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“Angel of Twilight: Clockwork Breakdown”	By : HappyDragon Category: Kingdom Hearts > Slash/Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 8242 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Kingdom Hearts, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 10
- 11
- 12
Key:
“Talking aloud.”
‘Thinking to one’s self.’
::Denotes sound effects:: ::and actions.:: Only used during speech.
Major P.O.V./Scene Change: * * * *
~+~+~+~+ Flashback Start/End
A/N: My notes/comments/ramblings
{Beta’s musings & Comments}
Chapter Start/End: ------

A/N: [[Removed to comply with new AFF guidelines. Please see the MM.org version for full A/Ns: http://www.mediaminer.org/fanfic/view_st.php/156268]]

Rating: NC-17

|Spoilers|: There are some light spoilers for all three games.

|Warning|: The usual. Beware OOC-ness. Also beware the language, angst, and psychological trauma to Riku. (Oh my gods the language!)

Beta’d by:

Criticism: Constructive only. Non-Axel flamers need not respond.

Reviews:

*AFF.NET
Kage: DX I’m sorry I made you wait so long for the next chapter!!!! But thanks for dropping me a line even when you weren’t logged in. :3 Yeah, I’m gonna keep going on this story until it’s done.

MPS SHADOWMASTER: Yeeesssss . . . . and I updated again! . . . . After 50 million years. =_=;; I can has more forgiveness? ::Puppy!Sora eyes::

Yeah, in my first group with had a Psion instead of a healer, until I came in with my Rouge/Cleric. That wasn’t too much fun. And with the new group, yes, running around as Demy was awesome. And even better, with a different group I got to play as Zexion. Unfortunately, I can’t get back to that group . . . but I at least know what to make Zexy if I ever run him again. >3 Custom classes re fun.

Axel cosplayer?! WhOOOOOooootttttt!! I wish you luck with that!

>D . . . . I’ve actually been looking around for reference ideas and some concepts on what to make everyone in all the different worlds where Sora has to change form to be on them--including Halloween Town. For a while I was bouncing around ideas on what to make Roxas--Demonic Angel, Vampire like Sora, something else--but after starting in on ‘358/2 Days’ I think I know what I’m going to make him now. . .

Roxas = Zombie. ^_^

Roxas!Muse: T_T . . .

Alexiel (Axel!Muse): >3 Told you you were a freaking zombie. . ::Looks at Lynn:: So, we gonna have him run around with a blindfold on or not? Because I still don’t think I want a blindfolded zombie on the loose.

Happy/Lynn: If we blindfold him, he’ll have to hold onto you and use you as his eyes. . .

Alexiel: ::Thinks:: Throw in the ability to blind-fight, and I’m game.

Roxas!Muse: ::Facepalms::

~MM.Org readers
Go there to read replies.

Disclaimer: So there’s this guy, in Japan, and his name is like Tetsuya Nomura, and he’s been working with Square-Enix for, like, EVER!!! I mean, since it was still called Square-Soft---that’s how long ago. And, like, well, he designs characters and stuff and junk and stuff and---::Head explodes from trying to keep up the bad Valley-Girl talk::

Long ago and far away, That Guy was hired to do some designing for Square-Soft. People liked his shit. People liked his shit so much that the company kept using him . . . . and using him . . . . and using him. So when Disney turned to them and said ‘WE WANNA DO A JOINT VENTURE THINGY TO MAKE MORE MONEY! BECAUSE JAPAN FUCKING LOVES MICKEY MOUSE, AND AMERICANS WILL EAT UP ANY JAPANESE SHIT THROWN THEIR WAY!’, they said ‘Cool. We’ll bring in our guy from our top FF games.’

And so Kingdom Hearts was born. And the two (three) named companies made millions of billions of dollars and lived happily ever after with all of their copyrights left un-infringed.

The end.

. . . .

You didn’t see my name in the above process, did you? I wasn’t there for the brainstorming. Didn’t say I got a cut of the money, did I? Because I don’t. In short, these aren’t my people, this ain’t my house, I’m just rearranging the furniture before I start to throw a surprise house party. Everyone is invited. There is no cover charge. I make no money. I just do this for shits and giggles people.

Let’s Rock.
-----------------------
“Angel of Twilight; Clockwork Breakdown” Part 10/?
‘Clinging Shadows’

Axel blinked, looking down at Roxas who was still dreaming on his side of the bed. Things were muddled, to say the least. According to what Roxas had said last night, he had told him about his life and times as Fenrir. Now that fit nicely into the giant time slot that was previously unaccounted for in his memories. But even knowing from the kid didn’t actually fix the fuzziness of his thoughts at that time, nor did it restore the actual memory of the conversation to him.

And that, above all things, was what confused Axel right then. He didn’t consider himself a separate entity from his past self, just a new form that he was locked in. He was Fenrir, he was Axel, he was both, so why was there a mental block between the two . . . . mindsets?

Unless that in and of itself was the answer, mindsets. Demyx had said that he acted differently as ‘Axel’ then he had as ‘Fenrir’--and as ‘Lea’ he sure as hell had toned it down from being himself. But there had never been issues with memory between any of his forms. He retained everything in his head, nothing overtly godly about that, right? Save that maybe his memory was a little better then most mortals.

But personae? Adopting different attitudes for prevailing circumstances? That he did all the time. So what about his mindsets was making the difference now? Or was he just so out of touch from living . . . as . . . Fenrir.

The dead emeralds that had drifted closed fluttered open again.

When was the last time--before this all started--that he had called himself Fenrir?

And meant it?

How long ago had he taken ‘Axel’ as his ‘real’ name?

Shit. That smelled like something. In the Library they had here there were books of all kinds rescued from ‘shopping trips’. The same held true for Zexion’s private stash at Castle Oblivion--unless Mansex had brought all of those back during his last sweep-up trip there. Either way, lots of random books about random subjects, including mortal philosophy. And in some of the ramblings he had read--to kill time--there was mention that in other pantheons, mortals and gods looked at things differently. There was even the claim that they couldn’t comprehend the workings of an immortal mind.

Or maybe that was in one of the Harlequin-Dime-Romances he’d found. It’d been a few years, and he hadn’t read it all the way through.

Either way, preposterous then, creepy fitting now. Or maybe his people were the odd gods out, because most of the short lived things he knew understood his thought process perfectly. They just didn’t like it all the time. More so when they had to do the dying for him.

And once again, his mind returned to the blowup the watery blond’d had just on the other side of fading midnight. The words thrown around, the tension, the false echoes . . .

He almost felt warm again.

Really, the shit-storm at Oblivion had been all Sora and Riku’s fault. Granted that proved that the hearts of KeyBlade users were strong enough to simulate--if not stimulate--emotions in Nobodies. That was a good sign, gave hope that they could keep these bodies and get new working hearts. Or maybe they didn’t need new hearts so much as to surround themselves with super emotional people.

Heh, they all had nifty powers; maybe they could have found a backwater world to go set themselves up as gods in and get the inhabitants to worship them. He was due some praise for all the crap he’d been through all these years. That had to have been about as much work as building Kingdom Hearts from the ground up, right? And they could have gotten hot and cold running virgins out of it! Alas, their leader was emotionless and unimaginative.

Was it any wonder why he and Demyx would tear down the walls someday? This fight was just a little ‘tiff’ after all, and they would patch things up over some nice dark ale, and all would be right again. Like it always went.

“Want are you thinking?”

The redhead blinked, and then looked over to his beta with a smile. “I told you everything, huh?”

Roxas looked back at him, then started to reach his hand up to rub the sleep out of his face and eyes. “Everything about what?”

“Who I am. My old worlds.” He rolled over onto his side from resting on his back. The sheet covered him up to his midribs and the other male was only showing a hint of shoulder attached to his neck and blond head.

“There about.” Roxas yawned sleepily.

“Then you must know,” the firebrand pulled himself closer to the not-teen, blankets and covers pooling around his hollow form.

Number XIII stopped, and dared to look up into the predator’s gaze, throwing back his own glaring pout. “Know what?”

“That I’m always up for it.” His body language positively screamed of lechery. Most prominently his southern body language, which he would not have minded reacquainting his mate with.

“Up for . . .” At first, his mind just didn’t connect the dots. But then when he really looked at Axel’s positioning, there was a noticeable bulge in the linens. “Always up . . . wow, one track mind.”

“Eh, gods gotta mate. So why don’t we start making up for my lost time?”

A snort from the shorter male. “Pervert. Do you even know what time it is? We haven’t had breakfast yet.” Although food before sex might have been a bad thing. . .

“Funny,” he pulled Roxas closer, “that doesn’t really sound like a no.”

The blue-eyed boy sighed. “It isn’t.” He blushed. “But. . . well . . . that hot-tub. . . I wanna use it when we . . . well, ya know . . .” If the older male made him say it he’d kill him.

“When I rock your world five ways from Sun’s day?”

“What?” He deadpanned.

“When we sex like mad bunnies.”

“I got that. But ‘Sun’s day’?”

He huffed. “Hey, my people gave everyone the names of the days of the week! Sunday, Sun’s day; Monday, Moon’s day; Tuesday, Try’s day; Wednesday, Woden’s day--that should be Odin’s day, but language has a tendency to corrupt over the course of a few millennia, so yay accents fucking people up--Thursday, Thor’s day; and Friday, Freya’s day.” Axel sat back with a self-satisfied smirk.

“What about Saturday?”

“You mean ‘Friday, part two’?”

Roxas shook his head, and debated if he really, really, really wanted to know. “I mean Saturday.”

A wide grin fell onto his face. “That is a crazy adventure in and of itself involving a ton of gold, some cranky elves, and my dad. That, and the Romans were pretty pissy because we refused to be owned by them, so they just up and named a day after one of there own gods,” a snort of laughter paused the thought. “Well actually, they stole their gods from the Greeks and just gave them names of the old planets to screw with people’s heads--and pump up how ‘important’ and godly they were. So since the Greeks used their gods instead of us for the days of the week, they named one after Chronos, which got mutated into Saturn, and well,” the red-wolf waved his hand vaguely through the air, “Saturn’s day stuck. Personally I think if they had just gone with Loki’s day, things would have been a lot easier for all parties involved. Although Fenrir’s day does have it’s own ring to it. One day a week you stay home from work, and drink yourself stupid! I mean, people do that anyway, so it’s not like much would be changing.”

Unfortunately for Axel, he’d lost his bed-mate after the term ‘planets’, as that concept still hadn’t fully sunk in from the last long conversation he had with the ex-wolf-god. So the blond had tuned his current rant out, for the safety of his own brain cells. Now that he was being prompted for an answer, the boy just looked at the pyromancer, before sighing and lifting himself from the bed.

“I’m going into the bathroom. I’m going to spend the next fifteen or however many minutes learning how to work the hot-tub. I am then going to use the hot-tub. You have that long to decide if you are going to join me in there, and if we are going to do anything else in the hot-tub.” With that, Roxas calmly walked into the bathroom.

Axel was gracious enough to give him a five minute head-start.

* * * * * *

The kid could drink, he would give Demyx that. Hell, he might have been able to even put himself, Xaldin or Luxord under the table. And that was saying something, given the amount of liquor they could knock back in a night before feeling anything. Still, drunk weight was only a litter better then dead weight, and as spry as the Nocturne was, Xigbar was still having a hell of a time negotiating him down the hallway of the hotel and into the room they were renting for the night. Demyx had his right arm over his wiry shoulders--which the space-bender also had by the wrist--and Xigbar had his left hand clutching at the blond’s hip as he pulled him along.

And the kid was singing, weaving dangerously off-kilter as he walked.

This was not the condition he wanted to return the singer home in. Fake emotions or not, he was doing a bang-up job of pretending, and he’d seen stupid shit go down because someone had been thinking ‘amber’ instead of clear. And that’s not to say he was utterly sober himself. Demyx had portal’d into a bar. A bar with a three drink minimum. A minimum that he’d hit for both of them three times over, but the barkeeps didn’t see it that way. They saw their loyal customer (something Xigbar would ask about after the blond was functional again) with a freeloader, and the other patrons did not seem to take kindly to anyone who didn’t wanna share a pint of the local favorite.

So Xigbar drank, and made sure he ordered food to go with it, and had tried to feed Demyx too. And failed miserably on that end, but had at least tried. However he was able to witness the most amusing show of the mull-hawked Nobody getting up and singing in front of everyone in several languages. (And getting the odd tip here or there, but those got drunk away anyhow.) One was, of course, the local dialect. One might have been a common variant of something the FreeShooter had studied a year or three back. He had tried maybe four others, but the one that caught the brunet’s ear was the one Demyx stuck to by the end of the show, when he was really plastered.

It was the language he and Axel had spoken when they first showed up on their welcome mat in Twilight Town. That made for one interesting night filled with odd memories, watching the ocean-eyed male belt it out up on stage--holding his own damn well, even in his drunken state--and even getting the other drunkards to sing along. The scary part was that they seemed to know the words. Or maybe they just knew the tune and faked it for Number IX’s sake.

“Are we there yet?”

Xigbar sighed. He had absolutely no idea what the kid was saying when he spoke like that. “W’at?” Freeing up the hand with the key, he fumbled it into the lock of their room.

“Dere . . . yat?” Enunciating hurt his nose. And made the colors taste funny.

“Gettin’ thar.” Number II had a really trying moment where he had to think about just blowing the door off its hinges with his guns. Then the man remembered that would involve a ‘grate’ deal of sound he wasn’t yet ready to acknowledge, and so gave the keys another shoving twist.

The gods were kind, and the door opened, letting them stumble into the room.

“Bed.” Demyx mewled.

“R’height.” Nodding curtly to himself, the elder shadow pulled his sauced companion in the desired direction. From the look of things, the lights had dimmers and were sound activated, which was all he could have asked for and more. The long walk eventually paid off when they found the furniture they were looking for, and the striped brunet unloaded Demyx onto it. Then he followed suit by flopping himself down.

It wasn’t until he rolled onto his back that Xigbar noticed something mildly important: the door was open. He stared at the door for a few moments before summoning one of his arrowguns. The elder Number began to contemplate, looking from the weapon to the door and back again. He held the weapon up, took aim, readjusted, lowered his aim, the works.

“Fuck.” Xigbar’s head tipped back onto the pillow. Calculating vectors involved too much math, and opening portals required too much concentration. He let his gun fade.

“W’ut?” Demyx blearily looked over at him from a glazed corner of his eye.

“Do’rz o’en.” With a snap of his fingers the lights went off and a Sniper showed up. Xigbar snapped again and the lights switched back on. He pointed at the open threshold, making little gestures in its direction, which more or less amounted to universal signings of, ‘Close the door, would ya bub?’.

The mid-cast creature tilted its head to the side and gave the distinct impression of, ‘You’re kidding me, right?’.

Xigbar just grunted at it.

The Sniper sighed, warped over, and shut the door. The Freeshooter gave him a thumbs up then waved him out of the world.

On the bed beside him, Demyx was regretting nothing but the morning to come. “My t’ong tastes purble.”

“Zat so?” Shit, did they have to worry about alcohol poisoning? They were more or less already dead but. . . not. . . really, what with the needing to eat and breath and crap.

“Na huh. In’ cardboard-y.”

That was a little less worrisome. “Can yu feel yer handz, lim-b-z an’ toes?”

“Ja.”

He’d take that for a yes. “And w’at world ‘er we on?”

“Milg. . . Mindgl. . . Mi . . id. . . ga . . ar. . . Mid. . gar . . . Midgar’ [Midgard].”

That sort of explained the locals. “‘N who im I?”

There was a momentary pause. “Xiggy . . . Ziggy Starduss [1]!”

He thought back to the cheerful tune that the blond had sung maybe two days before. Smiling for a second, before he realized the action didn’t agree with the nerves around his damaged eye, Xigbar continued checking into the mental competency of his ‘friend’. “An’ who are you?”

This time, the Nocturne laughed. “Da guy . . . who SINGS ‘boutz Ziggy Starduss [2].”

“Mmm-Hmm. I thin yu’ve had enou’h fer ta-night.” Because he sure as hell wasn’t going to drag his ass out of bed for the next few hours for anything other then mandatory pissing.

“HA! I amb . . . . perfectionaly soap-er, dank you. . But, for tha sake of . . . . . . jou conplain-in-ing . . . . even if Ah wast drunk, I mostly hasen’t reached das limmitis yet.”

And from the sound of things, Demyx was not in a position to abuse room-service any time soon. “‘N ya know thad how?”

“Ha! . . . Hahahaaa . . . . Ah kin sill count meh toes!”

Xigbar lolled his head to the side facing the sitarist. The blond was half curled in on himself trying to push himself semi-upright. “O rely?”

Beaming proudly, Demyx chirped out a, “Yep!,” before turning to look at his--still booted--feet. Taking a long moment to concentrate on the situation, the blond pointed with one gloved finger. “Tha’z a toe . . . tha’z a toe . . . tha’ one tuu . . . in tha’ one . .” He squinted for a few seconds. “Ah donno ‘bout tha’ one,” then had to lean down for closer inspection, “lokz suspishisly like ah peez a corn . . .”

Xigbar waited for the other to go on, but after another few minutes of staring, the kid fell over asleep. He blinked, before nudging the musician for good measure. No response.

With a sigh, the older nothing dragged his bones up for the only other reason he’d get out of bed, and tucked the kid in--after pulling off his boots. With his luck the blond might have kicked in his sleep, and he was kind of fond of his collarbone. After Number IX was settled, Xigbar waddled back to his side of the bed, crawled in, and snapped the lights off before dropping off to sleep himself.

Now it should be known that Xigbar was not a heavy sleeper, nowhere near as heavy as his current bed-buddy, but he wasn’t exactly a light sleeper either. It took normal shit to wake his ass up, more so when it was particularly comfortable. (Which it just so happened to be in this bed.) And Demyx was dead to the worlds, he had watched him drop off. So why--oh God why?--was he awakened however much time later by the sound of more singing?

Number II growled as he cracked his bloodshot eye open. Turning his head slightly, he was ready to swat the kid on his head for making more racket--hell it worked when Xaldin started to snore.

What he saw gave him pause. They had left one of the curtains open, so nighttime light was spilling in. It was this light that let him see that the sandy blond had turned to face him in his sleep. Yet not only was he singing--In His Fucking Sleep!--he was weeping too. Xigbar watched, transfixed; this was unnatural for a Nobody, it defied logic. They could not feel. It wasn’t even an issue with ‘intensity’, they didn’t have physical or metaphysical hearts. They had a nice substitute to pump blood, but it still didn’t make the fluids rush the way adrenaline could when the ‘flight or fight’ triggers tripped.

Just. . . . what was he in bed with? If this really was happening--Demyx experiencing emotions, even crappie ones like ‘hurt’ and ‘betrayal’--then that threw most of Xeha’s [3] theories out the window. And if those went out the window, it took a shit-ton of the foundations that many of the other elders’ hypotheses were predicated on.

Great, back to hypotheses. Fuck them. Just, it was way too late to remember he was a fucking brilliant scientist.

And Demyx was still kinda singing.

It was days like this that he wished Izzy [4] was the kind to kiss and tell. Maybe the singing was normal and he and Aelly [5] just dealt with it. Or maybe that was why Lexaeus went back to sleeping in is own room near the end. Eh, what happened in Castle Oblivion stayed at Castle Oblivion. . . .

Until Axel had to drag it back home with him. This current mess was a perfect example of why one debriefed with the leader first, and followed whatever orders given. The story Xeha had told them the next day was very different from the . . . . impassioned recap Demyx had summarized during chow-time. If the redhead had never said anything . . . He wouldn’t be Axel. And Demyx wouldn’t be here with him now, keeping him awake.

In a bed.

Fucking karma bullshit. He was either being handed an opportunity, or just slapped in the face. What, was someone gonna come along and punch out his good eye too? Fuck that noise. Xigbar got up, taking a pillow with him, and one of the sheets. Using what natural light there was, he walked out of the bed area, and into the den/front area that had a barely adequate couch-loveseat thing. The sound didn’t carry all the way to his new location, so the tired man plopped himself and the sleep stuffs down, making do with what he had.

Settling in at last, he started to doze off when one last scientific thought came to mind: Demyx would need to be studied. Round the clock if some of his reactions happened during sleep.

Maybe Xaldin wouldn’t pike him to a wall after all, if he was sleeping with both of them in the name of science.

* * * * * *

Clothes shopping. After all the different stores they had been to yesterday and today, the King had decided that he needed to have more clothes.

In all fairness, he was still wearing the same outfit that he’d left Destiny Islands in, and that was well over a year ago [6]. He had been taking good care of his things, but Mickey probably had to use some mending spells from time to time. Also, if they were going to Disney Castle then they would be there for quite some time, which meant that they didn’t have to travel light anymore. Mickey’s last argument was that they didn’t have to buy many things here, just so long as they had a fair guideline of what sized clothes Riku wore. The silveret didn’t bother to ask why, fearing the answer more than anything else in the current store.

Fashions here were radically different than from back home, to say the least. It was almost overwhelming to wade through all the different racks of shirts and pants, looking for something good to wear. At times even the sovereign mouse pulled different items down for trying out.

There was a silent understanding that he would not wear excessive black, white, or silver. And red was an iffy hue, depending heavily on the cloth’s shade.

Thankfully yellow abounded on this world, with greens and blues for trims. So Riku had a respectable amount of things to try on when he walked back into the fitting rooms. After stepping into one of the stalls, and locking the white wooden door, he dumped everything onto the bench attached to the wall, then faced the three full-length mirrors [7]. This, at least, was like home.

Without any kind of pomp or fanfare, he striped down to his boxers and socks. Even the gloves went, so as not to snag on any of the tighter sleeves. First he pulled over a pair of light blue pants, made out of some unknown material that was thicker then what he was used to back home. Well this world wasn’t as warm, so that made sense. The legs were also slimmer, streamlined even, and basically not good for airflow. So they wouldn’t let his legs breathe the way his baggier pants did. Whatever, maybe Mickey’s house wasn’t as warm as his home either, so he might as well have different style things.

However it was all for not, the waistline was too tight for him to pull up passed his upper thighs. Sighing, Riku started a ‘rejected’ pile on the other side of the bench before pulling over another set of pants. These were a more tan color, made from a softer material, and only slightly less baggy then what he was used to. After pulling them on he found out that they seemed to have zippers around the knees, all the way around, meaning he could detach the lower half. They hung a little low on him, but it wasn’t anything a belt couldn’t fix. Looking at the shirts he grabbed the top one, and pulled it over his head. It was lavender, and didn’t put up much of a resistance, but then it didn’t have arms.

Examining himself in the mirror the pale teen saw that the shirt did fit him nicely. But as he turned to see how his pants looked from the back, he caught sight of something. There was an indistinct design on the back of the shirt, in white, and it looked eerily similar to the thorns that Ansem had painted onto his mental avatar. Frowning, he pulled off the shirt and flung it into the reject pile without even a second glance. The next shirt he grabbed was a dark forest green, had no patterns, decals, or designs anywhere on it, and short sleeves. Pulling this one on, the sleeves didn’t quite make it down to his elbows, and the body was tighter, but not uncomfortably so. It gave a good impression of his physical build and health without exposing his belly. So, really, it was a ‘maybe’ at worst.

‘Really? Solid colors only? I happened to like that last top myself. . .’

Teal eyes hardened. ‘Go away.’

‘We share this body, so no. And why are we here?’ The shadow shifted slightly, stretching his legs out over the bed and pillows.

‘Then just be quiet.’ Damn it, he didn’t want to change in front of him. But Mickey wasn’t waiting right outside the door . . .

Ansem adjusted Riku’s mental avatar in his lap, freeing up his right arm. Since the boy was awake, his astral body was in a deathlike sleep. It was little more then a life-sized doll, and would remain so until the human slumbered again. ‘That doesn’t explain why we are here.’

The teen growled, and closed his eyes, preparing to silently yell his head off. But closing his physical eyes gave his mind’s eye a clear look at the man reclining in his heart, including the whole of the right side of the Heartless Lord’s body. Including the angry black claw marks that still crisscrossed over flesh and cloth alike. At least his hair had regenerated all the way. And looking at him, looking at the unnerving sight of his own unblemished (but tattooed) body, positioned like it was reclining in a chair (no, impaled; impaled on the throne of Ansem) made him think about why they were both in such states.

~+~+~+~+~+~+~+

Every time Ansem’s darkness made contact with the forgetfulness spell, he would be momentarily stunned. Then the dark man would shake it off and go right back to lashing away at the invasive magicks, trying to force it back. But the spell was not as docile as on the other nights, and it fought back tooth and nail.

At least that’s what it sounded like to Riku. Ansem had the bed curtains drawn, blocking his view of anything, and with the fight raging in his heart, he could do little more than hide in the grown man’s shadow. The Heartless Lord even went so far as to sink him into the bed again, gathering covers and pillows around his pale form. Even with the added padding, he felt vulnerable, exposed.

Ansem yowled at one point, later saying that he’d ripped the mist away revealing jagged saw-blade creatures that moved on meat-hook legs and clawed feet. They looked more childish than hideous, as though someone had attempted to base them off of a carnivorous rabbit. And they were flat, almost two-dimensional.

What Riku remembered was the burning smell of dark power evaporating. The magick did something, and a long whiplash trail scored its way back up some of Ansem’s leads and to his body. That’s when the scholar had lost some of his hair from the right side of his head, and the top layer of his clothes had torn open on that side. The side facing the battle . . .

The shock caused the elder’s body to buckle, and he half collapsed onto his prisoner. His whole frame was twitching erratically as he tried to get himself back under control. The spell started to tug at the human’s memories again, and Riku whimpered from the pain of something so dear trying to be uprooted. The dark one growled deep within his throat, black power coiling around him, eyes aglow with ire, and he raised himself up, lashing out with bared teeth and raw hate, Heartless darkness striking down and tearing at the magick. The spell-creature shattered into countless iridescent fragments.

Ansem’s face ripped open then, gasping too hard to scream, and there were light scratches on his arm and side of his torso. He bled black. Everywhere that was an open wound--even his hair and clothing--started to ooze the same viscous black fluid that represented his power, like when his tongue had been bitten off. These were the same wiggling shades that had reconstructed the appendage last time.

There was a sound, a ragged hiss, like air escaping from a balloon. The other thing still lurked outside the shadows, heading towards the bed, most likely trying to nullify the one hurting them. But even though the Heartless male was down, he wasn’t out. Ansem rallied his power again and dismantled the beast part by part, and each one tore away a new hunk of shadows when it dissipated. By the end, all of Ansem’s right side was cocooned in black, looking as if it was about to scatter in the winds.

And Riku was fine. Perfectly unharmed by the spell.

With no more creatures hungering for their memories, his midnight defender at last allowed himself to fall. The pillows kept him from crushing his human host as he lay supine, unable to make himself any more, or less, comfortable then he already was. For a moment, a beautiful moment, Riku thought that he would soon be free. Until the silence was broken by low mutterings. He couldn’t make out the words at first, but as he listened he began to understand, catching the odd word here or there until it became clear.

“My name is Ansem. . . . My name is Ansem . . . My name is Ansem, lord and master of all Heartless.” He had to swallow periodically, gathering moisture to his burning mouth before continuing on. “My mission . . . is to free the worlds . . . from the tyranny of light . . . the light, which is the cause of . . . all wars, and hardships. . . It stands in. . . opposition to . . . the darkness--mother darkness. . . from which all things sprang eternal . . . in the beginning. And since . . . darkness is the natural state of creation . . . then light is a defilement . . . a corruption of existence and creation.”

He didn’t want to believe it . . . Ansem thought he was the hero in all of this?! Was he just saying things to piss Riku off?!

“My body. . . I gave up my body, my life before this . . . because it was needed of me. Because I needed to move between worlds. . . and it could not survive the travel. . . Gummi Ships were too slow, too restrictive. . . I needed. . . needed speed, and power that the darkness could give me. . . for the price of my body, I gained power over the darkness. . . There was one, on my world. . . one who could lead me to . . . a host. A being that could walk the worlds . . . with a key that opened all doors, even the door to Kingdom Hearts. . . I needed that key to save . . . everyone.”

This was familiar to the teen, similar to what Malificent had told him. Was it that he was just trying to see what he had forgotten? Aquamarine eyes drifted up, and he noticed that Ansem’s eyes were closed, the face he had left was contorted in pain.

“The Princesses of Heart . . . seven maidens of purest light, with connection to the ones who hold the keys. . . There was one on my world, so very young, and all the more . . . attuned to the cosmos for it. . . When . . . when I had to leave. . . her, I took her from . . . her family was in the way, so I saved them . . . saved them from the light. . . . I made her sleep, and used my new powers to shield her, used some of my own children [8] . . . to shield her--no, no made them . . . rebuilt them, rebuilt them to carry both of us through the stars. . . She lead the way, and I protected her, kept us from crashing . . . held the ship together when it crashed down . . . for as long as I could in the . . . meteor storm.”

This, however, this was something new. The spellbound boy unconsciously licked his lips, wanting to hear the next part, but somehow wary of it all the same.

“She landed in the ocean. The ship--my children--broke apart, died. . . I dragged her to the surface of the waves . . . my solidity waning. . . brought her to the nearest beach, where I at last reverted to pure shadows. . . Only one like her. . . only one so attuned to the light could see my darkness then. . . I stayed with her until she was found. . . And one among the ones who found her had the potential to use a KeyBlade [9]. . . Potential, and ties to light and darkness. . . The perfect host. . . I made note of him, made note of the world. . . I watched him that day. . . the girl’s arrival sparked his curiosity in other worlds. . . I made note of his world, so that I could come back to him in time. . . so that I could lead him down the path to darkness. . . to a power more exquisite then any he could have ever known.”

His eyes opened, burning embers looking down from a mask of pain. “Even when you were small, you were so . . . singular in your beauty.”

A cold chill spread throughout Riku’s body as the sickening revelation came together in his head. His eyes widened, “Kairi. . . . . Kairi is from your world. You’ve been watching us since that day, that meteor shower. . .”

The grimace flickered into a brief smile, “Herald to the fall of the walls between the worlds.” Then he hissed low, and the shades on the side of his face moved in an agitated manner. When they stilled, he took in a deep breath, settling his nerves. “How fitting. This . . . magick might be the only thing left that can hurt me now.”

“What? But Sora’s light--he weakened you!”

“Sor . .” He shook his head, trying to dispel the pain. “The light weakened me, but couldn’t kill me. But the heart holds all memories that we will ever have.” Then that same bitter smile returned. “I’m nothing but a heart, Riku. All that’s left of me are thoughts and memories. [10]”

~+~+~+~+~+~+~+

The anger he felt for Ansem cooled, condensed in on itself. ‘Mickey thought it was a good idea.’ He opened his eyes, and looked at himself in the mirror again. In his heart, Ansem sighed, and adjusted both of their bodies again. The wounds probably still burned. Riku pushed that thought from his mind and concentrated on ignoring the Heartless Lord, and what his hands were doing, where they wandered over his naked double, the creepy fact that his waking body and mind didn’t feel those hands trailing over the same spots and--

Riku took a deep breath and looked at himself in the mirror. He would not look into his own mind again. Modesty before the bastard was a moot point, so he pulled the green top off and picked up the next one. It was gray, with longer sleeves that went just past his elbows, and was looser in the body. A glance at the back proved that it didn’t have any random marks that could make him think of other things. The inspection done he took it off and added it to the maybe pile as well.

‘You could make your own clothes from darkness, if you’d let me teach you.’

‘Not interested.’ Off went this shirt, and his hand reached for the next. Yellow with long, open sleeves, and some kind of green trim pattern around the hem.

Those ever burning embers turned to regard the human. ‘Pity. It would help conserve both of your resources.’

‘And give you another chance to gain a hold on me.’ Nothing on the back of the yellow one either, he tossed it to the other side of the maybe pile to start a ‘would get’ stack. The next shirt was a blueish green that had lighter blue triangle pointed leaves ‘printed’ on the body and one arm.

A deep sigh left the Heartless Lord. He regretted it almost in the same instance as he breathed out. His right lung and the same side of his throat and larynx protested, the burning dryness agitated by the very air moving over the raw form. After a coughing--wheezing--fit he settled himself down, snuggling his abused back into the pillows, then turned his eyes back to the boy.

Riku hadn’t changed and his hands were at his temples. Ansem almost laughed at the child’s pained look, but the idea of another bout of involuntary reflexes kicking in was unappealing. ‘If you won’t believe my sincerity, then believe this: Our mutual well-being hinges upon the other. Conserving you energy conserves mine. Just like saving you . . . Why haven’t you talked to him about the attacks yet?’

Riku looked down. ‘I . . .’ his brows furrowed. He actually didn’t have a reason. The teen couldn’t put a finger on the exact reason--on any reason--why he hadn’t talked to Mickey about all of this yet.

Ansem gave a shallow rasp of a laugh. ‘A shrewd trick of the spell. . . I’ll just have to keep reminding you.’ His leg began to bother him, and he started to readjust himself and the boy’s frame again.

The teen shifted on his feet. He had no idea how to read Ansem like this. And he didn’t really want to, so he stripped off his current shirt before pitching it onto the maybe pile.

* * * * * *

She sat in the white, white room, staring up at the white, white ceiling from her white, white chair. She could feel the heat of the sun she’d never seen before baking her skin to the point that her canvas dress clung close to her body, glued on by the very real sweat that poured from her hollow shell. Her hands clutched tightly to the sketchpad, the only beating thing in the room smearing life’s color over her hands and down her arms, threatening to stain her dress an unnatural hue.

It wasn’t working. Naminé knew that it wouldn’t be so simple for over a month now. Picking Sora’s memories apart when they didn’t want to be forgotten--when a KeyBlade Master didn’t want them to be forgotten, was like trying to empty the ocean from ‘home’ with a metal thimble. It would rust long before the day was done.

So much trouble, because he had promised her. He had promised her, and it was as real as every other twisted memory outside the chain over his heart. He had promised her, and Sora never broke his promises. So Naminé wept, when DiZ wasn’t around, because it was the kind of stabbing realization that she was keeping him half dead that would have made her living heart bleed. It wasn’t a lie, it wasn’t even based on a lie because he had known what was happening even as he swore to her. . .

She was all alone without any friends. . .

Was her other like this when she first moved to the islands? Sad and scared and full of all the feelings the blonde couldn’t really remember except when she looked into Sora’s living heart? Axel . . . Axel had said . . . Axel had whispered a few things, in the last few moments of madness as the castle’s order burned down around them. Those who hold the keys are strong of heart . . she had connections to these two boys, so did she have connection to their strong hearts? Even without much of a connection, they had made all the Nobodies ‘feel’ that night. And here she had the brunet prince locked up just for her and her alone to repair all the things she’d broken in him.

But that promise. . . . that promise wasn’t one of them.

“How much progress have you made, Naminé?”

Dulled midnight-blue eyes blinked, and looked over at her new ‘keeper’. “Something . . . or someone keeps blocking me.”

Hawk-like eyes looked over her, then back to the boy sleeping in the glass rosebud. “Blocking? You only need to worry about Sora’s memories. Why would you need to go into the mind of others?”

She allowed herself to sigh. It was difficult explaining the process to a scientific mind. “I’m only supposed to have power over Sora and Riku’s memories. In the castle that power was amplified, or maybe . . . . it was just easier to see how extensive that power was. But. . . Sora’s memories are linked with Donald and Goofy’s memories. And with Riku’s, and Kairi’s and everyone he’s ever known. His Keychains, they’re living memories, part of him, I can feel it when I look at them. I think--with what I saw with Riku and his Replica too!--that the strength of the Heart calls the KeyBlade to its master, but the memories make them both stronger. Sora’s memories go across worlds. His chain is so long. . . . and somehow it doesn’t get tangled because of all the Keychains he has. Looking at them brings all the memories back to the top of his heart. . . .”

She trailed off, looking at the sleeping hero, and hoping DiZ would understand finally.

“Then someone Sora knows is interfering. But how? And why? Your methods should be undetectable.”

Her eyes closed so she could deal with the mellow pain stabbing into her fingers and spine. “Someone. . . doesn’t want to forget.”

The masked man answered her with a sigh, still not looking over at her. “You haven’t been telling me everything. Sora would not have wanted to forget his true memories, and yet you were able to replace them with ease. Why should this be any different?”

The blonde witch worried her bottom lip between her teeth. This was the secret she had hoped to keep for herself. This was the one thing she had wanted, something to prove she had been here when all was said and done and DiZ no longer had a use for a ‘nothing like her’. Because Kairi wasn’t foolish. She knew when the wolves where sniffing at her door.

“Your silence speaks volumes. Out with it.” His eyes never wavered from the sleeping boy.

“His memories. . . all memories are but links in a chain coiled up inside our hearts. They twist, and get kinks in them with time, but they have a starting and an ending point. From the first memory to the last. In the castle, all I was doing was making new links and switching them out with the old--superimposing myself into his real life. But I used materials that were already there. It was subtle. And the castle was built to help me do that. Less resistance. So changing Sora’s memories changed Donald and Goofy’s memories too, and I changed the Replica’s memories, and unchanged them, but. . .” She couldn’t stall him forever, but maybe if she gave him part of the truth he would chase down that lead first?

But what would the price be?

“But? . . .” His tone was even. It contained nothing but weariness, and only the hint that his patience was fast leaving him.

“But . . I couldn’t touch Riku. I wasn’t trying to then, so I didn’t notice. I was rewriting his time with Kairi, not Riku, so I didn’t need to do anything to change Riku’s heart. But now. . . now I have to take everything apart and put it back together right.--”

“So you have told me. And so I have told you to start with the false memories you gave him. He doesn’t need them, or anything that happened in that castle.” This creature, was it really that dense, or just telling him more lies?

Naminé cringed, hugging her coloring pad tight. “I know. . .” But he had promised! He had promised and he was such a wonderful boy, and he was just as sweet and honest and loving as she remembered, and it hurt so bad to think that she would have to make it all go away! “I know.”

“Then . . . what is the problem? You do not have a right to exist, even in someone’s memories. And once you no longer exist, you will no longer be in pain from lacking a heart.”

“I know. . . but. . . you wanted to know, so,” She sighed, and tried one last time. “I wasn’t trying to do anything to the real Riku’s mind then, but I have to now. Sora’s memories are chained together with other people’s memories. To make him forget I have to make them forget--at least for a little bit. If I don’t the chain will keep trying to rebuild itself from the last ‘active’ links, with whatever the last link attached to it was, true or false. But someone in his early life keeps fighting me, so those links won’t come apart, and the false ones keep hooking themselves back on before I can put many of the real ones back in place. Then I have to unlink the false ones again, find the real ones before the fake ones hook back on, link them in place and. . . . the false memories are fighting to stay real, and the real ones aren’t connected anymore. . . content to be real in the shadows of his heart.”

Now the old man spared her a glance. “You worked back to his childhood from the time in the castle within two months? Then why did you say you would need a year to ‘fix him’?”

“No,” those tired eyes slid to the floor, “I couldn’t do that.”

“What?” He drew himself up ominously, turning with a hard glare on the unnatural creature.

“I had to start at the other end. I had to start from before everything.”

“You meddled that deeply in his memories?” It was horrific, the kind of power these things had.

“They made me to, yes.” As drained as she was, Naminé smiled to herself. DiZ wasn’t asking, he wouldn’t notice maybe, and she could keep the little part of her soul--

“Then just start with the memories in the Castle. He doesn’t need any of them. And they are newer, so there should be less holding them in place.”

The girl sank into the chair. “I tried that.” Her last attempt to dodge defeat.

“Then why are you having troubles now?”

The young shadow looked up into the eyes of a father she had never wanted. “I was attacked. Whoever shares those memories with Sora is protected by something powerful enough to feel me unlinking memories. And it doesn’t like it, so it attacks me every time I try to work on Sora’s chain. It doesn’t want to forget, so Sora won’t forget, so the links won’t come apart.” Just like Sora wouldn’t forget the promise to her, and the new memories wouldn’t come undone. She had even tried working from the middle of the chain, since there was an anchor at both ends, but then the thing just had two points it kept trying to rebuild from, so no that didn’t work at all.

“I think I see” DiZ nodded to himself. “You started at one end, and worked away all the false memories from the castle, replacing them as you went along. But now at the other end of the spectrum of his life you are being harried by a being that does not wish to cast off its chain of memories. And this being is of a strong enough will that it is not only impeding, but may be even reversing your work, and damaging you enough to keep you incapable of continuing at full efficiency. . . Am I right so far?”

She couldn’t look at him in the eyes.

“So, I am wrong?”

She scuffed her feet on the white, white floor. “Yes, and no. It’s as you say, someone doesn’t want to forget, so Sora can’t forget. And if Sora can’t forget, I can’t take the links apart. So the chain keep rebuilding around the memories that don’t want to unlink.”

“So . . . there is more than one. What aren’t you telling me, Naminé?”

The blonde looked over her shoulder, refusing to meet the eyes of someone who could turn her very name into an insult.

“There are things Sora doesn’t want to forget either. I’m respecting those wishes. Saving them for last. Then they can settle on top of the other memories inside his heart.” It was the best chance she could give him for keeping his promise.

“What kind of things?” He canted his head to one side, regarding the memory witch with keen eyes.

“Personal things.” It was true! The promise was a memory between him and her. Donald and Goofy were both asleep at the time, and Jimminy might have only had a second or two to write it down in the blank book.

“When did they happen?”

And that was when her race was lost. “In . . . the Castle . . . before he went to sleep.” Her boy, her beautiful sleeping prince! She couldn’t keep him safe. . .

“Oh?” DiZ turned his eyes back to the KeyBlade master suspended in the clear space inside his own little pod. “Then he has no need for those weak memories.”

“But his heart is strong--”

“Then break it. You did it before with the doll, do it again with the boy.”

She should of been aghast. Kairi would have been aghast. All she could do was sigh knowing that this was what he would have asked anyway. “I can’t.”

“You won’t.”

She shook her head with the force Kairi could have had. “I can’t. Riku’s Replica didn’t have any memories from before the castle. He didn’t remember Riku’s life. I made false memories of Riku’s life like I linked in false memories to Sora’s chain. I built his chain in an instant. I smashed that chain in an instant. But I never unlinked the tiny, tiny links he had when he first woke up. And when he picked himself back up, he knew that his memories were all--almost all lies. But. He. Kept. On. Going. It was okay to smash his heart because I put most of it together. If he forgot, it was okay, because there was no one else to affect, no one else to ‘remember’ the ‘truth’ with him. But if I smash Sora’s memories--”

“But they are false. Like the ones you implanted in--”

“Not All Of Them! Not. This. One!”

“If they come from the Castle, then they are false.”

“No! No they aren’t! His fight with Marluxia was real! His fight with Larxene was real! His fight with the Organization was real! He learned things! I gave him hints all along so that he could get away, and even if he didn’t, he learned things important to--”

“Child,” DiZ brought one hand up to block her words, “you are babbling. Now tell me the truth: Why are you really not destroying those false memories rather than just unlinking them?”

No emotion. She had no heart of her own, and so she had no entitlement to feel pain. “His heart is strong. He doesn’t want to break his promise to me. He wants to remember me. He wants to be my friend. So I went to his childhood. I put false memories there too. But now those are stuck, because someone else doesn’t want to forget. I can’t break his heart, because he’s not a normal human. KeyBlade users gain strength from their memories, even twisted, broken, half-beat up, and forgotten memories. If I break them, Sora loses power, and other people forget things permanently. Without at least one copy of the original memories, I would be ripping his mind . . . his psyche at least, apart and beyond repair. He would. . . be brain dead. Or . . . trapped in a coma. Without the power and memories he would need to repair himself. And the other people would never remember the parts of their lives involving him. All of that history, gone from the worlds. Maybe even undoing some of the good things he did, because people would question why things were the way they are.”

She hoped, Naminé let herself hope, that would be enough for him.

“A copy . . . of his original memories?” The words flowed like slow poison from his throat.

“Yes.” She pulled her knees up onto the chair, more water soluble pigments smearing onto her dress as she moved.

“Where would we find those?” He had a theory, a little theory, more a hypothesis. But if he had to guess Sora’s other might have been the final key now.

“Inside his heart.” Kairi would have felt . . . no, she had no idea what Kairi would have felt, because she knew this was so wrong wrong wrong.

“Did E . . . Vexen . . . . not say that he pulled forth cards crafted from the memories from the ‘other side’ of Sora’s heart?”

She wouldn’t look away from Sora this time. “Yes.”

DiZ started to smile, having wisely solved the girl’s dilemma for her. “And where did those memories come from? Sora only has one heart, so how could he have memories he is unaware of?”

“Roxas.” Her gaze was steady, just like her voice.

“What was that?”

“Roxas . . . doesn't remember Sora’s life. But he can use KeyBlades, because he has his own memories. And. . .”

“And? . . .”

“A connection . . . to the one he was made from.” Her eyes were dry. So dry that they burned. They burned as she looked at Sora and saw the blond prince she couldn’t keep alive any longer.

“So then, he might even have a copy of all of his original memories?” Even with the mask it was easy enough to see him smile.

“I don’t know. They would be buried deep if they are even there.” But the man’s mind was made up. They weren’t human, they were Nobodies, so they didn’t matter. All she could do was give it her best explanation so he didn’t do anything more foolish than what he asked of her now. “If they aren’t there then . . it would still take time. It might even take longer. Roxas wouldn’t be giving him back his old memories, he would be giving him the energy he needed to fix his own mind. He would be giving him back new powers that he’d never lost to replace the ones taken away from him. And . . . the old memories might be fuzzy. He might never use those old Keychains again, because those connections would have been broken for too long, and the power of those memories comes from feelings too. And if his friends don’t remember those feelings. . .” Naminé shook her head. “They won’t wake up the Sora everyone knew back then or knows now.”

DiZ returned his gaze to the sleeping human, almost daring to wonder what his dreams were about. “That might not be so bad. This version of him tried to make friends with your kind, after all. And think of it this way, your one compatriot will be reunited with his heart, as all of your kind advocate is the best possible end for them. You will be granting ‘Roxas’ his one greatest desire: To be whole.”

Then the man turned to walk out the door. “You should be proud, Naminé. You will be able to rid Sora of his false memories and spare one of your kind from your ultimate fate.” And then he was out and gone.

Naminé sat slumped forward in her white, white chair in the white, white room, before the boy time almost forgot. “I’m so sorry, Sora. . . Roxas. . .”

Naminé sat and Naminé cried. And the tears were drunk up by her dress as it slowly darkened from pale pink to crimson. [11]

* * * * * *

“B-but I talked to him!” Riku panted out. Hours ago he had finished shopping with The King, walking out with six tops and two sets of pants. Hours ago Mickey had helped him find boxers and socks that would fit him too, and they had paid and left. Not so many hours ago Ansem had been constantly prompting Riku from within to talk to Mickey about the nightly magick shows.

He had known nothing more than Ansem, nothing less. The list of suspects was short, and all of them were ‘good guys’ in their own right, but that was something Mickey was going to handle himself. And now they were here, hours later, with Riku asleep and Ansem still healing.

But far from down and out.

Ansem’s dark power pulsated against his slick moonstone skin, tentacles coiling over him and gripping tight. Ansem had been on his left side, as was Riku when he awoke, back flush to the man’s front. Now the man was on his back and had the pillows--so many more than usual!--elevating his head, arms, and legs.

And Riku was still trapped on his lap, writhing.

“I know you did, pet. That’s why I’m giving you such a pleasant reward. . .” His darkness had slipped over the teen’s backside and wriggled down his legs. Even when he tried to kick them away the tentacles weren’t shaken off as they crawled over him. Then more had wormed or slithered up from his rump, covering abdomen, torso, shoulders, arms, hands, neck and were poised to dip into his mouth. Only his boyhood stood free, unrestrained by the living power. Ansem’s sweet agony throbbed deep within the child echoing the pulse coming from without. All he could have asked for now would be to have his right side working, but he was still intent on getting some enjoyment out of his wet little treat.

“Please . . . no . . .” His only answer was a slight chuckle.

Riku bucked back against him once, unable to escape. He had already tried to crawl away, but then the black things had wound over his hands and felt far too wonderful against his hot palms. He couldn’t get any traction if he couldn’t grab onto anything, but there had to be more he could do besides sitting back and taking it. The twilit teen had been able to pitch forward, hands purchased on large knees, but no more. His only blessing now was that his own darkness had yet to react, and that he was successfully repressing it from defending him.

But for how much longer? The dark bastard gave another agonizing throb that he helplessly squirmed atop of. He was far too hot in his own skin and the tentacles didn’t make it any better.

Speaking of tentacles, the one by his face was dangerously close to his mouth. He tried twisting his head out of the way, but it just followed the motion. He pressed his lips tight, but it still pushed against them until it was passed them and pressing on his teeth. He leaned back, but only found himself against Ansem again, who wrapped his left hand around his waist to hold him in place. Still he whipped his head back and forth, trying not to take it in, even as the dark lead matched him move for move. Another chuckle came from the man inside him and the tentacle the young silveret was fighting liquified into ooze. Turquoise eyes widened when he felt the power leak through his clenched teeth and into his mouth anyway. He gasped, feeling the gunk force his jaw open, just as Ansem pulled him back to be almost flush with his chest again. It solidified and once more Riku found himself with something vulgar to suck on.

So Ansem sucked back, or rather neck. He couldn’t move much and remain comfortable, but he could move his power around, and it was easy to brush away the curtain of living black to find a sweet patch of flesh to taste. And while the boy was occupied above, the dark scholar slipped his hand lower, down to that last bare patch of skin that jutted so proudly from the teen’s body. A few teasing strokes and some well placed pinches to the head and his prize was moaning and shuddering in his lap, twilit darkness cascading up from his small shadow. With a purr, Ansem’s reserve power captured all of it in twisting caresses.

The teen mewled, and then collapsed into a boneless heap on the madman. He felt the elder smirk against his neck before renewing his play with his sensitized self. Oh gods, this again!? It was too much for him! Raw heat surging around him, inside him, twisting his shadows, and he couldn’t move to stop or react, just feel what was happening to him again!

‘See? Isn’t this nice pet?’ And he nibbled lightly on the spot he was lavishing attention on. Someday he would leave a mark there . . .

‘No,’ Riku quietly sobbed, ‘it’s not!’ No matter how wonderful it felt, he didn’t want this from him. This was wrong, all of it was wrong, a mockery of what should have been. His hands were on the pillows the daemon had made into makeshift armrests, back tight to the elder’s front. His feet, knees, and legs set on either side of the dark man’s lower body, opened wide to expose himself to the night and the fiend’s roving hand. Riku rescinded his earlier thought; now he was the ‘Little-Master’ trapped as he was, bound, gagged and impaled on the throne of Ansem.

The Heartless male eyed the creamy pearls that had started to run down the teen’s heated length. ‘Oh? I think it is.’ And he squeezed again, reveling in the tiny moan.

‘NO!’ He howled back, even as his hips rolled down hard onto his tormenter. His teal eyes squeezed shut against the burning tears and he bit down on the thing in his mouth. It resisted, much like the larger thing inside him that pushed against his inner walls, stretching them obscenely. Another stroke and Riku was writhing again, instinctively clawing for purchase which he couldn’t find, grasping for freedom from this pleasure.

He licked up to the teen’s jaw, hand never slowing. ‘No no, pet. I have you, and all is fine. Just relax and let me do this for you.’

He pitched forward again--catching the man’s knees--screaming and sobbing around the lead. The black masses on his hands slid against his sweaty fingers and skin.

“You cannot escape me, pet. So why don’t you just let this happen?” Ansem sped up his strokes, intensified he squeezes. Riku hips started to follow the actions erratically.

He didn’t want this! But his body . . . it just wouldn’t listen to him and kept on reacting, and making squelchy sounds when he moved. The heat inside him was unbearable, the wetness of his cock embarrassing as he made a mess of himself and Ansem’s lap. The older man just chuckled more, making the dark coils of his mind shift their grip on Riku’s psyche, and that in turn had the teen gasping. His head was tossed back, eyes wide as he forced his ass down on the hardness invading him. Another hard pinch to the head of his boyhood sent him into those familiar body spasms. A moment later he was frozen still as he screamed his release.

Ansem purred, watching the milky spurt cover his gloved hand. When the child flopped back down onto his broad chest, the dark scholar milked the rest of the liquid from him. The boy moaned incoherently, sated and exhausted, sucking on the probe in his mouth. The Heartless Lord laughed, and raised his sticky fingers to his lips.

The taste did not disappoint.

“Ambrosia . . .” He leaned down, kissing Riku lightly on the cheek before sitting up again. The human’s eyes were dazed, mind still awash with endorphins. Ansem basked in his inebriation, stroking and petting over the living black, commanding it aside to bare the child’s breast. The blackened heart still remained unadorned by bloody thorns. Still, The Colosseum had not been built in a day, and the emblem would be whole soon enough. And when it was, oh he would make up for his lost time fighting for control and wasted months watching Riku mature into a creature of pure and beautiful darkness. Just the thought of all the wonderful things he had planned sent a jolt through his still standing body, and the sweat-soaked teen clenched around him in response.

“If you insist. . . .” and he began to call on his power to act.

‘Insist? But . . . I didn’t ask for anything!’ Rich laugher answered him, vibrating up his spine.

“Not consciously, no.” And he kissed the child lazily, ‘But your body cannot lie to me.’ Then Ansem pulled away, leaving his left hand to steady Riku as the tentacles moved.

He was being lifted, and the Heartless Lord was slipping out of him. Almost. The head remained inside him, as always. But he had been lifted, and was being turned around, by the dark appendages, to face the tyrant. It felt wrong, strange, uncomfortable. Made him want to wiggle and re-situate himself properly, if not climb off entirely. But then just as easily as he had been lifted, so was he dropped back down, a slick wet sheath once more to the terrible and thick presence inside him.

Riku screamed around the blackness as he landed, his head thrown back as his body arched. It was too soon, too soon to be stimulated again. Everything inside him still felt so raw and sensitive. He was shaking, shivering from an internal chill, and the fact that his sweaty skin felt clammy against the seething darkness binding only added to the unpleasantness. ‘It hurts.’ It always hurt when the other violated him, but now it was unbearable. ‘You’re too thick, it hurts.’ Something, oh God, what had he done to him? ‘Make it stop, please!’ Anything to make the throbbing pressure go away.

And Ansem just cooed at him, trying to shush him, to brush Riku’s mind with his own. The boy just mewled and tried to pull away from the hand on his cheek. But the tentacles gave the teen no slack, and he was mercilessly reminded that the Heartless Lord had yet to enjoy him for the night.

“Pet . . .” his left hand trailed down to the moonstone waist before coaxing the little minx forward. The dark lead in his child’s mouth was removed, even as the others resettled themselves over the petite form. “The night is far from done, as am I.” He rolled his hips shallowly, causing the tot to wince. “So patience, pet,” and he kissed the babe’s nose, “patience. Let me reward you properly,” his eyelids dropped to half-mast as a smirk appeared on his face for a moment, “for fulfilling me.”

Turquoise eyes looked up in confusion, mouth almost forming the word, ‘What?’

The dark one chuckled. “Oh you have yet to, tonight. But you will, just as you always have done during these magical few nights.” His working hand glided over the pert rump that was spiked on his lap. He cupped one of the yielding globes, causing his boy to suck in a sudden breath as he shook his head in negation. Ansem squeezed.

He was still so tired, but what the bastard was doing to him felt so wrong! He tried to move away from the hand, but all the tentacles would let him do was move vertically. Riku swallowed, because it was better than doing nothing. He locked his shaking hands onto broad shoulders and got his feet under him. But that in itself was just so tiring. . . . he fell face forward onto the madman’s chest, arms wrapping around his neck.

Ansem did not scream when Riku touched the ‘burnt’ half of his body, even though he felt he should have. The damage to his clothing was agitating, but mildly less painful than the areas of open skin which had been ‘wounded’. Instead he gave a half-swallowed hiss of invectives and pulled his good hand free to keep from clenching it around his pupil’s tender ass.

It was all he could do to shake against his captor. Riku’s energy waned again, and he slid back down from his crouching position, causing a dull smack of skin on skin. He started to weep, arms uncoiling from Ansem’s neck, dragged downward by their own weight, until his hands held the mad lord’s shoulders again. All of his insides quivered at having to reaccept the intrusive presence.

The dark scholar growled, then sighed. At least the teen was no longer pressing on his ‘charred’ skin. And he was thankful for the beautiful wetness around his most delicate parts. His whole being felt parched, but for that small amount of blessed moisture. There was also the hunger, as there had always been, but more so due to his injuries. He could heal by eating, and here on his lap was a succulent meal. But it was death to follow those instincts, slow, pain filled, maddening death to eat Riku’s heart--his own heart now.

He would have to nibble on the boy’s emotional energy again. Fortune was kind to him, as Riku was a productive energy source in that regard. He unclenched his left hand and let it drift down, unhurt fingertips barely brushing against Riku’s cheek.

No response.

He reached to pet the back of his head, where neck met skull.

Watery teal eyes looked up. He just stared up at the daemon, the same daemon that was inside him, demanding his attention with his insistent throbbing heat. He wanted it done, done forever, but knew he could only hope to end it for the night.

He . . . could end it.

Ansem was trying to coax his head up, to tilt backward. He wanted a kiss, it was written on his face, Riku didn’t even need to hear it in his mind. His eyes narrowed. The dark one bent forward and pressed his mocha lips to his, moments before sliding out his tongue into his mouth.

Ansem missed the glare.

Riku bit down on him, not like before, but enough to hurt. The Heartless Lord snarled, but couldn’t pull away. Riku kept biting, and then did the most horrible thing he’d ever had to do--he constricted around Ansem, focusing all of his muscles into squeezing tight.

He wanted to recoil, the pleasure mixing with the slight pain was too much for his weakened state. Ansem’s left arm curled around Riku’s waist, unable to do anything else in the moment. Too sudden, too un-Riku like a thought, he was paying the price for letting his guard down. Without his consent the dark scholar burst forth, coating the insides of his twilit pupil.

When he was done, Riku let got of him at both ends, slumping down into himself. If not for Ansem’s arm, he might even have fallen back against the man’s knees. But right now he was drained, and all he cared for was sleep and the temporary peace it would bring him.

Ansem looked on with a glower. His fun had been spoiled, but tomorrow. . . tomorrow. . . His brows furrowed. “The rodent’s ship will be arriving tomorrow?”

Riku sighed. ‘Yes.’ He let his feeling of triumphant joy flood through his heart and mind. If there was a link . . . not that he really believed the bastard.

“Mmm . . .” Ansem kept his emotions to himself. On one hand the boy would be taken to a world of light, which would either provide him with endless nourishment, or endless pain. On the other hand. . . he would be traveling in space. . . in a Gummi Ship. It was something he had not done in a long time. So long ago, in fact, that he wasn’t even sure if he really ever had traveled that way before. It didn’t help matters that he had flown through space under his own power since becoming the Heartless Lord. He knew the thrill of traveling the stars--a thrill he never tired of, never seemed to lose . . . .

Riku was already snoring softly in his lap. Hmm, a mild annoyance.

Ansem leaned back against the pillows, and used the darkness under his command to shift Riku’s avatar-body to lay against his without aggravating his ‘burns’. Looking the teen over once he shifted him again to keep the boy from developing any cricks and kinks that might transfer over to his waking body. After all, if he didn’t take good care of his toys, they wouldn’t be able to last all that long.

With them both settled for the night Ansem lost himself to his thoughts again. When was the last time he had walked the stars? Before meeting Riku, yes, but how long before that? And he had never found his lovely, wherever she was.

Ah, if the priestess was happy . . . if she was keeping herself and the other Roma [12] well fed. . .

Ansem sighed. Ansem sighed and lost himself in the memories of soft hands, warm lips, and laughing green eyes, lulled to sleep by the ghosts of his mentors.
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[1] “Ziggy Stardus And the Spiders from Mars.” . . . Don’t ask. I think it’s from my parents’ era and I don’t own it.

[2] David Bowie. You may now shoot me. . . . OR DRESS DEMY UP AS JARETH! You decide. . . . . Damn, I want fanart of that now. :Flails:

[3] Drunk Xiggy reverts to thinking of ‘little Xehanort’. It’s an ‘older brother’ thing. . . . I hope.

[4] Apparently he’s referring to Numbers I - VI by their ‘human’ selves. So Izzy = Zexion.

[5] Aeleus = Lexaeus = V = lawl.

[6] I am unaware of an official timelines for the games. (But if there is one somewhere, point me to it. X3) So I go with the theory that they unfolded at the ‘speed of plot’--meaning however long was needed. Now EVENTS . . . events I have a fair grasp on, like the destruction of Radiant Garden--later called Hollow Bastion--supposedly happened about 10 years before KH 1. No idea how long KH 1 took to happen, I like 6+ months to a little over 1 solar year myself. CoM? After going through the GBA/SP game, reading the Manga, and working on Re:CoM, my only conclusion is that it happened within a day. Because at no point did Sora seem to take a LOOOOOOONNG rest--like sleep. Makes sense, he only had to fight through rooms, and then climb up a few flights of stairs. Traveling by Gummi Ship must take time, even if you solve a world’s problems in a few hours/a day. Now at the end of CoM, someone says flat out that it will take Nami 1 year to fix Sora. I stick by that. When KH II events roll around, again, no idea how long they take, but see my feelings on KH 1. And remember, at this point in my fucked-up story, we are a little more than 2 months after CoM events.

[7] I Can Only Speak As A Girl On This But . . . . in our fitting rooms, we have multi-mirrors so we can see ourselves from different angles. Same in guys’ fitting rooms? Y/N? Help us out male readers/female readers WHO CONVENIENTLY have a brother they can pester about the answer! And for any guy wondering why he’s trying shit on. . . . Different world, different measurements. Just because guys on Earth can look at something and eyeball if they can fit into it or not, doesn’t mean that everything is ‘factory made’ cookie-cutter formula fit on other worlds. Or. . . . . you say 23 inch waist, they ask how many centimeters that is.

[8] And we all wondered why there were Heartless Gummi Ships . . .

[9] ::Is beating the hell out of canon with a shovel:: . . . Oh, don’t mind me, I’m just taking artistic license with the shit that was never spelled out in the games/Manga. ::Goes back to making canon cry::

[10] ::Singing:: “[Didn’t you] Loooooove meeeeeee~ faster than the devil~, Ruuuuuuuun meeeeeeeee~ straight into the ground~, Drooooooooooowniiiiiiiiiiiiiing~ deep inside your water~, Drooooooooowniiiiiiiiiiiiing~ deep inside your sound~!” . . . Ahhhh, “Love and Memories” by ‘O.A.R. (Of A Revolution)’. I don’t own it, but it does fit, and it gets a nod because it’s a good song, and makes me think of Mr. Heartless himself . . . . Sexy bastard.

[11] It’s the crayons, damn it, it’s the crayons and the pencils and the markers and anything else she can get her hands on bleeding into her dress. I just like colors and symbolism, okay? She’s fine physically, and feels like she’s dying on the inside.

[12] Roma = Romani = Gypsy. But Gypsy isn’t politically correct, even if that is what they used in ‘The Hunchback of Notre Dame’. . . . Didn’t see that Disney movie coming, did ya? >3 I’M WORKING AS MANY OF THEM IN AS I CAN FIND!! Same goes for FF games. . . because it’s my KHU, and I’m not taking any prisoners.

A/N: [[Removed to comply with new AFF guidelines. Please see the MM.org version for full A/Ns: http://www.mediaminer.org/fanfic/view_st.php/156268]]
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“Angel of Twilight: Clockwork Breakdown”