"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... )
Terra's power was unimaginable. Xehanort's, he had known, would be something even he couldn't fathom, but never had he imagined that the man who would have been his master capable of so much. Months ago, they had fought. He never used these abilities then. Now it spurred him to fight even more, fueled by anger and determination. They were fighting for their lives now.
Riku relied on his speed and his quicker jabs at Xehanort, trying to distract him while Terra used the harder blows. While he was inefficient with magic, his darkness was powerful and in check. He used that, too, to distract his foe and let the more experienced wielder do his work. What spells he knew were fired off on the wings of Terra's own, adding to his attacks. And when all else failed, he was summoning Cure to heal the armor, calling on his dark shields to protect himself and his friend.
Even then, it did not feel like enough. They were chipping down what was left of a powerful man. Hope seemed distant (a far off memory) for them. If they came out of this fight, the damage would be irreversible. Terra could lose his body forever.
It was the light that caught his attention, a familiar balm he had felt before. He lifted his head when he felt it and was surprised to see the lion come to their side. Weary, Riku's eyes met his and he smiled. And then he pulled himself into a firmer stance, blade up, eyes focused on Xehanort. He summoned what will he had to continue, raw energy collecting to his body. With Aslan here, there was a better chance at this all being righted.
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What stood between his favored foes was not a being. It was an idea, a metaphor that spoke and acted its will upon a world that had no more tenable claim to it than it did to destiny or oblivion or love. Master Xehanort could sense the magnificent, terrible scope of him now, a brilliant horizon that went on into eternity, a cresting wave that never broke the shore, an infinite well that bubbled with answers and ruin, a great ivory door that bore a golden keyhole through which spilled the sunlight in his dreams and cast no shadows-
Light. All of it, Light.
He could not look away.
“You would steal it from me, then.” His words were meant for the beast that was not a beast, more wild and unreal than any creature. How he fooled them! How willing they were to have faith without knowing! “A theft for a theft.”
His fingers tightened around the hilt of his weapon and within him, his last great reserves swelled and howled. The monstrous darkness in his heart responded to the seemingly insurmountable challenge, a cloud of pitch swarming around his body, blossoming, reaching, seeking to swallow up the light around and before him by sheer force of will and malignance and desire. In its frothing it sometimes took its own shape, a creature with a bound mouth and reaching arms-one, then two, then many, a legion of nightmares that clung to his back and his arms and raged with him. He bore the weight of this dreadful host, and more, and poured all his great heart into the extension of his self that was his Keyblade and welcomed the crime of ego, of the mortal being that defied the Light personified.
“You will not have it!” The dark mass with him at its center moved, a river, an ocean, a universe that was his will. “You will not have my destiny!”
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But that wasn't going to happen, was it? Even with Aslan, with a light that shone brighter than the hearts of worlds, how could that happen now? He couldn't hope. He had gone too far, strayed so far off the path he'd been set on as a boy he could no longer glimpse that road when he looked back.
It wasn't meant for him. He'd been too weak and too dark. He'd made too many mistakes. He was all he deserved to be, but he still had to destroy Xehanort. Aslan didn't mean to take that from him, did he?
His helmet lifted. He watched as the darkness rallied, becoming something less a despised element and more a monster. A monster made of monsters, all dark, all taken by hatred. Could his heart even survive such chaos called to it? He could no longer sense it or feel its pull, wrapped so thoroughly in Xehanort's vile darkness as it was. Was that it then? Was his light gone for good?
The cage above them wavered, one ripple and then another splashing across the barrier of chains until they began to break apart, leaving the dark to pool through in place of the gold light.
Terra's armor took a step forward, not pressing or interrupting or going around to get at his enemy because his trust in Aslan ran deep and he dared not defy that kind of strength. His movement nonetheless had meaning and, with a slight tightening of his grip on the Keyblade's hilt, was a question and a plea on the behalf of his heart. Even if he could no longer be sure that existed as anything more than an extension of Xehanort's new identity.
"Aslan."
Don't take it from him. Let me.
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Acknowledging the presence of the Sentiment beside him, Aslan shifted his gaze, watching him. Though unspoken, the request resounded clearly, a plea that he had no intention of dishonoring. Briefly, he inclined his head, the warmth in those golden eyes no less than it had ever been.
It shall be so.
Before that moment could come, however, one thing yet remained. Undeterred by the surge of dark energies seeking to drive him out, he padded forward in silence, every step somehow seeming to shake the very earth to its foundations. He stopped just short of striking distance, unafraid of the wrath of a man who'd presumed to be more than he was meant to be.
"It was never yours to have."
Kingdom Hearts. The very light that comprised Aslan's being, the absoluteness of it that Xehanort so despised, was the very power Xehanort sought to harness. The man had knowledge, it was true. It was wisdom, however, that he was sorely lacking. In his arrogance, he had not only had the audacity to claim a heart and body that was never his for the taking, but also to attempt to overthrow the Heart of all that lived. There was no theft here other than what Xehanort himself had committed. He had walked his path and made his choices. It was now time to answer for them.
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Dragging the claws of his right forepaw across the ground, streaks of light rent the swirling blackness, cutting to the very center of the man before him.
Terra.
Another slash of brilliance.
Awake.
And another.
It is time.
A sound more terrible than any other ripped through the enclosure, filling it with fury as it reverberated across the heavens. Aslan roared, and with that singular act, two hearts already beginning to fracture apart were rent in twain.
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Five years of training.
Five years of caution. A lifetime of wanting. A single moment when all was clear and a hand on his shoulder that told him no. Wait. Don't.
“Always protect yourself before stepping into the darkness. If you do not, it will take you as it has taken many others. I would not lose my apprentices to such a fate.”
Oh, but he hadn't known! He hadn't seen! The depth, the grandness, the power and knowledge and the opportunity to be had for those that dared to step into the void! There in the blackness all limitations fell away and existence itself became pliable, a tool in his hands, a weapon, a scepter, a crown! He could have wept for them and their ignorance; he could have wailed in pity and impotence while they denied the truths that he held out to the universe with open arms. They were afraid and they were unaware and at every crossroads a cloaked figure pointed the way to truth but it remains infinitely simpler to turn away and choose the safer path. That way was ruin, stagnation, smallness and and helplessness and the bitter sweetness of time and death and endings. He had realized this then and knew it so keenly now and the Light itself could stand in his way but he would not forget, he would not, he would--
How excited he'd been! Another boy, another apprentice, his name was Ventus--
Ventus. So kind and so young but there was darkness in his heart and the potential to wield a Keyblade. It would have to be him despite his frailness, there were no others--
His dream. He'd been waiting his whole life but he'd never thought he could share it like this. He couldn't wait--
Soon. Soon, at last, his dream, his only desire...! He had so little time and he was so very close--
There was no pain. The purifying fire was beyond earthly. There was no pain. Just light and light and light and a sound that shook the sky, very stars themselves in their heavenly beds....no. No, it was closer than that. Far closer. The wave was breaking against the shore at last and oh the place was so small and so narrow and yet the strength of that wave was more than his young mind and small body could comprehend. All his years of waiting and it had found him, come for him, and he was as helpless now as he had been on that day, on every day thereafter.
Had there ever been a time when it was not so?
But--
The great Master fell to his knees and cast over his stolen body was a ghostly copy, one that bore his true face and was edged in gold and shimmering smoke. The two, reality and specter, wavered and overlapped and bled into one another, but the illusion of closeness was simply that - a mirage, a trick of the eye. All his careful, powerful seals had come undone; his spirit was unraveling, falling away, torn and wounded so deep within that all he could do was cling to his very existence in desperation.
His head lifted and his eyes asked the only question there was to ask.
But why?
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