"In the depths of every heart, there is a tomb and a dungeon--"
Who: Terra, Riku, Joe, Aslan, and Master Xehanort
When: Late evening, progressing throughout the night
Where: Dead Horse Cove
Summary: The culmination of the events that began with the theft of Terra’s body - or, arguably, with Xehanort’s arrival in Siren’s Port - that will once and for all put an end to the villain’s reprehensible plans. A goal ( Read more... )
“But sometimes, and oftenest at midnight, those dark receptacles are flung wide open.”
The spare.
The desire to laugh was irrational and pointless, and yet Xehanort felt no need to contain it. He half-lowered his weapon, the awful clearness of his smile a marked contrast to the shadows that rolled about his body, barely contained. Above them, storm clouds gathered, slithering across the sky in stains of industrial browns and grays. The air cooled, rolled, grew wild and whipped mercilessly at the steely waters and pale sands, lifted his clothing and his hair and fashioned him into a specter born of the storm and the awful destruction that boiled underneath it all. And despite this, despite the noise and fury and building energies, still he laughed, the mockery clear and sharp.
How glorious it felt to do away with all pretense.
“You would have survived, my boy, had you stayed away.” he said to the replica and took a half-step toward him, body lowering into a preparatory stance. “But you had never struck me as the most intelligent of copies.”
Inferior his expression said in the moment before he tore toward the interloper, dragging a net of lighting in his wake before flinging the long web of sizzling white and blue toward Joe.
His thoughts fashioned the time as the second quarter of the hour.
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