Defeat [Ienzo/Zexion, PG-13]
Title: Defeat
Pairing: Ienzo/Zexion
Written For: x-izone for her super fabulous 18th birthday! Happy birthday my dear!
Rating: PG-13
He found his Heartless, lurking in the shadows, of course. He'd only come here on a mission. It wasn't for any reason, or anything, he wasn't looking for him.
That didn't explain why he followed him, or rather, followed the shadow on the wall, dancing in the green torchlight.
The shadow moved faster, so did he. Finally, he rounded him into a corner, and saw the slightly-shorter figure start in panic, then look frantically around for an exit.
"No way to run," he whispered, and summoned his weapon out of the same nothingness in which his counterpart was hiding. "...So you might as well fight."
Ienzo the Heartless melted out of the shadows.
His shoes, black patent leather, with thick steel claws arching from the toes and digging even into the stone of the Underworld. Zippered pants, in dusky dark purple, with the silver zippers making zigzags up to a belt thick with spiky chains. His shirt, what you could call a shirt, was black - as it seemed to be made out of shadow itself, curling up across Ienzo's all-too-familiar skinny pale chest. He had a long cloak on on top of it all - gray, with purple lining, and the edges rippled and dissolved into stony camoflage. But his hands - his hands were what made Zexion's blood run cold (or was it hot?), for his hands had been replaced with long metallic torture devices. Slim steel needle fingers dragged across the stone, scraped up sparks, and Ienzo's beautiful, unchanged face curled into a sadistic smirk. "The question is, do you want to fight me?"
Zexion felt his mouth run dry, but it wasn't because he was scared. He tossed his head back, answered with a smirk of his own, and let the Lexicon fall open in his hands. "Want?" The book split and started hovering around him, and he folded his arms complacently. "I think I've want enough."
"Then..." Ienzo suddenly drew his cloak closed around him, and vanished entirely - Zexion's eyes widened, he tried to summon a shield of pages, but he couldn't tell where his heartless had gone. "...Perhaps we should skip the charade?"
He was right there, and Zexion's reactions were dulled by the pure physical reaction of their proximity. He gasped, and when steel stiletto fingers pierced his coat and threw him back against the wall, he knew he was powerless to resist. Ienzo was right. The charade was meaningless.
After all, everyone else had followed their orders with no problem. Go, Xemnas had said, go out into the worlds and find your Heartless. And when you find them, destroy them.
He was the only one who hadn't been able to accomplish his goal. It should have been easy. It should have been no problem.
Zexion left the Olympus Coliseum with the remains of his coat folded under one arm. It wasn't the only thing to leave this world in tatters; his pride had been broken long ago, and every time they met, another little piece was torn away.
Perhaps one day he'd have none left, and he wouldn't tell himself that he wasn't there for one reason and one reason only.
Perhaps, then, he would finally be able to defeat him.
Pairing: Ienzo/Zexion
Written For: x-izone for her super fabulous 18th birthday! Happy birthday my dear!
Rating: PG-13
He found his Heartless, lurking in the shadows, of course. He'd only come here on a mission. It wasn't for any reason, or anything, he wasn't looking for him.
That didn't explain why he followed him, or rather, followed the shadow on the wall, dancing in the green torchlight.
The shadow moved faster, so did he. Finally, he rounded him into a corner, and saw the slightly-shorter figure start in panic, then look frantically around for an exit.
"No way to run," he whispered, and summoned his weapon out of the same nothingness in which his counterpart was hiding. "...So you might as well fight."
Ienzo the Heartless melted out of the shadows.
His shoes, black patent leather, with thick steel claws arching from the toes and digging even into the stone of the Underworld. Zippered pants, in dusky dark purple, with the silver zippers making zigzags up to a belt thick with spiky chains. His shirt, what you could call a shirt, was black - as it seemed to be made out of shadow itself, curling up across Ienzo's all-too-familiar skinny pale chest. He had a long cloak on on top of it all - gray, with purple lining, and the edges rippled and dissolved into stony camoflage. But his hands - his hands were what made Zexion's blood run cold (or was it hot?), for his hands had been replaced with long metallic torture devices. Slim steel needle fingers dragged across the stone, scraped up sparks, and Ienzo's beautiful, unchanged face curled into a sadistic smirk. "The question is, do you want to fight me?"
Zexion felt his mouth run dry, but it wasn't because he was scared. He tossed his head back, answered with a smirk of his own, and let the Lexicon fall open in his hands. "Want?" The book split and started hovering around him, and he folded his arms complacently. "I think I've want enough."
"Then..." Ienzo suddenly drew his cloak closed around him, and vanished entirely - Zexion's eyes widened, he tried to summon a shield of pages, but he couldn't tell where his heartless had gone. "...Perhaps we should skip the charade?"
He was right there, and Zexion's reactions were dulled by the pure physical reaction of their proximity. He gasped, and when steel stiletto fingers pierced his coat and threw him back against the wall, he knew he was powerless to resist. Ienzo was right. The charade was meaningless.
After all, everyone else had followed their orders with no problem. Go, Xemnas had said, go out into the worlds and find your Heartless. And when you find them, destroy them.
He was the only one who hadn't been able to accomplish his goal. It should have been easy. It should have been no problem.
Zexion left the Olympus Coliseum with the remains of his coat folded under one arm. It wasn't the only thing to leave this world in tatters; his pride had been broken long ago, and every time they met, another little piece was torn away.
Perhaps one day he'd have none left, and he wouldn't tell himself that he wasn't there for one reason and one reason only.
Perhaps, then, he would finally be able to defeat him.