ＲＥＰＯＲＴ ＶＩＩ ∵ [ Video ]
Dear friends. Dearer enemies.
[ A familiar and not-familiar voice. The darkened city skyline. For those that know it, Xehanort's home is recognizable, though the view is not from the porch this time, or even from the second floor balcony. The speaker is perched on the roof, standing tall and steady against a howling wind. At the edges of the display, darkness churns in an upward funnel, blasting dirt and debris into the air.
The long-present and relatively weak barrier around the house is flickering, solidifying, gradually changing from an invisible partition to a noticeable, impenetrable wall. ]
There is a dedication I would like to make. To a student...no, to a man who has done me so proud.
[ The face is as deformed as the voice. Recognizable features in unrecognizable colors, a grand triumphant smile. He holds a familiar book. ]
Thy days are done, thy fame begun;
Thy country's strains record
The triumphs of her chosen Son,
The slaughter of his sword!
The deeds he did, the fields he won,
The freedom he restored!
[ He lifts his free hand and a twisted Keyblade forms from smoke and coiling pitch into his solid grip. The wind and the shadows roar and, out of sight, a tree splits and topples. ]
Though thou art fall'n, while we are free
Thou shalt not taste of death!
The generous blood that flow'd from thee
Disdain'd to sink beneath:
Within our veins its currents be,
Thy spirit on our breath!
[ With mad, energetic flourish he flips his weapon, the gleaming tip carving a bright arc in the air before it plunges into the brittle shingles beneath his feet. Shards of flashing light and writhing murk surge outward, cascading over the whole of the house before expanding, melding with the barrier. The magic walls seems to harden, slick and gleaming.
Then there is the rumble and groan of soil and stone, the barrier plunging into the earth to lock out the outside world entirely, even from beneath the ground. ]
Thy name, our charging hosts along,
Shall be the battle-word!
Thy fall, the theme of choral song
From virgin voices pour'd!
To weep would do thy glory wrong:
Thou shalt not be deplored.
[ His work done, his observance made, his solemnity returns and Master Xehanort tosses his book aside. He bows his head, his hand resting on his chest.
His chest, now. ] Thank you, Terra. This will not be wasted.
[ Clear, awful yellow eyes look into the NV and, consequently, out into the populace he's so long treated with at least a modicum of deference and respect. Such allowance has wholly vanished from his expression.
The genial old man is no more. ]
But it is time to do away with children's games.
[ A familiar and not-familiar voice. The darkened city skyline. For those that know it, Xehanort's home is recognizable, though the view is not from the porch this time, or even from the second floor balcony. The speaker is perched on the roof, standing tall and steady against a howling wind. At the edges of the display, darkness churns in an upward funnel, blasting dirt and debris into the air.
The long-present and relatively weak barrier around the house is flickering, solidifying, gradually changing from an invisible partition to a noticeable, impenetrable wall. ]
There is a dedication I would like to make. To a student...no, to a man who has done me so proud.
[ The face is as deformed as the voice. Recognizable features in unrecognizable colors, a grand triumphant smile. He holds a familiar book. ]
Thy days are done, thy fame begun;
Thy country's strains record
The triumphs of her chosen Son,
The slaughter of his sword!
The deeds he did, the fields he won,
The freedom he restored!
[ He lifts his free hand and a twisted Keyblade forms from smoke and coiling pitch into his solid grip. The wind and the shadows roar and, out of sight, a tree splits and topples. ]
Though thou art fall'n, while we are free
Thou shalt not taste of death!
The generous blood that flow'd from thee
Disdain'd to sink beneath:
Within our veins its currents be,
Thy spirit on our breath!
[ With mad, energetic flourish he flips his weapon, the gleaming tip carving a bright arc in the air before it plunges into the brittle shingles beneath his feet. Shards of flashing light and writhing murk surge outward, cascading over the whole of the house before expanding, melding with the barrier. The magic walls seems to harden, slick and gleaming.
Then there is the rumble and groan of soil and stone, the barrier plunging into the earth to lock out the outside world entirely, even from beneath the ground. ]
Thy name, our charging hosts along,
Shall be the battle-word!
Thy fall, the theme of choral song
From virgin voices pour'd!
To weep would do thy glory wrong:
Thou shalt not be deplored.
[ His work done, his observance made, his solemnity returns and Master Xehanort tosses his book aside. He bows his head, his hand resting on his chest.
His chest, now. ] Thank you, Terra. This will not be wasted.
[ Clear, awful yellow eyes look into the NV and, consequently, out into the populace he's so long treated with at least a modicum of deference and respect. Such allowance has wholly vanished from his expression.
The genial old man is no more. ]
But it is time to do away with children's games.