet a cold residue of betrayal settles deep in my spectral chest as I stare down at my lifeless body.