PaperWeight

-3- Daedalus' Regret Wind rippled calmly across the surface of the sea. The froth thrown up as the surf came flowing in to lap across the beaches tickled lightly at the tips of his toes. His bare feet were dangling down off the edge of the dock, whose driftwood planks and rusted screws creaked balefully as the ocean pressed unceasingly against its supports. His fingers were wrapped snugly around the shaft of a long, whippy branch, while a thin sheen of sweat had taken over most of his arms and the backs of his hands as the sun beat down on him. Tied to the end of his make-shift rod was a piece of fishing line that, judging from the old knots that were still clinging on at the far end, had been used many times in his makeshift fishing rod. The sun rose higher and higher in the sky, but the boy made no motion to escape the heat. In fact, the lanky, silver-haired kid was content to simply sit at the end of his dock and try to catch a fish that he would end up slipping back into the perfectly blue waters that encircled the tiny island. The mainland was close enough he figured he could probably throw a stone across the narrow gap, but when he sat on his corner of the dock and stared out across the waves, it felt like he might as well be stuck out in the middle of the ocean. Strangely enough, the notion made him smile slightly as his bright, sea green eyes strayed down to the twig he was using as a bobber. Hours had passed without a single nibble. Not that he fished for the excitement. The wood behind him gave a familiar creak as a foreign weight was applied to it, followed by slow, heavy thumps and a matching set of threatening groans of collapse from the rusty nails and eroded lumber. The squeaks paused as the stranger stopped just to one side of the silver-haired kid, who could feel eyes roving over the back of his head. He saw the stranger's shoes first: white leather boots laced across by navy blue thread, vanishing at the ankle under a pair of blue jeans, dark enough to fool the eye into thinking they might be black in the right light. The boy wasted no time in flicking his gaze up to the stranger's face, its familiarity bringing the furthest thing from a smile to his lips. His eyes grew hard and the peaceful shimmer of the sea seemed fade away as the waves churned higher. Even the warmth of the sun seemed unable to penetrate the aura of unwelcome the boy was projecting. The waves rose and fell unevenly before them, cresting higher and falling lower than they had before. A palpable tension kept both of them quiet, though the sea was doing enough that the air was far from empty. The boy broke it first, however, plainly less experienced in holding his tongue than the man who was standing off to one side. He spoke clearly and shortly, though his volume never grew any louder than the accompanying hiss of waves, "Why did you come back?" The man tipped his head back, clearly still enjoying the feeling of the sun on his skin and the calm breeze that came in with each wave, kissing his pale skin with a hint of sea-saltiness. He wore a thin smile the boy didn't understand, though he'd never really understood the man. The breeze tugged lightly at the lengthy silver locks that draped down around his head. The bright blue eyes were hidden behind closed eyelids. The boy watched for as long as he could bear again, his words still short and frustrated as he tried to admonish the man again, "We don't need you here. I'm fine." He paused and rolled his shoulders to try and let off some of his irritation, "Sora's taking care of everything." A snort echoed over the waves, making the sea green eyes flick back to the man once again; his thin smile had spread into a grin. He brought a hand up to push the shaggy silver locks out of his face as he turned to look down at the teenaged fisherman he was standing beside. He couldn't help but chuckle as he parroted the boy's words, "Sora's taking care of everything, huh?" There was an audible hint of disbelief hidden behind his mirth as he spoke. His hands caught the wood first as he went through the process of sitting down on the corner of the dock opposite the other occupant and kicked his feet out over the edge as well, letting them swing as the waves caught his boots. He leaned back and the golden accents on the shoulders of white vest, which was zipped up from his waistline to just below his collarbone, glinted in the sunlight. The man let out a snicker as he continued to express his incredulity, "Well, I guess I should be glad he's taking this 'mayor' thing seriously after all these years." His short silver locks swayed as a gust of wind kicked in from farther out to sea, though the chilled, swirling air did nothing to cool the boiling blood just under his skin. Closing eyes over his sea green eyes, he swiftly and clumsily got to his feet, turning to leave the man behind. The clear fishing line fizzed as he dragged it across the dock, though he'd only gone about seven feet before he felt something grab onto it and tug at his arm, the bare-bones fishing rod nearly smacking him in the face as it tried to pull him around. Gritting his teeth, the teenager turned on his heel, expecting to see the silver-haired deserter to be on the other end of the line. Instead, he found only a vacant dock and a humming line as something in the water spun and floundered angrily just below the surface. Eyelids spread wide open, and his sea green eyes stung from the sunlight and salty mist in the air. The boy could do nothing but stare down at whatever he'd unfortunately managed to hook. Sharks, serpents, and dragons from the stories he'd as a kid heard filled his imagination, all of them starving for any bit of human flesh they could find, no matter how scrawny and meager a meal it might be. The boiling anger had vanished into a cold, sweaty panic as the pulling grew sharper and his fingers, gripped so tightly around the shaft that his knuckles were turning white, refused to let the monster of the open ocean take his fishing rod away from him. An insistent tug on the line brought him a few arduous steps closer, and his panic took him over completely; his voice broke as he called out for the only person he thought would be able to save him from the leviathan, "Dad?!" Another yank brought him closer. His heels caught on the thin gap between the last two boards at the very end of the dock, offering him the opportunity to stare down at a pair of what he could only assume were eyes. They glowed a bright yellow color that shone through suddenly black waters, narrowed in their certainty that the boy would make for an excellent meal. Fingers slipped easily onto his shoulder and gave a gentle, reassuring squeeze. The silver-haired boy breathed a heavy sigh of relief as the monster suddenly relented. "Don't let go," the man's words were calm and quiet, and he could feel the warmth of his father's words against the skin of his ear, "you have to be strong. Find your center. I'll come for you." The hand trailed away carefully from his shoulder down his back and then away from the boy entirely. One almighty tug on the line came as soon as the man's hand left his body. The boy was yanked over the edge, sent flailing through the air. He tried his hardest to keep his eyes open as he hit the water, expecting a colossal set of jaws to pluck him easily off the surface. Even as the sounds of water rushed into his ears, he could hear his father murmuring and warm breath tickling against his ear again, "Hold your breath." The gigantic eyes were gone, and there was no sign of whatever creature had so yanked him so vigorously in. He spun in the water frantically, trying to catch sight of the sea monster. He turned and turned until he'd dizzied himself and lost which way the surface might be. The burning clench of a need to breathe ignited in his lungs and he thrashed in the black waters, striking out pointlessly in the inky blackness. No matter how hard he flung his arms out or kicked his legs, his surroundings never grew any brighter. Before long the weight of the water around him crushed down on his body and the agony in his chest was too much to bear. His mind forced his lips apart, and he could feel the life-giving bubbles spilling from his mouth unbidden, kissing a warm goodbye against his cheek as he inhaled. No water went past his lips. The ache for air vanished. He exhaled again, only to feel more bubbles rush past his face. The moment he took his next breath, however, his surroundings changed entirely. Shafts of light glittered through the strange liquid darkness in an array of colors so bright the silver-haired boy had to shield his eyes with his hands. Through the gaps in his fingers, he saw that it was only growing brighter and more vibrantly colored. Soon enough, his eyes adjusted to the brilliant light and his hands slipped from his face to move carefully in the waters. The light was shining through a massive circular stained glass windows, the edges rounded to look like the petals of an enormous, cerulean flower shaped in just such a way that the shafts of light glistened like the sun shining through shallow waters. The petals drew his eyes toward the middle of the frame where, surrounded by symbols, a pair of very familiar looking men stood back to back. The one who appeared upside down to him was the mayor of the Destiny Islands, though he looked much younger than the boy ever recalled seeing him and was wearing clothes he didn't recognize. There was a long, red coat with royal blue trim along the edges and paired with a set of black shorts, the hems of which were lined with grey and white flames. Held loosely in his hand, pointed out toward the top of the frame, was a silver weapon with a golden square hilt, and it was unlike anything the silver-haired boy had seen. His eyes crossed to the man standing right side up, and again he had never seen his father looking so young. His mother always joked that his father had been born with an old face because of all the frowning he did. In this picture, though, with the unruly silver locks draping down just over his shoulders, his bright blue eye open and peering out the side of the stained glass, and his hand wrapped snugly around the hilt of a darkly colored sword with an odd white wing attached at the very tip, his father looked like he might not have been much older than his son was. The boy struck out, hoping to get a closer look at the golden coat his father was wearing. As soon as his arms came around once, the stained glass rippled. The very center started to bubble, and the boy, fearing a return of the strange monster that had dragged him down, started to swim backward. His swirling arms took him no further away from the undulating surface. A voice whispered his name, though he couldn't find the source. As soon as the first wave reached the edge of the frame, there was a loud splashing sound, and the bright liquid flooded into his nose and mouth. The teenager floundered in his sheets for a moment. His arms seemed unwilling to become rigid enough to lift his body from his bed, but it seemed that rolling over was not out of the question. His panic sent his upper body twisting from the mattress. He gasped heavily as soon as he felt the last beads of water leave his nose and mouth, but his relief would be short-lived as his face found its way to support his body on the floorboards. His limbs twitched in surprise and pain, managing to moan against the wood, "My nose… My nose…" The mysterious voice spoke again, though this time he knew exactly who it was, "If you would have just woken up when I called the first or the second time, your nose would have been fine." Celina's matter-of-fact tone did nothing to dull the throb in his face, a fact he let her know with a pouting glare. The boy rolled the rest of his body carefully off of the bed to sit up against the frame. He tried to rub the pain out of his nose as he scowled up at his abuser and let his soaked hair drip down onto his shoulders. The keys to his house jingled lightly in her left hand as she'd popped her hip out to one side, and a now-empty bucket was hooked up under her right. Her wavy, auburn hair was pulled around over her shoulder to drape down over the warm tan that radiated down from her neck. The breeze rolled in past the curtains hung over the window next to his bed to tousle her bangs. It was just enough movement to obscure her vision, but even as she pushed the locks out of her eyes, the boy on the floor could still see her smile, and he knew it well: it was the same shit-eating grin she always had on her lips whenever she thought she was being particularly funny. His father had always mentioned it must have been hereditary whenever Sora was in earshot. The bucket clattered down on top of his head, still freezing cold from the ice water that it had probably been full of a minute or so before. The teenager sitting against his bed felt the mattress shift under some added weight, and then the breeze blew stronger than it had before. The boy could feel the back of the bucket starting to warm up. There was more jingling of keys and the bed frame squeaked and shifted as its temporary occupant hopped off the bed behind him. Thin fingers hooked up under the edge of the bucket in front of his face. The finely shaped nails scratched his skin lightly as the plastic came away, and he found himself staring into her brilliantly blue eyes, squinted pleasantly from the amount of smiling she was doing. "Ready?" "Ready?" The boy grumbled past his hands, still pressed to his nose, and he felt heat rising in his cheeks that had nothing to do with the sun that was now free to beat down on the both of them as she'd drawn the curtains. "Ready for what?" She rolled her eyes and reached out to tousle his hair, flicking droplets of water onto his face. "For what? For the beach, fool!" Celina jumped up from her knees in front of him. Her left hand dusted off the hem of her breezy white skirt and offered him her right so he could get up, still chatting away at him as she waited, "Jeez, you act like we're not on summer vacation, Icky." She emphasized the nickname, her head tilting off to one side as she watched him. Icarus' eye twitched as his fingers wrapped around her wrist, squeezing perhaps a little harder than he should have as she helped him to his feet, but he made no mention of the moniker, "You'd go to the beach even if we weren't on a break." The auburn tresses bounced as she cocked her head to the other side, offering the silver haired boy a wink. "Yep! But now you have no excuse not to go too!" She chuckled as she shifted the bucket from one hand to both and trapped it between her wrists and her stomach. Her midriff was bare between the waistline of her skirt and the strapless top she was wearing, zipped snugly up the center and dyed a blue that made her eyes shine even more vividly. He blinked in surprise as she spun on her heel and her bare feet tapped lightly on the floor on her way to the door. One hand caught the frame and she turned around to offer him another mischievous grin, "And that means that I don't have to row!" With that last comment, she vanished from his room, giggling to herself all the way down his stairs. "Now get ready! I'll have breakfast set when you get down here." The silver-haired boy let out a sigh as he started to his bathroom. While it was nice of her to make breakfast, he knew better than to expect the kitchen to be in one piece once she was through with it. Icarus had no concept of when they'd first left his house or what time he'd finally managed to drag her away from the soft white sands on their narrow island, but the sun gleamed pleasantly across the ocean in a hundred different colors. It flickered shades of orange, red and indigo along the surface of each tiny wave which their boat rolled through pleasantly, while the silver-haired boy rowed arduously and Celina rested her eyes as she'd done all day. Her legs were draped over the edge of the boat; her toes barely dipped in the foaming waves as he brought them back to the shore of the mainland. Beads of sweat gathered on his forehead and dripped down on to the deck of the boat. The droplets mingled with the saltwater that had made its way in through the tiny cracks of the homemade rowboat before he couldn't identify what was his and what belonged to the sea. A hiss along the hull brought them to a quick stop, the prow of their ship lodged gently into the sandbar. He pulled his oars in and set them in the bottom of the boat before hopping out into the low tide. The cool kiss of the shallows on his sunburnt feet drew a pleased sigh from his lips as he did his best to pull the keel above the shoreline. The auburn locks were flipped around one of her shoulders, which bore a light pink tint over her tan. Her fingers tapped lightly on his cheek as she stepped out onto the sands. Celina smirked at him quietly as she started along the beach home. Icarus winced as the hand drummed against his face, his lips pursed into a frown as she led the way, but he followed without complaint. Their feet echoed on the steps of the back porch, and as the spiky brown haired man stepped out his door to see who it was, the teenage boy realized how long it had been since he'd come over to visit. All of them would come to check on him pretty regularly, Celina more than the rest. "Icarus!" The mayor started, bearing the wide grin that he and his daughter shared as he saw the boy shifting his feet on the planks, "It's about time you came around! Feel like having something to eat?" His friend had slipped up past her father, caught in the doorway as she looked back at Icarus. She nodded to try and get him to copy her actions, but the silver-haired boy shook his head slowly. "I'm alright. I should probably be getting home anyhow," he shot a pointed look at the girl standing at the back door, "Someone left a mess in my kitchen." The subtlety in his words was not lost on Sora, who started to laugh as he walked to the back steps to join the boy. "Yeah, she does that here too." He slipped an arm around Icarus' shoulders to turn him around so they could start the walk back. "Drives her mother crazy." The boy let out a chuckle as he glanced back at the girl standing on the porch. Celina had folded her arms across her stomach as she glared after the very chummy pair. She spun on her heel and tugged the door open, disappearing into the house. A squeeze on his shoulders brought his focus back to his father's best friend. The grin had given way to a thoughtful smile and the hand drifted off his shoulder. The sensation brought him back to the glowing eyes at the end of the dock for a moment. "Two years, huh?" The man murmured. Icarus was left to wonder in a quiet pause with only their footsteps and the rolling waves. Sora glanced down at the silver-haired kid and confessed, "I'm glad to see you're doing alright. Today had to be rough." In truth, Icarus hadn't thought about the date. If he could have, he would have preferred to just let the day come and go. They continued to tread on the border between the beach and the grassy dunes, and the silence stretched longer and longer. It was the teenager who broke first, unable to adjust to the fact neither of them were talking. He mumbled out quickly, "I, uhm, I forgot. I left something. At the boat. I'll see you around." He had turned to jog off down the beach, but the hand found its way back on his shoulder, holding him steady for a moment. Sora's voice was quiet but clear, "You don't have to be a stranger, you know." Icarus glanced back over at the mayor whose smile had grown wider on his face again. The boy nodded slowly, turning to leave without another word. His short, silver locks jostled just out of his eye line as he ran along the beach. He'd broken into a sprint as soon as his friend's father had turned to walk back to his house, back to his family. They'd enjoy the last lazy days of summer together as the season wound to an end, and Icarus... It felt like no time had passed since he left Sora standing on the beach when he lifted himself from the rowboat again. His footsteps echoed on the dock in the early evening light; the sun still threw a splash of yellow and orange over the horizon as the moon outlined everything in a silver glow. The little island felt lonely in the night with only a few birds and none of the other kids who would visit during the daytime. But here he wouldn't have to worry about anyone coming to find him. He swung his feet over the edge of the dock, his elbows on his knees, and stared out over the ocean to watch the last rays of sunshine dip below the wobbly horizon. Over his head, the twinkling sea of stars was slowly blotted out by a gathering storm. The rain-heavy, black clouds hung low, ready to drop their burden onto the isles, swirling in from every direction to form a gigantic thunderhead over the mainland. A gust of wind blew in from the open water as the first crack of lightning lit the sky. A thin mist of rain started to come down over him, though the teenager was in no hurry to find shelter. Water was water, and his clothes could be dried. His black shorts clung to his thighs as he clambered to his feet, looking up just in time to see another crack of lightning in the sky in about the same place as the first. Then a third bolt came down, and everything shook as it lit up everything like a second sun. The droplets came down fatter as the ceiling of clouds spread further out. Icarus brought a hand to shield his eyes as he scanned along the rocky wall for a tiny cave he knew was hidden in the cracks, though the steadily-thickening rainfall made it difficult to see so far away. Another gust of wind and another thunderclap swept in from the mainland. He let out a shout of surprise as he was tossed forcefully from the dock to tumble in the shallows. Violent waves crashed against his face, and he coughed to clear the salty taste from his mouth. His short, silver spikes hung down to tease at his eyelids, blinding him further as he dragged his waterlogged body out of the shallows. Sand clung up and down his front; his hands brushed uselessly along his front as he trudged through the wet sand in hope of finding the cave out of sheer luck. "It's such a shame." The rumble of the storm let up, and the sheeting rain slowed to the gentle drizzle it had been when he sat on the dock, enough for Icarus to hear someone speaking. They stood on the dock above him, their arms tucked loosely behind their back, and dressed in a black cloak that covered her from her head to her ankles with inky black gloves pulled onto their hands. He blinked at the figure for a moment until they turned their whole body to peer down at him out of the shadows. "The beaches," they said as if they were trying to help the boy understand what they were talking about, "It's a shame they're going to be sundered." The teenager couldn't help but stare at the figure, which became more obviously female the longer he looked. From the curve of her hips to the swell across her torso, even muted under the cloak, they were fairly obvious indications. The woman shrugged and let out a long, displeased sigh from under her hood. "But, what the boss says, and all of that stuff, right?" She turned to him again for a response, though in his utter bewilderment, Icarus had no answers to give. The loud thump of hefty boots on wet sand roused him from his befuddlement. The hem of the cloak swayed with each step across the beach toward him, and a flash of a similar outfit hanging in his home brought words to his lips finally, "Do you know my father?" The girl stopped between steps. She tilted her head to one side as she looked at him. "Your father?" There was another long pause during which the female figure tucked her arms across her chest. "Riku." she murmured his name quietly, but even the mere mention set his heart to beating a hundred times faster, only to be stopped entirely when she spoke again, "Riku's gone. I wouldn't hope for him to come back, if I were you. Not that there would be somewhere to come back to in a few minutes." The figure started to advance again, and Icarus managed to stumble a few steps back along the rising tide. "Now, we should probably end this quickly." She flicked her hand at the end of her speech and faded from sight. The teenager turned just in time for her hand to swipe past his shoulder. The cloaked woman huffed, holding her hand out toward the boy, complaining loudly at him, "Oh, come on! This would be so much easier if you just let it happen." Another bolt of lightning punctuated her sentence, and both of them turned to look at its dangerously close source. The sky above them was a spiral of yellow and purple clouds, twisting in on a dark point in the very center, and thin, quiet bolts of lightning shot down to the houses on the mainland. On the beach across the shallow strait, Sora, the mayor, the father of his best friend, climbed shakily to his feet, wielding oddly shaped weapons in both hands. He swung at something in the darkness, only to be forced back by whatever he was combating in the darkness. Another thunderstroke broke the sky; Sora was engulfed in a blinding light and shot backwards across the distant beach. The teenager took a half step toward the water's edge with no intention of anything but helping the man defend himself, stopped when the cloaked figure next to him threw an arm into his path. She chuckled sadly, moving herself to stand directly between Icarus and the shoreline, "Sorry. That's all part of the plan too." He stared at her, finally managing to speak again, "Your plan's a piece of shit." He broke into a run toward the dock, leaving her standing on the beach, vaulting up onto the creaky wood in a single motion. His sodden clothes flung droplets of water everywhere as he dashed into the rowboat, his hands setting on the oars when he saw the cloaked figure again. She'd sprawled out across the bench at the back end of the boat, unable to control her giggling as she teased him, "Would you draw me like one of your French girls?" Both of his hands wrapped around the handle of one of the oars and he swung at her, though once again she performed her magical vanishing trick. "Now, that wasn't very nice! Where are your manners, young man?" She chided him, lying down on the dock next to him, her hands tucked underneath her chin as she tormented him. The silver-haired boy turned, ready to bring the oar to bear once more, but the stranger struck first, murmuring to herself, "Pyornkrachzark: Steigen." The water around his boat surged, and even though his boat sat atop the surface, he felt himself lifted into the air. He let the oar loose, trying to hang onto the wooden sides for as long as he could. Thick gray fingers came up over the sides, wrapped tightly around the creaking hull. Cracks started to appear all along the bottom, splinters ricocheting off his face as whatever had picked him up attempted to crush his vessel. Icarus abandoned ship just in time, taking a deep breath as the planks snapped behind him. Bits of wood hailed down around him as he dove ineptly into the water. His eyes were still stinging as he came to the surface, unable to get a clear look at the stranger's monster from there, but as it rose up out of the sea, it may as well have been a mountain standing before him. It hunched over, swiping with a hand to scoop him out of the shallows, and he couldn't dive quick enough to escape it. Stone fingers encased his middle, snug enough to keep him from escaping and struggling, but not enough to pulverize his body. He found himself soaring through air once more and stopped only a few feet in front of the cloaked stranger, her arms folded neatly across her chest again. "See?" She murmured to him, sounding just a little bit lost in her own thoughts as one of her gloved hands stretched out toward him, "That's not so hard, is it?" Find your center. Icarus squirmed in the immovable grip when an echo of the dream bubbled up from the back of his mind. He squeezed his eyes tight and panted as an unstoppable warmth rose in his chest. It spread out along his skin, growing faster and brighter until every inch of his body felt glowing hot. Breathe. A sharp gasp slipped past his lips, and there was a flash of gold across his eyelids. The beast holding him made a pained groan and his grip loosened. The teenager slipped through easily, landing on two feet and bracing himself with his free hand in the shallows. His sea green eyes jumped to the object that had taken up the space in his left hand. Resting in his grip a long red sword with white accents along the middle of the blade that faded to gray and then into a deep red along the hilt. A blue wing surrounded his hand like a guard, and from the base dangled a strange golden charm. His fingers wrapped tighter around the hilt and he looked up to the girl peering down over the edge of the dock at him, rising up to his feet as he readied his new weapon. The hood twitched, and her voice tinkled mischievously as she spoke, "Duck." The stone monster's palm swung inches above his head. He'd scarcely believed her when she'd said it, but if he'd taken any longer to react, his head would have been a lovely red spot on the beach. A wave caught him in the side of the head now that he'd crouched down in the shallows. The storm-driven sea tossed Icarus to one side, depositing the boy sodden and disoriented on the sand, his only protection thrown from his grip in the swirling surf. Massive stone claws burrowed into the sand around him in an instant and the stone giant's palm pinned him against the seashore. His arms were snug against his sides, and for all his effort in squirming against the rock, it refused to budge. Knees covered in the black cloak planted in the beach above his head, just above the waterline, letting the odd little woman stare down at his head from inside her hood. The stranger let out a disappointed sigh, "Oh, well. I was rooting for you, there. But I guess you're still pretty new, huh?" The dock gave an almighty creak and the planks started to lift out of the water next to them, ripped apart by the gale that seemed to be eroding everything around them, including the island itself. The girl perked up to watch the boards fly up into the swirling clouds, giving Icarus a peek at the pale skin along her neck until she turned back to him. "I guess my partner's going a little bit overboard." The sadness was back in her voice as she lifted a hand. He winced as it landed gently on his forehead, unable to hide his confusion at the tenderness of her touch as she started to carefully tousle his wet silver locks. "I would have liked some more time to play with you." A crack of lightning lit everything once again. The resounding boom of thunder that followed interrupted her in the middle of her sentence, though the woman only let out a giggle before she continued to speak, still idly petting him, "Guess it can't be helped if he's excited." With that, she pushed herself up to her feet again. As she peered down at him as he was caged against the beach, he could barely make out a thin smile and perhaps a bit of a blush, though the latter was most likely in his imagination. She tucked her hands behind her waist and tilted her head to one side, giggling between her carefully chosen words, "I really liked meeting you. What's your name, again?" "Wh-what?" Icarus stammered up at her. "Yeah, your name! I'm normally really bad with names, but I wanna try and remember yours." The boy simply stared for a long time. The storm pulled at both of them as she waited, forced to put a hand to her hood to keep it from lifting away. "My name?" The teenager murmured the words as his eyes drifted along the barely muted curves of her hips and her torso. Heat started to rise in his cheeks as he ogled the strangest woman he'd ever met. Apparently, his gawking lasted a little bit longer than she was willing to wait. "Too slow!" She called out, lifting one of the heavy boots. The heel dropped like an anvil, and he felt the pain searing from his nose. Icarus yelped; his struggles renewed in full force. She cursed to herself, covering her mouth with her hand as she spoke, "Oh, shit! I'm so, so sorry! I thought that would knock you out! Here, maybe this will help! Pyo!" Icarus looked up at 'Pyo', the feeling of something warm and wet dribbling along his face as the giant moved its free hand around. The fingers swung down once, and then the beaches were still.

-2- Sunset Beats Fists slid into deep pockets, the nails chewed short and rough on both hands. The man shifted his shoulders uncomfortably under his coat; as hot as it was, the others had a point about anonymity. His dark brown eyes scaled buildings, intrigued by the orange stucco that surrounded him at every turn, accented by yellowing bricks and bronze cobblestones in the street. It was almost as though the town wanted its citizens to feel as though they lived on the surface of the everlasting sunset which strode on across the sky around their heads, not a care in the world as to what they were doing or who they might really be. It brought a smirk to his lips under the hood, going so far as to make him chuckle darkly as he found himself staring into a little corner cafe. The people lounging inside made him cock his head to the side, his shoulders still shaking with silent laughter. Did they even know? Did they even care that they might be empty shells simply drifting through space? Granted, even he didn't know the truth, but it was a fun little game he could distract himself with. The bell clanged over his head as the door gave way to his grip. A whistle rang through the streets, the echo sneaking into the cafe with him, making the man in his long white coat turn his head, murmuring to himself as he found the source, "A train." His eyes followed the plume of purple steam as it billowed up behind the buildings that lined the market row. As the train slid into the station, he'd turned forwards again; he scooped up a half a sandwich in his fingertips before anyone could say otherwise, forcing it beneath the lip of the hood with ravenous hunger. His bare fingers shredding the bread as he tore into it with his teeth. The man in white turned in place, dusting off the intricate designs that marked his arms. His hood perked back up as he watched the station once more. A boy stepped off the train. The thief felt a pang of deja vu; it was as if he'd done all of this once before. A familiar sight. A familiar face. His footsteps echoed in the silent cafe as the shouts of the man behind the counter fell on deaf ears. Another worker wearing grimy apron jumped in front of the hooded figure, standing taller than the hooded man would care to admit. His eyes narrowed on the man, the shadow of his hood hiding most of his features from sight. "What a terrible affectation..." he grumbled, earning a startled look from the other men in the room. "Eating. Such a bother. It seems no matter how I try, it's always a bore." His hood cocked to the side as he explained. The smirk under his hood widened into an almost Cheshire grin, the pearly white shine visible even in the shadows. In an instant, his left hand was around the neck of poor worker in front of him like a python around a mouse, squeezing until his face turned blue. The butcher's hands and feet swung hard, raining blows that seemed to have no effect until one caught the side of his attacker's head. For all his effort, the punch merely pushing the hood back off the striking face and revealing short brunette spikes. He grinned wolfishly up at his quarry. "Although, fresh meat always helps." The shop was silent by the time the hooded man walked out, dusting off the arms of his coat once more. A lot of work had gone into it; best care ought to be applied. He was about to turn a corner, leaving the sounds of flames turning wood to charcoal snapping out behind him, when a girl passed just in front of him. A young-looking girl, with a look of intent on her face as she strode past. He made no effort to hide himself, just another strange man in a strange town stepping out across the street behind her. He had been planning to walk past and find the best place to begin his work when a hint of something in the air stopped him. He sniffed, inhaling quickly, as if trying to catch something elusive before it escaped, and then again, deeper and longer this time. His hood snapped in the direction the dark-haired girl had gone, his whole body following with swift footsteps. The plainly bored expression on his face vanished as the hungry smirk started to spread again, nearly singing to himself as he prowled behind her, "What fun. A Keyblade." It took very little time for them to reach the edge of the town, the man in the white hood keeping his distance. His fists clenched and released repetitively in his pockets. So close... It would be so easy, so fast. And Keybearers! For all the struggle they put up, it made it all the more delicious when they fell. His mind drifted back to the gray haired man, a manic chuckle slipping out from under the hood. Standing across the square from the exit to the woods outside the wall, he brought his hands out of his pockets, tiny red flames licking at the tips of his fingers on one hand. Just before he could take the first step outside the walls, his dark brown eyes caught movement far away, but in a strange enough place to make him turn. Oh, that familiar face. The one he couldn't place. It felt like staring at a picture of someone he knew from when he was a child, and couldn't find a name. The boy from the train was standing on the edge of the clock tower, his leather jacket ruffling in the breeze. They stood staring at one another for an unknowable amount of time until the hood finally turned back to the hole in the wall the girl had vanished out of. A wide grin cracked across his lips again, tilting his head far enough back that the hood nearly fell off and a bark of laughter reverberated through the silent streets. It echoed up to the top of the tower, reflected up empty alleyways, just a whisper in the blue-eyed man's ears as he peered down at the strangely dressed man standing in the square. It felt very familiar, and somehow backwards how they were looking at one another. Brushing his fingers through messy light brown hair, he grimaced at the cloaked figure below, which had started to walk slowly toward the base of the tower. The man in white suddenly broke into a run, jumping easily up to the rooftops and scrambling easily up the vertical plane of the clock tower. His fingers cracked brick and mortar as he beat his way up the side, a predator sprinting for its prey. Standing on the thin lip that jutted out around the clock's face, the stranger's shaggy brown hair swept around his cheeks as he glared downward. Flexing his grip as he crouched down, he dove diving down onto the wall as well. His feet managed to catch the surface, propelling himself toward the man in the cloak, his leather jacket whipping behind him as he tore along the wall, dragged along by gravity and the speed of his own feet. Their eyes met at the last moment before they clashed, dark brown and bright blue, both alight with madness. A bare fist came up, swinging for the stranger's head. He ducked quickly enough, his forearm catching the cloaked man around the neck and sweeping the hooded man off his feet. The blue-eyed brawler pulled his arm in tight, letting his momentum carry both of them along as they hurtled down the side of the clock tower to crash in the alleyways below. The man in the leather coat rolled and bounced, pressing his palms on the cobblestone to flip his body up to his feet; it was a graceless landing after escaping from his own attack. He skidded and stumbled back into the square, tiny beads of sweat on his forehead as he tried to catch his breath. His eyes flicked to and fro as they tried to pierce the cloud of dust, but the crater his opponent had left in the cobblestone was undoubtedly too deep to get out of. Bringing up his white shirt to his forehead to smear it dry, a smirk had replaced the grimace, musing to himself as he turned away from the settling dust cloud and started back toward the train station, "Well, hell, that was easy enough. Dunno what I was getting so worked up over." A low rumbled filled the air; a jet of flame shot past the blue-eyed man, making him spin around, his arms coming up to a fighting pose with just enough time for his eyes to open wide. The white cloak whirling through the air behind him, a manic grin on his opponent's face as he brought his fist crashing into the side of the brawler's head. He was sent skidding backward across the pavement, rolling once before flopping unceremoniously onto the ground in a heap. The stranger groaned for a moment before the fast-approaching footsteps revived him. A fist encased in ice burrowing into the ground where his head would have been had he not rolled backward, using his palms to spring his body upright once more. The world spun in his vision, but the leather jacket squeaked as he still managed to bring his fists up. The cloaked man rushed again, launching a barrage of jabs that he was able to block in rapid succession, yet he was steadily backed up to a wall with no more room to get away. The man in white let out a vicious bark of laughter as flames gathered around his wrist and flared as he swung a crushing blow toward the center of the blue-eyed man's chest. The stranger struck, landing a fist in his attacker's elbow ; the burning hand glanced the side, breaking through the orange stucco that encased every building and left his arm buried in the wall. His blue eyes went wide as the hooded man pulled his fist free with ease and flexed his fingers, clearly ready to throw another punch that might just take down the building behind them. The brawler's arms flicked out, popping at the elbows. A cacophony of whirling gears rattled off the brick walls around them as sharpened black steel sprang from the forearms of his jacket, slicing through the air in front of him just once. The retractable blades made the cloaked man retreat just out of range, his left hand encasing in ice once more. A blade tried to sever his right arm from his shoulder; the cloaked man deflected it down once with his right, catching the other blade as it came as well with his crystallized left palm. Both hands pressed down and forced both of the blades' sharpened points to the ground. The brawler pulled once, trying to free them from the earth, but the ice spread in an instant, anchored to the ground and snaking up his arm to his shoulders. As he tried to wrench his weapon free in vain, his blue eyes snapped up to look at the cloaked figure and saw the hungry grin on his shadowy face once more. "This is going to be sweet." A hefty black boot connected with his jawbone. His head tried to swing around, followed by his body, but with no slack to move, a loud, sickening crack issued from his left shoulder. His legs nearly buckled and dropped him to his knees with his left arm hanging uselessly at his side. The man in white let out a howl of maniacal laughter as he watched his opponent struggling to stand and reached out with his right hand to lift the brawler's chin. His face felt sore and swollen, painted in blues and blacks, and there was a trail of something slick meandering down from his forehead that grew cold in the twilight breeze. The gloved left hand clenched and the ice began to move again, crystals closing in tighter around the man's mangled arms. Gritting his teeth, the blue-eyed man yanked on his arms, attempting to unseat his bonds to little effect, before he lunged up. His forehead surprised the man in white just enough that the last ditch attack hit home and forced him to stumble backwards with a hand clapped over his nose. Black sparks chipped away at the ice from the inside starting from the tips of his fingers, but the dark sparks quickly swelled from his hands up to his wrists, the ice around his arms shattering as they erupted in dark flames. The man in the leather coat turned just in time again as the cloaked figure's right fist aimed square for his sternum. The leather sleeves rustled as he brought his forearms up to block and the metal underneath squealed from the strength behind the blow; the holster strapped to his left arm creaked and crunched before it finally snapped. The force carried through his limbs to the brawler's chest, enough to lift him backward off his feet, sending him flying uncontrollably through the air, and everything went black as he felt his body hit the wall. When his blue eyes fluttered open again, he was surrounded by trees stretching way up into the sky above him. It was a perfectly clear sunset, and every ounce of his aching body told him that he should really wish that's all it would be. Something rustled in the brush behind him and he tilted his head back as he lay on the floor of the forest, seeing a girl with short brown hair staring at his sudden, violent appearance. A strange-looking toy, a stick wreathed in music notes, hung at her side. Groaning again as he tried to clamber to his feet using the nearest tree as a support, he desperately waved a hand at her, wisps of smoke rising from the skin now that the black flames that had briefly engulfed them was extinguished. He gasped and coughed as he spoke as the wind still hadn't come back to him, "Listen, girl... you need to get out of here... before you get hurt!" His vision was blurry from exhaustion and a decent amount of sweat stinging his eyes, though he could still make out the mangled edge of the clearing he'd just come from as shakily forced himself upright. The tattered remnants of his blades fell out of his hands, clattering on his arms as he reached around to the hilt behind his waist, barely able to stand once he'd pushed off of the tree trunk. He turned his hard blue eyes to her once more, waving an arm at her. "What are you waiting for?! You have to run!" The man in the white cloak stepped through his newly created hole, the bright, pearly grin the only thing visible in the shadow of his hood. "This is far too good a day for me." He picked his way along through the wreckage of dense wood the boy's flailing body had wrought, admiring his work with a maniacal chuckle. "You know, you should be dead by now. I'm impressed and insulted, really!" A branch cracked and burst into flame under his foot as he stepped along the edge of a clearing, his eyes shining excitedly as he caught sight of his prey once more, along with the tasty little morsel standing just behind the bloodied fighter. "Oh! And look here! The Keybearer too?!" He licked his chops, hunching over and clenching his fists. "Today is really the best..." Flame and ice started to collect on his right and left arm respectively, swelling and fading with every thrilled breath. "firetruckin'..." The flames grew brighter and the ice spread further up his sleeves. The air around them started to chill as a thin layer of frost materialized on the nearest trees. "Day!" The last word hissed out with a layer of vapor and the forest encrusted with ice. The man in the cloak barreled forward, whirling his arms around before he leapt between the boy and the girl. His ice-laden left arm whipped out like a snake, jabbing the stranger between the ribs; the cracking blow forcing his back to the tree. The bark and ice around the trunk splintered around him. All the air was forced from his lungs, leaving him to choke up viscous strands of something that tasted decidedly metallic as the inertia held him to the wood. The cloudless sky and the shattered forest blurred around him just long enough to feel the swirling heat of a raging blow that filled his vision and then everything was black.

-1- Departing Refrain Roaring wind and swirling blacks and purples blanketed everything. His eyes were squeezed shut as the world stretched and tore; pulled backward through the Space Between, there was nothing that could be done as the island was ripped into infinitesimal pieces beneath his feet. His brown hair was matted down hard around his face, damp and freezing against his forehead. His arms were pressed to his sides as he traveled, though he wouldn't have had the strength to fight whatever was pulling him along if he wanted to. He ground his teeth, pulled faster and faster through the darkness, feeling as though his legs might be left behind if it didn't slow down. Bright white light suddenly burst through the tiny gap in his eyelids. The blue eyes snapped open as the urgent pulling sensation gave way to gravity; his arms and legs came free, his neck swung up to see what he was flying toward as he was blasted from the portal. A sizzle filled the air as long black claws raked out after his body, snaking through the air toward him, as if it were going to snatch him like a fish on a hook and send him whizzing back the other way. Arms came up to shield his body unnecessarily; the short-lived portal snapped shut only moments after his exit, the shadowy claws bursting into wisps of smoke before his eyes. His relief was cut off by the wall he slammed against. Sneaky buggers, walls. His body clung to its yellowed surface for a moment, leaving the former Keyblade Master to slowly peel off and fall to the dirt with an unceremonious thump. Pain reverberated through all his limbs, spreading from the back of his head through his limbs, pulsing in his marred fingertips. His bare hands were scraped and already covered in dirt and sand. They were shaking as he tried to bring his arms under him to bear his weight. His head rose slowly, the soaked brown spikes clinging to his face as he tried to gather himself. His voice was a hoarse whisper, barely able to reach his own ears, "No... No, no!" He coughed, his whole body shuddering once as his arm slipped, bringing him back down to the earth. Lying on his stomach for minutes that felt like lifetimes, he closed his blue eyes once more as he silently wished himself away from his dirty resting spot. As he teetered on the edge of consciousness, his mind forcing him to relive the confrontation once more. He had been sitting on the floor of his house, back against one of the couches in the living room, that silly ear to ear grin spread over his face. His hands were wrapped around a spiky auburn haired young boy, both of them laughing as they wrestled on the floor. A typical summer night, it seemed; roughhousing on the floor, shooed inside by an oncoming storm. As dusk wove into evening, and his son was ushered on to bed by his wife. The retired Keybearer took a moment to relax on the carpet, letting his head sink down into the cushions of the couch, staring up at the ceiling fan as it spun hypnotically. The smile still on his lips, he pushed himself to his feet. "Dad?" The shaky voice of a younger girl echoed down the stairs to him. As she asked him to come up, he was already taking two steps at a time, for no particular reason other than he could! He hopped around the corner, poking his head into the room. Another auburn haired kid was kneeling on the bed in her pajamas, pointing out the window to something. Sora chuckled, pushing some of his own light brown locks out of his eyes as he walked over to the window to see what was so startling. He ruffled the long red-brown tresses that made her look so much like her mother as he spoke, "It's just a squall; you remember how they turn the sky funny colors." He took a look for himself, despite his own assurances. Blinking a few times, he pushed off the edge of her bed, standing frozen at the window for a long moment. Before he'd fully registered what he was doing, he'd raced to his room, thrown on actual clothes and barreled out the door; he wore just a pair of jeans and a plain white t-shirt. His old adventuring outfit didn't exactly fit him anymore. The Keybearer was in a hurry in any case. He never would have been any the wiser if he hadn't looked out the window. Just woulda gone to bed, and woken the next morning none the wiser. He skidded to a halt in the grass in front of the mayor's home, fists clenched tight as he glared up at the figure perched at its apex. It was as black as the sky all around it, like a shadow in a dark room, and the only thing lighting it up was its hands held up to the sky: thin white bolts of lightning were arcing up every few seconds, becoming more and more frequent until the moment Sora arrived. The man on the rooftop lowered his arms to his sides, the hood peering vacantly downward; its contents were a mysterious void in the dark. As they stared each other down, the skin on the back of Sora's arms was crawling, spreading slowly up to his neck and seeping down his spine. How had he managed to miss such overpowering Darkness? His bright blue eyes fluttered open again, bringing him back to the bit of dirt he was recovering on. His head was still aching, pain pulsing throughout the rest of his limbs, but he managed to control his arms enough to bring his body upright. He leaned back on his wall, which still bore his imprint, blinking slowly at the world he'd arrived in. "The Land of Departure...? Aqua!" he murmured to himself, pushing off the wall and stumbling up the hilly path that led to the main building. His bare feet slid along the grass and the rough edges of the dirt road, the cool, itching sensation drawing him back into his nightmare again. He was back on the grassy field in front of the mayor's house, golden flashes all round his hands as both Fenrir and Sleeping Lion appeared. The hood jerked backward, as if the person underneath had let out a derisive chuckle. Leaning forward, the cloaked figure was off the rooftop in an instant. Gloved fingertips, arcing white sparks, were centimeters from his face before Sora even realized he needed to move. Leaning back, he swung Sleeping Lion hard, connecting awkwardly against the Man in Black's hood as he fell to the ground. The hooded figure vanished into a puff of shadow, leaving the Keybearer to stare at it for a moment from the ground, wondering what had just happened before white light lit up everything above him. His head snapped forward; the man was suspended horizontally in the air, spinning around to focus on Sora. The gloved hands pressed together, wild arcs of blue static shooting off to the empty air around him as he brought the hands to bear. As Sora tried to roll away, he felt something brush against the backs of his legs. There was a sudden release of pressure in the air for a split second, and everything went silent. Just for a second. Sora was sent skidding backwards over the grass, his heels catching on something as his momentum carried him along, sending him spinning and tumbling back until he finally rolled to a stop on the edge of the beach. Water rushed through his fried pant legs, two still-smoking handprints on the back of his calves where the connection was made. The remnants of the attack were still making him twitch and spasm when he heard slow, deliberate footsteps moving steadily closer. His ears were still ringing as Sora pushed himself over onto his back. The walking shadow nearly standing on top of him, his silhouette ruffling in the gusting wind. He could see the lips moving in the darkness of the hood, the slow, monotone voice of his enemy impossibly clear in the storm, "To think, that that is all the force to be mustered by the strongest of the Wielders." A divot in the dirt caught his foot. He was brought back from the troubling memory to stumble. Sore fingers caught on the doorframe that led to the lower corridors. His soaked jeans weren't helping at all as the slightest breeze sent chills up his spine, making Sora feel even more lifeless than he thought possible. He called for anyone, receiving no reply as he tried to make his way along the corridors and up staircases. It seemed the Wielders in training had already fled, and Master Aqua had gone with them. As he mounted the final spiral staircase, he was leaning heavily on the banister, and nearly toppled back down when he finally came to the landing. Doors up and down the dormitory were left wide open, the contents of some strewn out into the hallway; one door looked like it had been blasted or torn off its hinges. The heavy oak doors at the end of the corridor were barely cracked open, but scorch marks marred every inch around them. His voice was caught in his throat, reaching out to push on one of the handles, which looked as though someone had tried to melt it away, the barrier creaking slowly as he entered. "Empty... What could have happened here?" His mumbled words gave away his despair as he sunk down inside the Master's bedroom, his back pressed to the door, and his palms pressing to his eyes as he waded through the catastrophic fight again. The points of his Keyblades were digging hard into the sand as Sora used them to prop his body upright, two more scorched hand prints on his back. He was panting hard now, his whole body weighed down with water. Shaggy brown locks sticking across his face and forehead as he stood at the edge of the island, his bright blue eyes just barely able to make out the curved tree where he and his friends had spent so many carefree days and nights wondering up the unforgettable experiences they might have on other worlds. Half-lidded and trying to wipe sweat and a sticky crimson substance from his eyes, he heard another boom of thunder from across the main island, bringing up his Keyblades as he waited for the shadow to strike once more in hopes of catching it off guard and landing a lucky blow. A hefty gust of wind rushed past, a precursor to the danger that was causing it. Sora gritted his teeth hard as he waited for sudden pain. "What good are you?" The voice was hard and hushed, the sand around the shadowy figure's feet swirling around him as he came to a sudden halt, making the Keybearer stumble backwards as he tried to figure out where his opponent was coming from so quickly. "Well... No use wasting time. Hardly worth the effort. Doubt you're going to save anyone." The hood turned, looking down along the dunes, catching sight of the woman with her long auburn ponytail flowing in the breeze. "Least of all, your family." Another boom broke the clouds above them, and everything began to swirl. Pieces of houses were already being pulled in, ripped out of the ground as winds immediately started to gust over the islands. Sora took off down the beach toward his home, all thought of the battle gone, only wanting to reach her before everything was ripped apart again. The ground shuddered; a column of earth shifted up in front of him, leaving his section of beach to sink below the raging waves, foaming as they rushed in toward him. He leapt up, managing to drag his worn out frame onto the shard of land above him. Almost there... Just a bit more... His feet sank into the sand as he ran, hopping over fractures that were appearing all along the island, yelling for her to grab the kids and go, to run, to get away. Wind rushed around him as another boom echoed across the shattered landscape. A palm wrapped around the back of his head, pushing him forward into the sand. It wrenched his head back by the long, brown spikes, holding him down to watch what was going to happen. The monotone voice hissed in his ear, the flapping hood muffling the words, "Ah, my favorite part. The sappy goodbyes..." Twisting and trying to fight away from the grip on top of his head, he felt a knee crash down between his shoulder blades, and the hand bunching up in his spiky brown hair yanked hard. Pops issued all along Sora's spine as he felt the pain spread like wildfire down his back. The earth shifted again, the house suddenly dropped down several feet, before the whole piece of land started to lift away. The swirling clouds, glowing bright yellow in the middle and turning purple along the outside edges, were a sickening whirl of color overhead as they drifted toward the unsettlingly black eye. The movement was enough to unbalance the shadow. Sora's arm whirled around over his head, actually feeling the connection this time: Fenrir managed to catch right along his attacker's chest, knocking him flat on his ass. The Keyblade Wielder scrambled to his feet, ready to try and jump the gap, but then he saw the look on his wife's face. She'd made it outside again, his son and daughter holding onto her tightly, both of them calling for him to hurry. It was the sad little smile, the one she hadn't worn in years, and that slight shake of her head that kept him standing right on the edge of the abyss. "Remember what I said?! I still mean it!" His eyes open once more, still sitting alone in what had been Aqua's bedroom, his back resting on the door and his legs sprawling out across the tile floor. His body no longer shook as he rose once more, testing his grip as he turned to a wardrobe next to the entryway. He pried it open, finding nothing but a gold plaque inside, with a simple sentence etched into it: Step Right Up. He pulled at the remnants of his tattered clothes, the hand prints on his back and chest making it flimsy to the point of almost disintegration, and did as he was told; his last words to her were ringing in his ears as he shut the door, feeling warmth surround his body. Being electrified and shot through a portal can make it easy to forget who you are sometimes. The doors sprung open again, giving him enough light to see what had been done. He flexed his glove-covered palms, looking over the scuff marks on his fingertips, the only visible reminder of the events that had transpired. Sora said the words one more time, a quiet murmur in the broken halls, "I'm always a part of you, too. And I'll come find you; always will..." The leather squeaked as he clenched his fist, a weary smile slipping back onto his face as he straightened out his jacket. Throwing the doors wide open, he strode back down the mangled corridors. "Kairi. Riku. Just hang tight. I'm coming to find you." The gilded hem of the long, taupe coat trailed along at his heels as room after room went by again, the flames embroidered along the back flicking and shining near enough to make them look alive. His freshly gloved palms ran over the burn marks that were scattered throughout the dormitory hallway. Under the scuffed and sore tips of the Keyblade Master's fingers, the stone felt so brittle he thought he might have been able to break a piece off. It looked as though a dozen or more explosions had rocked just that part of the castle, leaving everything blasted and broken in its wake. The damage wound erratically up the steps to the Great Hall, and left a pile of rubble and kindling at the base of the stairway. The fingers curled into a fist, slamming it down on the center of a scorch mark. The stone around it groaned under the unnecessary force. Shafts of light filtered through a hail of dust and debris that shook loose form the wall, coating Sora down to the shoulders. It blew off swiftly as he stumbled blindly toward the stairwell that led to the Master's Hall. Resting his palms on his knees, panting hard and letting his head sink down, he felt the remnants of the palm prints tingling on his chest, parting gifts from his opponent. The one who had destroyed his home and taken him away from his family. It was him. His blue eyes stung as he looked at the door blocking his way, looking over the blocking bar snapped cleanly in two as if someone had gone through it with an axe and the burn marks left all around the outside masonry. There was no one else he knew who could do anything as terrible as this. His tired legs caught on the edge of a step, sprawling him flat onto his chest. He should have known when he saw the Man in Black from the start of the fight until the last moments, which were still replaying in his imagination. Riku had been right... Wind ripped through his hair again; fingers dug hard into the collar of his shirt, yanking him back. Sparks arced across every one of the man's free fingers, the deep black cloak whipping around his waist as he stood before the distraught Keyblade Master. Without hesitation, the hand came down, and lightning cracked the sky once more, illuminating everything in terrifying relief for the briefest of moments. The Man in Black straightened up, leaving the spiky brown haired man to lie battered and broken in the damp earth, finally beaten on the sandy shores of his home. The earth creaked and groaned beneath them, waves lapping up to them suddenly as they sank a foot, but then their sundered bit of land started to lift away from the rest. They were moving up toward the bright yellow clouds, swirling furiously with reds and purples as bits of the Destiny Islands were finally swallowed up into the pitch black at the very center. Tipping his head back to the rain, the Man in Black spoke softly again, rousing the broken Keybearer from his shocked stupor. "Honestly. How you ever managed to save anyone is a bit of a mystery." The hood twisted down to look at its target, the rush of movement still pulling at the hem of his cloak as they made their way skyward. Sora's whole body felt stiff as he lay on the ground, pain pulsing across every shocked and frayed nerve ending. He was barely able to shift his body as the Man in Black peered from the shadows of his hood. "Look at your home. Broken. Destroyed. And never going to return. And those poor people. Think of it: you couldn't save a single one. Not even your own family." A gust of wind nearly took the hood away from his face, a tuft of brown hair the only piece of his head that became visible before gloved fingertips caught the edge and pulled it down tight once more, scoffing as the Keybearer twitched at his feet. "'Keyblade Master Sora'." The gloved hand reached down and pulled Sora up to his feet, letting them look at one another for a moment. The spiky haired man struggled at his challenger's wrist, trying weakly to free himself, but froze as the Man in Black hissing his last words, "You should have listened to Riku." He was suddenly in the air, the shadowy figure standing on the hunk of earth far below him with his hands pressed together, sparks building all over his fingertips, arcing like some kind of Frankensteinian machine. A tiny glowing orb suddenly pushed his palms apart and sparks shot out into the air all around his hands. Even as Sora was hurtling away from the man, he could feel the tingle of static in the air as if a massive bolt of lightning were about to strike. There was a whisper of air unlike the rushing wind all around him; Sora looked up just in time to see a dark portal split open above him and to hear the Man in Black below him bellow his displeasure as his target flew across the threshold. He felt like he could still hear the angered scream ringing in his ears as his mind came back to the Land of Departure. His fingernails dug into the spaces between the stone blocks on the wall, the knuckles turning white as the Keyblade Master pulled himself upright again. His breath hadn't completely come back to him. His left hand pressed to the burns hidden underneath the steely gray vest that enveloped his torso and the zipper along the front chilling the skin between the aching palm prints on his skin. He pushed off the wall, his knee nearly giving way after the first step though Sora managed to steady himself, and stepped around the corner into the Master's Hall. The stained light from the glass above the intricately carved wooden thrones of the three Masters illuminated the room, freezing Sora as he stood among the rainbow of scattered sun shafts. His feet began to move again; the shuffling steps echoed in the silent space. The left chair, where he'd sat during his tenure, had been kicked over, tossed aside carelessly. The sun shone through the hollowed spaces around his selected emblem, charred entirely black on one side. He reached the foot of the dais, his legs unwilling to push him up the few steps onto the platform. The blue irises slipped to his right, the second Master's seat, Riku's seat... It had joined much of the wooden accents in the lower parts of the keep as a sizable lump of matchsticks and kindling that had been hurled into the nearest wall with pieces scattered around the base of the platform. The Keyblade Master forced his body each step up to the very center of the platform. Cracks formed a spider web all around him, the remnant of a blow so strong it spread out a few feet from the epicenter. The high-backed throne that had been set in the middle, the Grand Master's seat, was pushed back from the battle, sitting in the shadows underneath the stained glass. He stepped off the far edge, his aching limbs catching him and letting him stumble. His bare fingers found the arms of the chair, digging into the wood as he held himself upright. Sora did his best to breathe deeply, his whole body shaking as he exhaled. With a sudden effort, he started to pull the chair out of the shadows. Grunting, Sora managed to drag the thick wood into the light, illuminating the damage Aqua's attackers had inflicted. The back had been cleaved in two all the way to the seat, the two halves creaking eerily as he dragged it back toward the platform. He stopped to breathe again, panting as he ran his fingers along the back and the sides, feeling scorch marks all over. He lifted, groaning and wheezing until the feet scraped back onto the cracked masonry, sliding back into its proper place. The Keyblade Master looked up at the shorn back as he caught his breath and brushed his palms off on the flowing legs of his pants. Looking back to the corner of the Great Hall, to the third armchair that nothing could be done for, he stepped around to the side where the remaining seat was. He reached out carefully, brushing his fingers along the scorch marks for a moment. They felt different than the ones in the dormitory, and as he looked closer in the colored light, the pattern was entirely different. It flowed around everything, blazing hotter in some spots than others. The lightning spots were mazes of burn marks, and as he looked around the chamber for further evidence, he felt his heart sink. There were both the swirling fire spots and the arcing lightning strikes. "He's not alone." Sora mumbled, his hands working without instruction to pick up the throne and set it next to the other. His spikes bounced as he stood back, his irises moving back and forth to both empty chairs. His coat lifted as he turned in place, a gentle breeze rolling through the stone hall and whistling in the corners. "And I've managed to lose everyone." The words startled even the Keybearer, blinking as he felt the loneliness creeping forward again. His fingers searched around his neck, closing tight around the silver emblem and golden band that he'd worn for years. His legs started to shake once more, falling back into the empty throne. The wood gave a screech of protest as it was pushed back under his weight, coming to a stop in a crack before it toppled over and tipped him out backwards. The Keyblade Master set his elbows on his knees and leaned forward. His fingers let the charms go to rest against his chest, warmed in his palms so he couldn't feel them on his skin anymore and brought his palms up to rest over his eyes. The breeze whispered through again, teasing the legs of his jeans and the hem of his coat, but eventually even that died down. There he sat. The last of the Keyblade Wielders, alone in the Light, and waiting for the Darkness to fall.

If none of you managed to catch my awful sort of subtlety, I kind of gave up on this as an RP. I thought I could handle all of the responsibilities of running a thread, but it turns out I'm far too lazy and far too picky to play with you all. That having been said, I enjoyed meeting a lot of you, and some of you have given me the inspiration for this: LightFall on FanFiction LightFall on DeviantArt Please let me know what you think! May your sentences never run-on, PaperWeight

We need a freakin flowchart for all these characters...

That's good; hopefully I won't have any necessary pieces I need to replace. Though, we may have to keep track of things for Yuffie if we get anywhere, while she's healing up.

Fists slid into deep pockets, the nails chewed short and rough on both hands. The man shifted his shoulders uncomfortably under his coat; as hot as it might be, it was very rare he took it off. His dark brown eyes scaled buildings, intrigued by the orange stucco that surrounded him at every turn, accented by yellowing bricks and bronze cobblestones in the street. It was almost as though the town wanted its citizens to feel as though they lived on the everlasting sunset strode on across the sky around their heads, not a care in the world as to what they were doing or who they might really be. It brought a smirk to his lips under the hood, going so far as to make him chuckle darkly as he found himself staring into a little corner cafe, the people lounging inside making him cock his head to the side, the irony lost on everyone but him. Did they even know... Did they even care that they might be empty shells, simply drifting through space? The bell clanged over his head as the door gave way to his grip. A whistle rang through the streets, slipping in just as the door hissed shut behind him, making the man in his long white coat turn his head. "A train..." His eyes followed the billowing purple steam as it swirled up behind the buildings that lined the market row. As it slid into the station, he'd turned around, his fingers scooping up a half a sandwich before anyone could say otherwise, forcing it beneath the lip of the hood with ravenous hunger, his bare fingers shredding the bread as he tore into it with his teeth. The man in white turned again, flicking crumbs off the intricate designs that marked his arms, his hood perking back up as he watched the station once more. The thief watched for a few moments, his crumb-covered lips pursed in disappointment. His footsteps echoed in the silent cafe, the other patrons staring down this oddly dressed person, the shouts of the man behind the counter falling on uncaring ears. Another worker wearing grimy apron, carving knife in hand, jumped in front of the hooded figure, standing taller than the hooded man would care to admit. His eyes narrowed as he peered up at the man, the shadow of his hood hiding him from sight. "What a terrible affectation..." he grumbled, earning a startled look from the other occupants in the room. "Eating. Such a bother. I can never make it go fast or easy enough for my liking..." His hood cocked to the side as he explained, the smirk under his hood expanding into an almost Cheshire grin, its white shine visible even in the shadows. His left hand was around the neck of poor worker in front of him like a python around a mouse, squeezing until his face turned blue, feet swinging hard, catching blows that seemed to have no effect, until one caught the side of his head, merely pushing the hood back off his face, revealing only spiky brown hair as he grinned maniacally up at his quarry. "Though... Fresh meat always helps." The shop was silent by the time the hooded man walked out, dusting off the arms of his coat once more. A lot of work had gone into it, best care ought to be applied. He was about to turn a corner, the sound of flames turning wood to charcoal snapping out behind him, when a boom, followed by pulsing waves of energy and, his favorite, screaming. Bone-chilling, terrified, panic-driven screams from those too weak to be anything but casualties. It was just enough to make sparks start flying errantly from his fingertips. "Barca..." The word made him blink, turning in place to see another person a head taller than he was, arms tucked uncomfortably across his chest as the shadowy eyes stared him down. It didn't take any further words for the argument they were having. The spiky haired man glared back for a moment, before flicking off hood and sighing. "Jeez, you guys are such buzzkills." Folding his own arms across his cloaked chest, he turned to look up the side of the clocktower to where the explosions and sounds of battle echoing down the sides of the stone buildings to their location. Watching, they stood side by side in motionless for several terse minutes. "So what?" Barca suddenly flung his hands up in exasperation at the kid. "We just sit here and let them all run away? There could still be terrorists up there, you know!" The boy's head tilted back, peering up at the road that was now swarming with fleeing souls. "We'll go..." he murmured, stepping up to pass the man in white and make his long way around to the scene of the fighting. He paused as he came to the first corner. "But no killing. We have orders, after all..." With that, Daryen slunk off to find the ramps that wound lazily up to the train station. As soon as the creepily quiet armor vanished around the corner, the wolfish grin returned. "Well, that gives me a couple minutes to enjoy myself, at least." He started toward the base of the clocktower, suddenly breaking into a sprint, leaping easily up the sides of the buildings and scrambling straight up the surface, landing among the remnants of the escaping crowd, and feeling the waves of power strikes washing over him from within the building. Jamming one fist into his palm, his knuckles cracked and sparks flew out from his fist, while his tongue flitted out the corner of his mouth to slip over his lips. "A man has to eat, after all..." By the time he'd even run through the doors, however, things were completely peaceful. Well, the place was torn apart almost entirely, but whatever superpowerful combatants had been there were already spirited away, leaving naught but smoking craters and broken trains. The man in white curled his hands into tight fists, multicolored sparks jumping off his hands. Swinging his left hard at the closest wall, the surface broke away like dry sand, a line of razor sharp icicles jumping out along the rest of the wall where he'd struck, letting loose a string of curses loud enough to be heard on the beaches all the while.

I'm really sorry you're hurting, Yuffie. Hope everything heals up soon. Second out... Name: Daryen Age: 14 Gender: Male Appearance: If you could describe a person just by yawning, this would most likely be that person. Tall for what would have been his age, standing over six feet tall, and hidden away almost entirely under steel plates with only the slightest white accents. The pale grey eyes might have drawn some looks, although the way his wavy black hair hangs down, they're difficult to even notice, hidden away in shadows and camouflaged by the deep, black and blue bags under his eyes. Breaking up his nearly textureless armor is a small black and white crest, etched into his breastplate and painted over, designed and implemented by the boy once he recognized his fate: an hourglass, filled with black and white sand on opposing sides. Underneath, the lanky kid is surprisingly well toned. Alignment: Bad Side: Balance Personality: The shadows that mask his eyes conceal the most dangerous part of the missable man: his mind. Incredibly gifted tactically and mechanically, his is able to analyze tactics in a moment, and produce an effective strategy. This makes him a valuable tool in the Keyblade Wielder's forces, though his place as a foot soldier would hardly belie this fact, due to his seeming carelessness about... well, everything. He tends to be apathetic about any situation that he faces. The only thing he really seems to have an opposition to is any unnecessary bloodshed, and will defend unarmed citizens, despite loyalties, if called upon. Bio: Born some time after the end of the Second Keyblade warrior, when Sora's influence was a fading memory, his childhood was interchangable with any other child of the time. Once he turned seven, the first signs of his aptitude were noticed. An immensely intelligent, compassionate young child, already able to manifest skills of a Keybearer... A prize of unusual quality for any ethically bereft scientists. Although sometimes they prefer to be called 'evil geniuses'. Political correction is so hard to keep up with these days. Taken away from his family on his tenth birthday, with promises of safety and glory for all, he soon found himself the subject of impossible and painful experiments. The torture lasted four years, as far as he knew, until the boy was left a broken, thoughtless shell of a person. One last experiment was devised, recreated from the pages of a century old journal. His memory becomes somewhat unclear at this point, but when he awoke, the lab was empty, only char marks and ice-cold crystal formations on the walls, and he was bound inside a large suit of armor with no discernible way of removing the plates. He managed to find his way back to his homeworld, but everything on its surface was different; the village had become a city, and there was no sign of his family. Keyblade: Lost Sentiment Long reach, though within 'bastard' length. Secondary Weapon: A hefty kite shield, sheathed on his back when not in combat, worn on his forearm, he is able to wield it with Lost Sentiment or without, slamming and throwing about enemies. Its strength and resistance to damage are augmented by a moderate control over Sound, which he can use to deaden the one-man-band quality of the massive armor and create subsequent shockwaves for his attacks. Theme song: Judgement.

-pulls out glasses and a clipboard, jotting something down- Okay, just a show of hands, no shouting: are we missing anyone?

-wanders in and starts dusting off set pieces-

Well, that fills me up with the warm and fuzzies; thank you.

First up... Name: Barca Tereo Age: 247 Gender: Male Appearance: Every inch of the man comes across as immaculate; the perfect man chiseled from marble and given the breath of life, and not a single scar adorning his sun-kissed skin. From his never-torn clothing to his piercing brown eyes to the fanned out bangs held up across his forehead. Short of stature, but solidly built, his broad, muscled shoulders build up to a thick neck. His chin is lightly dimpled, and the whole of his jawline bears the slightest amounts of 5 o'clock shadow, just enough to give him a rugged look, as if he were some sort of adventuring part-time-archaeologist/professor, which only serves to make his perfect white smile seem to shine all the brighter. His built chest and arms are squeezed into a black t-shirt which, despite being a size or so small (only to show off the defined, toned musculature beneath), bears a white insignia whose meaning has been lost in the ages this man has been stumbling drunkenly around the worlds, and is the same as the emblem he has tattooed on his shoulder blade, both covering his heart. The hem overlaps a thick brown leather belt, which carries no special significance, except that brown belts look good in just about everything. Except khakis. Which he wouldn't be caught dead wearing. Seriously. If he ever has to wear khakis, just firetrucking shoot him. Right in the face. Where was I? Jeans! Heavens be praised for those tough fabrics in all their wonderful shades of blue! The snags and tears and bits of fabric hanging out along the legs and pockets are entirely intentional. The pockets are entirely intact, their only contents an impossibly flat piece of technology which fits comfortably into his palm without worry of breaking or crushing its deceptively fragile shell, and a tarnished golden bracelet, whose origins are a complete mystery to everyone who has seen it, including the man carrying it. It does bear a crest, similar in design to those already adorning him, but of a different shape. The final piece of his perfectly assembled outfit is a simple pair of sandals, which have been known to range across the entire spectrum of seeable colors, and venturing into the unseeable! (These were eventually scrapped from his wardrobe due to the fact that no one could see them.) The only bit of Barca that will appear without meaning are a pristine white duster, the arms tattered just below his elbows, and the hem worn and shredded from a long lifetime of battles, accompanied by the worn handle of a katana, the blade broken off right at the hilt. Barca Tereo Alignment: Evil, straight up. Personality: From his appearance alone, anyone can discern that Barca cares a LOT about his appearance. He goes out of his way to preserve every piece he wears, and boasts the impressive record of not a single piece of his wardrobe being damaged beyond wearability. Messing up his hair is the fastest and easiest way to debilitate him for a minute, but beware! His blows will come faster and stronger, once he has fixed his coiffure. In conversation, his compatriots tend to find the man insufferable, his words most often aimed to denigrate and dripping with sarcasm, while his haughty demeanor refuses to allow insults to be given to him, generally leading to fisticuffs. He has also learned to take an appreciation from flinging his sandals off his feet at a target, enemy or friend, in a game he likes to call 'sandal-fu'. Despite not maiming or killing anyone, it is one of his favorite ways to pass the time, and his sandals always seem to magically reappear nearby, if not on his feet. Bio: Before the Keyblade Wielders came to power, before Sora struck down Xehanort in combat at the Keyblade Graveyard, before Terra, Ventus and Aqua found their way to their dire fates, there was a world; a simple blue green world that was pleasant enough to visit, with technology abounding and improving their way of life beyond their memory. It was a place of light and warmth and good people. As a boy, he was quiet, unassuming, and even into his teenage years, he was considered a model citizen. One morning, his eyes snapped open, and the tender gaze had changed one of malicious cunning. It was the day darkness came to his world. He waged his one-man war against his people, using their creations in demonic ways they never thought to imagine, choosing victims captured by his troops for his own wicked experiments, resulting in even more tortured beings to serve his cause. Eventually, at great cost, and with the help of a brilliant man from an unknown city, Barca was tricked into pressing an advance, and was imprisoned in a stasis chamber, and dropped into the hordes of dark creatures he had created. Left without their brutal leader, the Darkness overran the planet. The world was forgotten, and all of their advanced technology lost. Save for one man... The brilliant scientist, truly a mad genius from another world in another time, observed their destruction with keen interest. Upon his return to his own time, he returned to Barca's homeworld, only to find the darkness gone, the ruined cities only twisted metal spines and broken stones, and the stasis chamber resting comfortably in the middle of an empty plain. Before he had time to do more than open the chamber, skeletal fingers wrapped around the scientist's neck, the bones and fragile structures withing cracking under an unimaginable strength. Dusting his old clothes off, he made his way off the planet, leaving his ruined world and the bones of his only equal, forging into the new worlds, meaning to reclaim what he had lost. Weapons: First and foremost, he prefers to bring only his curled knuckles to a fight. He is proficient in a wide variety of weapon styles, but his fists are almost always going to be his tools of destruction. He's imbued himself with an unprecedented strength, able to take apart steel and brick and mortar with a single swing, send opponents flying with a lazy swipe, and even catch melee weapons without harming himself. If he seems to be fighting against someone of equal skill, he has the ability to call upon swirling flame in his right hand to redouble his blows and increase his movement speed, and creeping blue ice in his left to armor his body and surround his opponent in an unfamiliar chill (although the range of this tends to be limited by the size of the room, and its exposure to heat). Theme song: Judgement.

Well, that's the plan. The break may not have been welcome, but it did give me some time to work out how I want the whole thing to land, and how to explain our friendly neighborhood antagonists.