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The Night	By : mewsomniac Category: Kingdom Hearts > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 1695 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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Chapter List
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The Night
Chapter XV: Stay Gold

August 23rd, 1860
           Sora reached his hand out to the blue sky, fingers obscuring the sun…
           “Vanitas, you were born mere moments before me. Why do mother and father trust you more than I, even now?”
           “Perhaps to mother and father, those moments were a lifetime. Perhaps it’s because I’m wiser, despite our age.”
           Sora guffawed, “If by wiser you mean that you haven’t gotten caught yet!”
           “Oh ho, ‘yet’? Perhaps a burial in the sand should teach you mock my cleverness!”
           Sora sprang up and they ran together, squealing merrily into the ocean wind.

1871
           Sheets of rain choked the landscape, as if the wrath of the heavens themselves where pelting the ground. In the lightning of the storm, the mysterious castle stood menacingly against the mist and flashes of light.
           Despite all of this, a figure approached from the road, steady yet determined. It flung its hands against the door of the castle, crying out.
           "Anon, monster! Open these doors! Let me speak to you, anon!" (1)
           Between the sheets of rain and thunder, there was but silence. In the distance, he could hear a wolf’s howl against the storm.
           Then, the door creaked open, a red-eyed man peering down from the shadows inside.
           "Are you the beast of this castle?" The figure asked, unperturbed by the menace leaking from the cracked door.
           "Child," the man replied, "Cursed beasts have not lingered in castles for many years."
           "Does that imply that you are no prince after all?"
           "Nay, child, for I am boyar. I am the count of Castle Dracula. You would do well to fear me like the townspeople do."
           "Let me in." He demanded, "I care not of your wretchedness."
           The Count regarded him with fiery eyes.
           “Your name, child.”
           “Vanitas.”
           He grinned wickedly. "My! A very demanding guest indeed. If you must insist to join me in my castle then it would be rude to turn you away. After all, the wolves can become agitated at night..."

The 18th Century
Life became foreign upon the moment Sora’s brother was sealed in their family mausoleum.
Beneath the shiny rosewood lacquer of a coffin, his brother’s body laid against silk throws of nobility with a visage that bore more living aspects than that of a corpse. It was as if the blood, no longer needed for the working on the heart, had gone to make the harshness of death as little rude as might be. (2) It was also perplexing to Sora that the marks on Vanitas’ neck vanished; the two small needle-like punctures embedded against his jugular that worsened over the course of Vanitas’ illness seemed supernatural, and strangely they were gone just moments before his brother’s death.
However, his parents refused to question it so he simply stayed silent. They needn't frighten others with the auspicious legends that terrified them as children and worse in adulthood. To bring up such superstitions was poison to reputations, and as a family of islanders they were already somewhat out of place in Transylvanian society. It was simply better to forget from that point onward.
The stone doors shut with a gentleness that somehow still left a resounding echo in Sora's skull. Empty like the air, yet loud and clamoring.
Life begins just as life dies, so they turned away from the crypt without a wayward glance. Vanitas would have wanted his family to move on. Especially Sora, who had so many dreams to chase and a life to live.

           Creeping in through the window, Vanitas acted as sly and cunning as a cat. He slunk through Castle Dracula’s halls, practically fading into the shadows themselves. The moon was half-full, casting just enough light to lead the way for him back to his quarters. He’d be back inside his coffin in no time, with Dracula none the wiser.
           Or so he’d thought.
           “Vanitas.” A voice hissed at him in the dark.
           He froze… carefully turning to see the figure standing in the light of the moon, fierce red eyes staring at him.
           He sighed, defeated. “Hello, Sire.”
           “You’ve been to see them again, have you not?” His elder chided him.
           Vanitas whipped his body around, teeth snapping at the Count. “They’re destroying his life! All he hoped for was to chase his dreams, and now that I’ve gone they’ve taken his freedom! I’ve doomed my only brother and there’s nothing I can do!”
           “Calm yourself, my fledgling. I’ve told you not to get involved in the mortal life you left behind. It will destroy you, do you understand? I am your family now.”
           Gritting his teeth, Vanitas responds, “But Sora—”
           “Vanitas, lamb of mine… your brother is mortal. One day, he will die and it will tear your soul to pieces. You must learn to distance yourself from mortal love so that you may become a stronger vampire.”
           Vanitas wouldn’t look him in the eye, and he knew exactly why. Although, even if he caught the young man’s gaze, Vanitas’ will was far stronger than his own. He could not control the fledgling in this way, which was a massive surprise on his part. Still, the fledgling would soon one day make a more than suitable heir for him.
           “Sire,” The other nightwalker spoke, finally, “I’m going to turn him. It may be the only way he can achieve his dreams. It’s a vampire’s true destiny to write history, is it not?” He turned on his heel to leave, “No one will make a better vampire than my brother.”
           “Vanitas!” Dracula shouted, “Halt this instant!”
           “Do not try and stop me.” He muttered.
           A mist appeared before him, and Dracula came into being from it.
           “Calm yourself and listen to me. I do not wish to stop you, but if you go to turn your brother you may very well kill him. The ritual is complicated and difficult. If this is your truest wish, allow me to go in your place.”
           Vanitas was taken aback. “You’d do such a thing for me?”
           Dracula stared down at him intensely. “Vanitas, never have I had a fledgling so willingly come to me. Even the sisters recoiled from my propositions at first… but you had no fear. You came to me seeking power. If this is what it takes for me to mentor you so that you may one day surpass me… so be it.”

           The screams seemed endless.
           Sora’s body thrashed with spasms, as if possessed by the devil himself. No matter how much Vanitas tried to comfort him, no matter how many times he explained all the wonderful things vampirism granted, Sora would twist and shriek until his throat was bloodied and hoarse… then it would heal and he’d pick right back up where he left off.
           “Sora, don’t you understand?” Vanitas asked him, exasperated, “You can travel the world now. You can become the great historian you’ve always wanted to be. This was your dream. I’ve made it come true!”
           His brother locked eyes with him, the absolute terror rattling Vanitas down to his very soul.
           “Please kill me,” He begged, “Please let me die!”
           For the first time since he was a child, tears came to Vanitas’ eyes. He gripped his brother’s shoulders, tears flowing freely down his cheeks.
           “Isn’t this what you wanted, Sora?”
           Sora shook his head, voice groggy and desperate, “Not like this. Let me die. Let me DIE!”
           Vanitas stared down at him, his own throat feeling full of needles. He laid a kiss on his brother’s forehead. “I cannot let you die, Sora.”
           He looked into his brother’s eyes, and commanded him to sleep. Sora’s eyes rolled back, head dropping onto the pillow in unconsciousness.
           Vanitas’ tears wouldn’t stop.

           He’d slept faithfully by Sora’s bedside, similarly to how his younger brother did for him when he grew ill. Count Dracula had explained to him that everyone reacts to turning differently: some people accept vampirism willingly and have little to no reaction, as others will sometimes have days of horrendous pain and sensory overload. However, this had been weeks for Sora, a massive phenomenon to the Count. Vanitas found himself feeling extremely guilty for burdening both his brother and his Sire. At least his Sire didn’t seem to mind all that much, treating it as an opportunity for learning.
           It also helped that Sora had finally stopped screaming. Now, he just slept or looked around like he was in a daze, which is apparently the typical reaction to turning. He was also finally accepting blood to drink, which was great progress, and Vanitas was grateful for that.
           He was laying his head on his arms, dozing on Sora’s bed, when the weak voice reached his ears.
           “Vanitas…”
           His head shot up to meet Sora’s tired gaze, “You’re finally awake.”
           His brother smiled at him warily, “I still cannot get over it. My older brother, alive all this time.”
“Well,” Vanitas reponds, “Not older any longer. You’ve outlived me by two years.”
A pained laugh shuddered out of Sora’s chest. “My, how fate has confounded us.” Then, he took a long look at Vanitas, expression struck with wonder. “I’ve been meaning to say… your eyes… they’re gold. They used to be—”
           “Brown?” Vanitas chuckled, “Yours used to be black.”
           Vanitas reached over to a nearby metal tray and lifted it to Sora’s face. The new vampire gawked at his reflection.
           “They’re… they’re actually quite beautiful.”
           “They’ll serve you well in your unlife, too. Count Dracula, our Sire, has passed on his power of persuasion to us. It allows us to bend the will of others to suit our needs.”
           Sora’s gaze shifted back to his brother. “Truly?”
           Vanitas nodded, “Truly. That is not even the start of what we are capable of as vampires.”
           Brows furrowing, Sora gently swallowed to ease the dryness in his throat. “Will you… will you both teach me?”
           “Are you able to sit up?”
           Sora paused... then, very carefully, he pushed himself up into a sitting position.
          Vanitas asked, “Can you stand?”
           “Certainly.”
           “Can you walk?”
           “Most likely.”
           Vanitas grinned, almost catlike, “Then let us begin today.”

           The blades came together, the room echoing with the resulting clang. A shift, a step, more weight… parry. Thrust. Footsteps padded ghost-like across the floor, and Sora tracked them. The blade sliced the air, coming straight for his left side. He ducked to the right, catching the blade mid-air against his. He twisted, felt the length of it turn with him as it clattered to the floor.
           Triumphantly, he extended his blade toward his enemy. “That’s match.”
           “Very good, Sora! You may sheathe your weapon.”
           He did so, sliding the blade neatly into his scabbard. “Vanitas, I understand your reasoning behind swordfighting… what I do not understand is why I would need to be blindfolded.” He removed the offending cloth, blinking into the room’s light.
           “This way, the art of the sword becomes a part of your subconscious. Like learning another language, it becomes part of you forever… you need just a push to activate the memory. In this case, it’s the physical action.”
           “You have a point. However, it still seems excessive to me.”
           “One day you shall be grateful for my lessons, I assure you.” Vanitas plucks the rapier from the ground and moves over to a large case where several other swords are displayed. “Now, you’ve just about mastered the rapier. But what about your cutlass skills?”

           Vanitas entered the library and almost immediately he spotted Sora hunched over a table. Books were strewn haphazardly across it’s surface, pinning down a massive map dotted with silverware, chess pieces, cups, and whatever else could be used as a makeshift marker.
           Sora looks over his shoulder, “Evening, brother. Back from your training so soon?”
           Though Sora did not mean this in jest, Vanitas still scowled and averted his gaze as if hurt by the question. So far, the only ability that’d manifested in him is that of persuasion and the smallest sparks of lightning-based magick. Despite the Count’s assurances, it’s been incredibly frustrating. “Never you mind that. What is all this?”
           “I’m planning a fantastical adventure across the world, of course!” Sora beckoned his brother over to explain the masterful plan he’s concocted, pointing up and down the map. “Even Sire has recommended some rather interesting places for my quest to take me.” He added.
           Vanitas hummed, “It looks like an incredible mess.” Now it was Sora’s turn to scowl, and Vanitas laughed. “How are you ever going to make your way with a map made for a giant?” He wandered off somewhere, Sora waiting and watching patiently for him to return. When he did, he brought a smaller map, the perfect size for traveling. “This one is printed on a sturdy woven fabric. It’ll remain intact even on your most extreme adventures.”
           Sora took it, rubbing the parchment between his fingers and admiring the strength. “Thank you Vanitas.”

           Sora wiped away the platinum shavings and twisted his hand to look at the crown necklace in the light. The new inscription he added was that of the current year: 1887. Vanitas suggested he dispose of the necklace to fully be rid of his life from before, but Sora chose to keep it. This necklace represents who he was, and now this inscription will represent who he will become. Today was the start of something new.
           Today, his journey began.
           He packed up the last of his minimal belongings and slung his knapsack onto his back. He checked his pockets for the map and his boat ticket. Then, he made his way downstairs. There, Count Dracula was waiting with a proud smile on his face. They shared an embrace.
           “My lamb… are you certain you must go on this quest? We’ve hardly had a chance to see what power you may possess.”
           “Sire, my true hope is to remember history. Supernatural abilities are not required for such a task.”
           They released one another, Dracula nodding sagely. “And that I know you shall accomplish. You may yet become the greatest vampire that e’er was.”
           Sora laughed, “I’d rather just the greatest historian, thank you.”
           “Fare thee well, my lamb. I hope to one day see you once more.”
           “Farewell, Sire. Thank you for everything.”
           Sora went to the front door where Vanitas was waiting. The disdain was apparent in his golden eyes, and something didn’t quite seem right with him. Sora stood before him, and they shared a long moment of silence before they also embraced.
           “This is it, then.” Vanitas sighed, “You’re finally off to chase your dream.”
           Sora laughed, “Brother, you say that as if we’re dying all over again. Of course I’ll see you again, someday.”
           “Someday. Yes…” The released one another, Vanitas still holding Sora’s shoulders as he spoke. “Sora… I’m so grateful I got to have this time with you; to help you find your purpose again in life.” A single tear rolled down his cheek, the last tear he’d shed for decades. “It is why I am sorry I must do this to you.”
           “Vanitas, what—”
           “Listen to my words without interruption, Sora.” The sentence burrowed deep, deep down into Sora’s brain; attacking his conscious and subconscious like a fast-acting and deadly virus. “You will go to the port of Varna and begin your journey. You will travel the world and absorb history to your heart’s content. You will leave this place, and never return. You will forget your brother Vanitas and your sire Count Dracula. You will know who you are but forget this time we spent together. Until we meet again, Sora.”
           Suddenly, Sora’s perfect memory became muddled. The face he was looking at was a fog, a pastel smear. His mind only had one destination: the port of Varna. His feet carried his body, but his mind remained trapped in a land of mist and mystery.
           Vanitas watched him leave, his heart a stone in his chest. Dracula came to stand beside him, watching the zombified figure disappear into the distance.
           “You didn’t have to do this, Vanitas. He would have understood my master plan.”
           “He’s been through too much, Sire. I couldn’t ask him to understand this as well.”
           “Then my plan for domination shall continue.” He put a reassuring arm across the young man’s shoulders, gently leading him back into the castle. “Come, Vanitas. Though today has been arduous, I now have a proposal for you.” Vanitas remained silent, so The Count continued. “Your power remains yet untapped, and in my focus I’ve not been able to properly train you. In the Scholomance, I met a great deal of fantastic warlocks and wizards who’ve mastered the art of dark magick and kept in touch with many of them. I would like you to train under my long time friend Master Xehanort. I believe it is he who will unearth your truest potential.”
           In his mind, Vanitas felt absolutely wretched. He’d just banished himself from his brother’s existence and now his own Sire wishes to pass him off to another’s hands. It was an arduous day indeed, to put it delicately. Yet still, it seemed that his own quest for ultimate power was heading nowhere, and he cannot be of much use to Dracula’s plan for domination at this point. He’s been more of a nuisance to The Count than anything else, though Dracula would surely promise him otherwise.
           Truly… He just wanted to be away from this place, from these 14 years spent with his brother, from the memories echoing in these halls and haunting his heart. It’d only been a few moments since Sora departed, and yet it felt like an eternity to his soul.
           “I shall go,” Vanitas said.
           “I warn you, it will be a mighty feat and no easy task.”
           Anything will be better than this. Is what he thought.
           Vanitas was never the same after that day.
           He left some time after that so Dracula could put his plans in motion. A solicitor was on his way to the castle to provide The Count with some legal advice… a one Mr. Harker, and Vanitas didn’t want to trouble the process with his presence. The Sisters weeped over him, and in the depths of Dracula’s eyes he could see the sadness there… but Vanitas was apathetic, and left in near silence.

           When Vanitas first encountered Master Xehanort, he knew there was something different about the old man as soon as he saw him.
           They met in a north-western city on a cloudy day at a nice little cafe. Vanitas was staring indifferently into the street, his tea still warm despite the chill in the air. Fashionably late, the older gentleman lowered himself into the chair across from Vanitas. Although he was clearly an elder, his body still seemed as agile and able as any other. The only hint to his age was the beginning of a slouch, likely brought on by enormous amounts of research, reading, or writing.
           However, that’s not exactly what piqued Vanitas’ curiosity. It was the man’s eyes: they were, for lack of better term, infinite. Similar in color to his own, they had an intensity that seemed to relentlessly suck in all the light around him like black holes. This was no mere man, no mere spellcaster… he was something else entirely. Perhaps mortal once, but surely something like a demon now.
           “Greetings, young man.” In spite of the demon’s terrifying presence, his voice was seasoned and jolly. “I take it you’re the Vanitas I’ve heard so much about?”
           “If you’ve heard of me,” Vanitas responded, “Then you’re either a man returned from the dead to exact your revenge… or you go by Master Xehanort.”
           The gentleman responded by chortling, “Your latter assumption is correct. Is that tea you have there?”
           “It’s only to ease suspicion and blend in. I cannot actually drink it.”
           In a smooth motion, Xehanort dropped something into Vanita’s teacup, and he watched as it bloomed with crimson.
           “That simply won't do. Wasting tea is a sin above all sins.”
           Vanitas took a cautious sip from the cup, pleased to find the iron of the blood enhanced the natural bitterness of the tea blend. Though he and his Sire enjoyed beverages like this plenty of times, he’d never been so bold as to do the same in public. He liked this man already.
           “Well then. Down to business,” Vanitas said, “What shall I foresee in this mentorship should I decide to join you?”
           Xehanort smiled then, a fire burning in his matching golden eyes. “My entire life’s devotion has been to seek power. I’ve traveled worlds over to and studied for countless hours to unlock the hidden secrets of this world, and all the magick that flows through it. The Lifesource, the Spirit, the darkness and light of this mortal plane…” His fingers begin to twitch, as if he could not control his excitement. “It’s all interconnected, like a carefully woven spider’s web, but stacked to infinity. Every single creature is on it’s own thread, it’s own wavelength… unlike your Sire, I can help you pinpoint that wavelength, and we can use it to channel your inner power.”
           Vanitas stares at him thoughtfully. “Interesting… so then what benefits do you gain from my apprenticeship? It seems strange that such a powerful person would be interested in such a thing as mentorship.”
           “Something can be said for what is learned when one teaches. Additionally, there are still many magickal abilities and skills I myself do not possess, and to have an ally with your capabilities would suit my needs.”
           Taking a long sip of his tea, Vanitas considers this. Then, placing the cup back down, he grins.
           And thus began their reign of terror.

           Black mist sifted through the doorframe, seeping into the cracks and out the other side. It crept along the floor, dancing like fine sand in the moonlight, before curling in a mass at the edge of the bed. The mist took on a human-shaped form, then melted away like warmed snow; revealing Vanitas’ body. He stared down at the sheets, where a woman laid in peaceful sleep. He crept to her, soundless and catlike.
           Without a moment’s hesitation, he bit into her neck and tore out her throat. She awoke in terror, but was unable to scream. Her breath escaped her bloodied throat in a panicked gargle, and when she attempted to fight off her attacker she found it was like trying to wrestle a marble statue.
           His practice had left him famished, so Vanitas slurped down her blood—even devoured some of her flesh. He drank and drank and chewed and drank until his face was bloodied, his stomach was full, and the woman went still. Then, he lapped up what last drops he could before his body became mist once more: his bloodlust satisfied.
           Having enough energy to maintain his ethereal self now, he drifted all the way back home to his Master. When he came back into being, he entered the study.
           “I’ve returned,” He said, “Moonlight is still the easiest to travel under. I should be content with this feeding for another week or so.”
           The Master turned to him, completely unphased by his bloodied front; on the old man’s lap was the purring form of Lucifer, reveling in the scratches Xehanort was granting him. Vanitas swore that, despite being his familiar, that damn cat adored The Master far more than him.
           “Excellent.” Xehanort said, “You’ve already mastered shifting your form at any time during the day, which is scores beyond what your Sire was capable of.”
           Though this fact pleased him, part of Vanitas wished Xehanort wouldn’t bring up the late Count so often. It’d been a very long time since news of Dracula’s untimely death reached them, yet the pain was always close by in his heart. He did his best to shut the emotion away; after all, it was Dracula himself who warned Vanitas not to let grief into his soul. He was at least comforted knowing that his surpassing of Dracula’s skills was the ultimate goal of his Sire anyway.
           “Yet my thirst is nigh insatiable. I feel as though I’m frenzied for blood more often than not.”
           “In time you will need less and less to maintain your magick. One day you will be unstoppable... and perhaps, one day, the prophecy will come true.” With this as his reminder, he lifted the Enchanted Mirror from the desk and, as he always did, said to it, “Show me Destiny.” It’s surfaced rippled… but nothing happened. “See? We must both have patience, my apprentice.”
           Vanitas rolled his eyes, “If you say so, Master.” Then he went to exit the study.
           As he left, he could hear Xehanort’s voice carrying after him, “By the way, we will have to move again soon. The townsfolk are growing suspicious of these rather gruesome murders.”
           This brought a coy smile to Vanitas’ face and he licked some of the still-wet blood from his lips. Somehow, the fear he carried into each town as he feasted brought him a lovely sense of satisfaction. Fear was his next greatest fuel alongside blood and, sometimes, a nice cup of black tea.
           He disposed of his bloodied clothes and drew himself a bath that night. He dipped himself into the water and watched happily as it turned pink around his submerged body. Then, as he relaxed into the warmth, his mind drifted.
           As of late, the old coot had been obsessed with this strange prophecy. He kept that scrying glass on himself at all times, every now and again asking it about “Destiny”. It seemed as though that was all he used such a powerful artifact for, asking it to no end about this mysterious Destiny. Truly, Vanitas did not actually care about it since it had no bearing on their lives together. In Vanitas’ mind, it was a total waste of a scrying glass.
           One night the old man stepped out suddenly to handle a personal matter, and Vanitas slipped into the study to examine the object. He held the Enchanted Mirror in his hand, staring down into its seemingly innocuous surface, and he nearly asked it to show him Sora. Yet, the words caught in his throat: did he really want to know where his brother was? If he was alive, Vanitas’ heart will ache endlessly with guilt. If he was in danger, Vanitas would want to seek him out. If he was dead, Vanitas would be completely devastated. His hand trembled, mind racing with the possibilities… so he laid the mirror back down and left the study.
           He didn’t want to think about the fact that the answer to all his curiosities is still sitting in the same abode as he. He let his body slip down to be fully submerged; sealing his heart off to the matter once more.

May 31st, 2005
           Chill clung to Xehanort’s skin as a gentle wind blew through the springtime morning. The babe cradled in his arms cooed in it’s sleep, and he clutched it a little tighter to his chest to keep it warm. Looking down at the infant, he couldn’t help but smile. Finally, after hundreds of years of waiting, his plan had finally come to fruition. This child was the key.
           The vision in the Enchanted Mirror came to him unexpectedly. He hadn’t checked the scrying glass in nearly a year, and at first he thought he’d imagined the woman that appeared. She had brown hair, green eyes, and was very heavily pregnant—more so than was normal for a woman of her size. He set his plan in motion, then quickly discovered that she was in fact having twins. This was a massive relief because it meant he wouldn’t have to kill anyone, just erase a few memories and rewrite some data. He would take the eldest child born and leave the younger twin so the family would be none the wiser.
           Using Vanitas’ blood and his assistance, they crafted a persona symbola (The Master’s specialty) based around mind control (Vanitas’ specialty). Once in possession of the infant’s blood and visage, they could dispel every and all memories of it. Then, using a series of basic cloaking spells, he simply took the child from the hospital.
           Vanitas knew nothing of this plot, and he didn’t care to ask any questions about it either; all he knew was that Xehanort’s plan was in motion. So, The Master left his apprentice at home. It was especially important that the vampire and this future spellcaster’s introductions come much, much, much later. For now, he was taking the small one to the care of his most trusted (and overly trusting) friend Eraquis. The wizard had a penchant for fostering or adopting stray nightwalkers and had already acquired two in this decade. In the past he’d been up to a dozen: and they were all some of the strongest Xehanort had ever known.
           Though leaving the child in Eraquis’ care posed some risk, he knew there was no better place to leave it for training. If he wanted the babe to efficiently wield it’s powers of light, it would be with a light-wielding scholomancer. Just like his dear friend Dracula entrusted his own fledgling to Xehanort, The Master would do the same for this small child unto Eraquis.
           Finally reaching the gate of Eraquis’ large mansion, he hit the intercom buzzer at the road entrance. The sun was just starting to come up, and if he timed this correctly his friend would be just getting up.
           “Eraquis!” He warbled, moving his face to be in full view of the built-in security camera, “It’s Xehanort! Please, it is imperative you let me in!”
           After a few seconds, a voice crackled from the speaker. “My Goddess, Xehanort, is that really you? Come in, come in!”
           The gate creaked open, and Xehanort made his way up to the front door. He twisted his face up to resemble a harried, terrified old man. Within a moment, the front door flew open to reveal a very concerned Eraquis.
           “My friend, it’s been ages... What are you doing here?”
           Silently, Xehanort shifted the bundle in his grasp to reveal the infant’s sleeping face. It was all Eraquis needed to act, and he reached over to gently lift the babe from his friend’s arms.
           “Goddess above… what has happened to this poor child?”
           Xehanort recited his lie so perfectly it would have fooled a fox: “The poor babe… he was born with untold power. I could sense it from across the country and had many visions of it’s massive destruction. His family…” He sighed, flawlessly prodding all of Eraquis’ soft spots, “The mother did not make it through the birth because of this. The father… chose to follow her into death. He was alone when I found him.”
           Xehanort knew he sealed Eraquis’ fate when the wizard’s eyes became glassy. The black-haired man looked down at the infant in his grasp with an intensity that even moved Xehanort’s cold heart. “You poor creature…” He whispered.
           Xehanort adds, “Because of your infinite heart, and because you trained your eldest to wield her powers at such a young age, I could not think of a better father and teacher for him.”
           “Does he have a name?” Eraquis asked.
           “If he did, I did not care to look… for I believe you can grant him a new name and a new life that will define who he truly is.”
           The gust picked up around them, and Eraquis smiled as the dawn light began to illuminate the child’s face. One child with difficult and unwieldy powers had already proven to be a challenge, but with time he knew he could succeed. The wind, too, was intense and unwieldy; yet, the energy harnessed from it was indeed powerful. He thought of his other two adopted children, and knew right then what to name the infant.
           Xehanort left many supplies with his friend for the baby and bid farewell. His next step was to simply bide his time, watch over from a distance, and wait for the day he would take the boy under his own wing.
           In the meantime, Eraquis carried the baby inside and locked the door behind him. He rocked the small one in his arms, and then called out into the still-darkened home: “Terra. Aqua. You can come out now, I know you were watching.”
           A pause… then, quietly, the two children crept from their hiding places.
           “We really have a new little brother?” Aqua asked in excitement.
           Terra’s face lit up when he saw the infant, “Pop, is that a baby? Can I hold him? Is he a wolf like me? Or is he a witch like Aqua?”
           Eraquis chuckled and knelt down so they could see the baby up close. “You are not just a wolf, Terra. You’re a werewolf, remember? And Aqua is a spellcaster, not just a witch.”
           Aqua said, “I still think witch sounds cooler, dad.”
           The older man laughed, “I suppose you’re correct, Aqua. Now then. Would you two like to know what I’m naming him?” The two nodded in delightful anticipation. “Ventus. It means ‘wind’.”

2017
           Xehanort traced his fingertips across the ground, almost elegantly. Whenever he ran out of blood to write with, he dipped his fingers back into the maw of the woman’s chest.
           He recognized her from the hospital all those years ago: plucking the baby from her grasp as the memory drifted from her glazed, doe-like eyes. It was so easy, too easy it seemed… was it easy? Why can’t he remember?
           Just as he feared, the natural resistance to mind control was something that had run in Ventus’ family. It was a risk he had been willing to take, especially since he never thought the family would ever be successful in actually finding his whereabouts.
           Yet, there she laid, a last-ditch effort to find her son after all these years. Her rage had overtaken her sense, and she’d fallen because of it. Her magick was not nearly strong enough to take him down; he wasn’t sure it would have been even if she trained for a thousand years.
           Still, how she found him was a mystery to him. Over the last century he’d been having infrequent issues with senility (Was it a century? Why can’t he remember?), but he was especially careful not to let his many well-known pseudonyms come into contact with his actual name. If they had, he could not honestly remember. He’d nearly revealed himself a few centuries prior when he assassinated Yen Sid, another scholomancer he was friends with. Then that damn apprentice kept coming after him… it took him a long time to wipe his trail clean after that. Did he wipe his trail clean? Why can’t he remember?
           Despite all of this risk, he simply couldn’t help himself with the ghouls sometimes. In a fit of novice excitement, he brought a scourge of them to Dusk City. They were dispatched in similar fashion to how he erected the spell, and he wondered how it was possible. He was sure he’d written that spell somewhere… he’d published books, written entries in massive editions… but he wasn’t certain. He lost the paperwork too. Paperwork was impossible for an immortal to keep, unless you’re a damn vampire.
           Vanitas… that’s right. He has to get back to him. They have much work to do. The next step of the prophecy is upon them in a few year’s time, and the vampire must be ready.
           At least there was one thing he could remember.

2024
           “That guy…” Ventus growled, rolling his shoulder and feeling the bruises ache, “He never fucking lets up.” He leaned up against the nearest wall, feeling his face getting hot.
           It’s gotten harder and harder to fight every time Vanitas has come over for combat training. Part of it is because the vampire is testing Ventus’ strength to its limits.
           Although... he can tell the vampire is a sadist. He can see it in his eyes. The guy really enjoys, maybe even gets off on, other people’s pain. Every time Ventus yelps or gasps, he can practically feel the Cheshire-like grin growing on Vanitas’ face. He can hear the sick joy in his laugh, in his endless taunts...
           Part of what makes it so hard to fight him is because, lately, Ventus can’t take his eyes off the damn guy. He’s so fast, and smooth, and when he pins Ventus down he just can’t think. He sees that grin, or hears that laugh, and it stirs something inside him. He hears those taunts and wants to shut Vanitas’ fucking mouth for him.
           He has to get better. He has to overcome this bizarre sensation that makes his mind dizzy. He has to wipe that stupid grin off Vanitas’ face.
           Sore, but determined, he carries himself to wherever Aqua and Terra may be. If anyone can help him get stronger, it’s them. In the meantime… he just won't spar with Vanitas. He’ll avoid him at all costs, train his body and mind… and then the vampire will be sorry.

           It’d been months since Vanitas had seen Ventus. He did what was asked of him by Xehanort: go to Eraquis’ place, observe Ventus, and train him to become stronger. Initially, it was the old man who would come to watch over the blond, but he was slowly starting to lose his marbles. Between bouts of paranoia and scribbling in his logs, Xehanort seemed to have little time for his prophesied protege.
           Although Vanitas’ questions remained, it was still fun toying with the blond. Every time they sparred, Ventus always thought he’d had the upper hand… but he never did. Strong as he was, he was still a novice compared to Vanitas. It was great fun since Vanitas had grown bored lately of the monotony that comes with immortality. Now that The Master’s prophecy was in full effect, and the man was going senile, there was little havoc for them to wreak. He’d gotten quite complacent, but these little training sessions with Ventus were quite entertaining. How the snake-tongued Master managed to talk Eraquis into allowing their rigorous training was beyond him.
           Recently, though, it seemed as if the brat was avoiding him like the plague. At first, he was fine with it; it meant less of a sweat for him to work up. And it’s not like the other inhabitants of the home were happy about his presence either, so he didn’t quite feel welcome there. He would show up after sunset (he had to be careful with his timing, as the light had begun to burn him these last few years), would be unable to locate Ventus, then he’d go off to the city to get laid or high.
           Yet, the more time went on without seeing Ventus, the weirder he felt. Slowly, he didn’t want to chase any tail. Slowly, the drugs were amplifying this odd sensation. Slowly, he couldn’t stop thinking about Ventus: that fire of defiance in his eyes, the way he grit his teeth when he swung his fists, and that weird look on his face any time Vanitas bested him…
           He could see it now. Red, and angry, but unmoving… glaring at him with fury, hiding what could possibly be confusion. Face slicked with sweat, mouth hanging open for air—
           Vanitas found himself tapping the intercom button, doing his best to hide his skin from the midday sun.
           A voice crackled out of it: “You’re here earlier than usual, Vanitas.”
           He said nothing, and the gate creaked open. He found himself opening the front door, then speeding through the halls of the house in search of his target. Vanitas found him quicker than expected; caught the blond in his room as he was on is way out, most definitely trying to avoid the vampire.
           “Where do you think you’re running off to?” Vanitas bit out.
           Ventus nearly leapt from his skin, “V-Vanitas! What the hell are you doing here?”
           “We haven’t trained in months. You’ve been avoiding me. I came to find out why.”
           “Look, if you want to spar with me, don’t bother. I’m not going to. I’ve been training on my own.”
           Vanitas cackled, “Oh yeah? Show me then, smart guy.”
           “No. Now get out of my room.”
           “Prove to me you can fight and I will.”
           Losing his patience, Ventus gritted his teeth and stepped up to the vampire. “VANITAS.” He growled, “FUCK. OFF.”
           Vanitas gripped Ventus’ face, looked deep down into his eyes and, with his fangs bared, commanded him: “FIGHT ME.”
           For a long second, Ventus felt his consciousness lapse. An eerie sensation of absolute bliss cascaded over his mind. All at once, he ripped away from it. Was that a power the vampire had that he didn’t know of? Shoving the hand away from his face, he shouted, “No! I’m not going to fight you!”
           Vanitas blinked in astonishment. Ventus... had actually resisted his persuasion. He never tried it before on the blond, so he didn’t realize such a thing was even possible.
           Shaking the shock out of him, he tried to taunt the mortal, “Why? Are you afraid you’d lose? Are you scared I’ll choke the life out of you?”
           “No. I’m not going to fight you because I know I’m stronger than you now. You act tough, and maybe you’ve been sharpening your talent your whole existence, but I know I’d win. It’s the truth.” He turned around and began to walk away, “Honestly, you don’t stand a—”
           Vanitas lunged at him, and any mortal very well could have missed it if they blinked. Vanitas’ hand went rocketing to grab Ventus by the nape… but he was halted midair, and slammed down onto the ground. Ventus didn’t even need to raise a hand to do it. He looked over his shoulder, lips pursed in a pleased little pout.
           “See what I mean?” He turned to face the vampire, leaning down in a taunting way. “I could crush you, and you couldn’t even lift a finger to stop me.” His smile faded into a cold expression. “I could choke the life out of you before you even had a chance to say half a syllable.”
           For the first time in a very long time, Vanitas was terrified. He’d spent so long relishing the discomfort in Ventus’ training, and now a somewhat intimidating aura had fallen over the blond. He could feel the sweat beading on his forehead.
           “Ventus…” He muttered, voice betraying his poor attempt at hiding fear.
           Then, Ventus grinned, and began to laugh hysterically. “Man, you should have seen the look on your face! You really thought I was going to kill you, didnt you?”
           Vanitas felt the pressure lift from him, and he warily stood.
           “Vanitas, as big of an asshole as you are, I could never actually kill you.” The vampire stared at him with an unreadable face. “What?” Ventus asked.
           Vanitas leaned forward and kissed him. Ventus kissed right back, grabbing onto the vampire. He was pushed against the wall, then there was a tongue between his teeth and fangs scraping his lips. Vanitas’ hands grabbed at Ventus’ body relentlessly.
           “The door,” Ventus whispered between kisses.
           Vanitas shut the door and made sure to lock it, too. Then he practically flung Ventus onto the bed, stripped the blonde’s clothing away faster than the mortal could even take a breath. He felt the blond grabbing for his own clothing, and assisted in pulling it off.
           They were both rock hard. After taking a good look at Vanitas’ massive cock, Ventus felt this insane sensation of fear mixed with arousal washing over him.
            Then, the vampire’s teeth were on Ventus’ skin, fangs scraping against flesh.
           Oh, how badly Vanitas has wanted this moment. For weeks he pictured stabbing his fangs into Ventus’ neck, sucking the blood from his veins, taking a small piece to be with him.
He bit down, then was surprised to feel Ventus doing the same to him. Vanitas didn’t think the blond would bite hard enough to draw blood… but he did. And now they were two blood-sucking beasts wrapped up in eachother.
           Ventus tasted better than he ever imagined, somehow just a tad more delcatable than any other blood he’s had. He knew he’d have to pull himself off before he became frenzied; his mouth popped off Ventus’ shoulders, the sweet smell of iron filling his nostrils. He leaned back and looked down at Ventus, the mortal’s own mouth streaked with just a little bit of blood. Vanitas pressed their lips together again, licking his own blood clean off Ventus’ mouth.
           He pulled away to pop his fingers into his mouth, then he crept them down to prod at Ventus’ entrance. The mortal consciously relaxed below him, so Vanitas slipped a finger inside. Ventus gasped as Vanitas worked his fingers steadily, and within moments he was adding a second one. The blond was grateful to himself for his self-experimentation because it seemed Vanitas had no plans of slowing down. The third finger began stretching him, and Ventus was already writhing in pleasure as the vampire curled them slightly inside of him; nipping harshly at his lips all the while.
           Then, that precious chuckle slipped from the vampire’s throat.
           “I love watching you squirm,” He muttered, looking down his nose at the mortal, his fangs practically glinting in the dying daylight.
           Ventus loved that tone of voice. He wished Vanitas’ words were honey, so he could lick them from the vampire’s teeth. His hand drifted to his own member, and he began to carefully stroke it in time to Vanitas fingering him.
           Then, the fingers were out, and Ventus barely had a moment to react before Vanitas was pinning his arms above his head with one hand.
           He leaned down, whispering sharply into Ventus’ ear. “I’m dangerous, you know. I’ve killed a lot of people. I’m a monster.”
           Ventus was almost disgusted with the words that came tumbling out his own mouth: “I hope you fuck like a monster.”
           Then, Vanitas was sucking Ventus’ earlobe and guiding the head of his spit-slicked cock into Ventus’ ass. The blond knew Vanitas wouldn’t waste any time, so he exhaled quickly and relaxed his body as much as possible. The vampire leaned back and, with little resistance, Vanitas’ huge shaft was slipping inside him, and his jaw dropped open in a silent scream. The vampire’s cock stretched him further than he ever thought possible, and the bizarre mix of pleasure and pain had his cock and his insides twitching.
           Before Vanitas was buried to the hilt, he started moving back out, working in an expert way to slowly adapt Ventus’ ass to his length. He saw a bead of precum forming on the slit of the blond’s member, and he couldn’t help the need to speed up. Ventus grunted and groaned beneath him, twisting around on the sheets with each thrust.
           “Too rough for you?” Vanitas chided him.
           The blond locked eyes with him, “Not rough enough.”
           “Is that so…?”
           Vanitas smirked, and moved his hand to gently squeeze around Ventus’ throat. Then, he began to buck his hips quickly and furiously into the blond. The mortal’s face was graced in complete pleasure, his eyes rolling back as he gasped. A nice little stream of precum dripped all the way down his cock. Vanitas grabbed it just then, and began quickly stroking it in time with his thrusts. He eased up his grip on Ventus’ throat, listened hungrily as the mortal whined in ecstasy.
           Vanitas could tell Ventus wasn’t going to last much longer, so he let himself grow close to the edge; watching carefully for the blond to spill over.
           When Ventus did, his hands flew to his mouth to muffle a cry as his insides gripped around Vanitas’ shaft. Cum shot up the mortal’s chest and pooled on his stomach.
           Vanitas removed his hand from Ventus’ throat, whispering, “Tell me to come inside you.”
           Ventus complied, “Please… come inside me.”
           Vanitas let loose a few harsh thrusts, emptying his warm load inside the mortal. He pulled out slowly, head dizzy from the sensation. They laid side-by-side in a breathless daze. As soon as the fog cleared, Vanitas began to redress himself.
“Not bad,” Vanitas said, “For a virgin.”
Ventus’ face went red. “H-how did you…”
“Are you kidding me? It was obvious.” He went to leave, but stopped for a long moment at the door. “I’ll be back at sunset tomorrow.” He looked over his shoulder at Ventus, his warm golden eyes making the blond’s heart flutter. “No more hiding from me, okay?”
He didn’t wait for a response, he just left the mortal to doze; the smell of sex still clinging to the air.

2025
           “Hey, Ven.” Terra’s voice came to him from the kitchen doorway.
           “Hey, Terra.”
           “Wait… is that a cat?” Ventus turned a little bit so Terra could fully see the black cat cradled in Ventus’ arms.
           “Isn’t it cute? It’s the first cat I’ve ever met that likes belly rubs.” Using a free hand, Ventus demonstrated by rubbing his hand in a small circle on the cat’s stomach; the creature purred in response.
           “Interesting… where did you find this cat, exactly?”
           “It was just sitting on my window sill when I woke up. It hasn’t tried to leave yet either…” Terra moved a little closer and the cat, despite it’s compromising position, hissed at him. “Oh, don’t be like that.” Ventus scolded it.
           “It’s okay, Ven. Cats don’t seem to like me. I think they can tell what I am…” Ventus laughed at this, and just then Terra noticed how beat-up the younger man looked: he had scrapes and bruises everywhere. “Ven, maybe you should let up on the sparring for a bit. You look like a mess. Even though he agreed to it, Pop is really worried about you too.”
           Ventus had to duck his face down to hide his blush. Yes, the training had become more rigorous… but most sessions were being cut short by both him and Vanitas getting too worked up to actually finish them. Vanitas had very… rough tendencies, and Ventus was quickly learning he also had a penchant for them through the vampire. He was glad nobody in the house seemed to notice… at least, not as far as he could tell.
           “Yeah,” The blond chuckled, trying not to sound embarrassed. “I’ve been pushing myself a bit too hard lately.”
           “I’m not as worried about what you’ll do,” Terra responds, “I’m mostly just worried about that Vanitas guy… you should be careful around him. He seems a little…”
           “Twisted?” Ventus offered.
           “Yeah, twisted for sure. Aqua and I aren’t going to be around forever… we can’t protect you if something happens.”
           Ventus was pretty sure he knew what Terra was hinting at: the werewolf and Eraquis had been at odds recently, and it was beginning to sound more and more like Terra was ready to pack up and leave. He and Aqua were mainly sticking around for Ventus’ sake, as they tended to baby him even more than Eraquis did. It was really grating on his nerves, since now he almost matched Aqua in power. He wanted to figure out a place he himself could go, if only to free his family of his burdensome presence.
           “Well, I gotta go help Pop with some stuff in the city today. I swear that old man can’t let me have a moment of damn peace.”
           Just then, the intercom in the kitchen crackled: “Hey. It’s me.”
           Terra made a sour face. “Perfect timing, I guess. Want me to go let him in?”
           Ventus shook his head, “No, I’ve got it. I’ll see you around.”
           “Yep,” The werewolf muttered, taking his leave.
           Ventus went to the door, still holding the cat with one arm, and opened it.
           Vanitas went to greet him when he locked eyes with the cat. His normally deadpan facade was broken as a look of angry surprise graced his face. “Wha—-you damn cat! This is where you went?!”
           The cat looked at Vanitas with a face that almost perfectly said “Oh, it’s you.”
           “Vanitas, this is your cat?” Ventus asked, “He just showed up out of nowhere.”
           “Shit, I thought the thing went off to die somewhere.”
           Ventus was taken aback, “Wait, what?!”
           “Ah, it’s okay Ventus… that’s my familiar. Her name is Lucifer.” Vanitas said as he stepped inside, “You know what a familiar is, right?”
           “I’ve heard of them… I know they’re a creature that binds their spirit to someone, but other than that, I don’t know much.”
           Vanitas then explained that a familiar’s soul, when their current body fails, will simply reincarnate into another host of the same animal. For Lucifer, she would just wander off anytime she got too old or sick to function… then in a month or so, another black cat with golden eyes would show up on Vanitas’ doorstep.
           “Wow… I’m not sure if that’s kinda sad or really sweet.”
           “I think it’s pretty damn sweet. It saves me a fuck-ton of money on vet bills, that’s for sure. Isn’t that right, Lulu, you little shit?”
           Vanitas reached over to scratch the cat’s head, and the creature playfully bit his fingers. They started the walk to Eraquis’ training room, when Ventus stopped.
           “Actually… I don’t know if I’m in the headspace for sparring. I feel like I’m stuck.”
           Vanitas raised an eyebrow, “I swear, if you’re just being lazy—”
           “I promise I’m not. I just… feel like I’m ready for a change. Because of me, Terra and Aqua have been stagnating, and the fact that they won’t leave is hurting their relationship with dad. I need to prove that I’m ready to be on my own.”
           Vanitas was suddenly very baffled. He was warned by The Master that this might happen eventually, but whether or not that was part of this ridiculous prophecy is uncertain. He was instructed that, at the first sign of Ventus having thoughts about leaving, to scoop him up and bring him to their home immediately. He personally wasn’t quite ready for the commitment—he enjoyed their delightfully sinful activities over the past few months, but moving too fast with a mortal always spelled trouble. Maybe… maybe he could wait a while longer until he brought Ventus to Xehanort—
           “Now that I think about it, a long time ago Master Xehanort told me that I could come live with him when I was ready to advance my training.”
           —or maybe not.
           Bastard, Vanitas thought as Xehanort’s creepy old face flashed across his mind.
           “I’d hate to put that burden on you, though, Vanitas. Although…” Ventus playfully poked at him, “We could mess around as often as we want.”
           Vanitas’ brow furrowed in thought. It would be rather convenient…

November 23rd, 2026
           Pinning Ventus down, Vanitas dragged his tongue up Ventus’ neck as a hand snaked elsewhere to grope him in his most sensitive places. Ventus groaned: the only movement he was able to do was rock his hips up into the vampire’s.
           Then, Ventus’ phone chirped in a peculiar way and he expertly wriggled out from beneath the vampire.
           “Just where the hell do you think you’re going?”
           “Terra promised he’d send me a SphereChat when he made it to Euro. Look!” He showed the screen to Ventus: a picture of Terra holding up a peace sign with the caption “Made it safely!” In a transparent banner across the bottom. After Ventus had left home, Aqua and Terra were finally able to comfortably leave as well to go on their own adventures. They kept Ventus updated constantly, and it seemed their relationship with Eraquis had also improved considerably.
           Vanitas scowled at the picture, “Well, there goes my boner.”
           Ventus laughed, “It’s not like we have time to do anything, anyway. You’re supposed to leave in…” He checked his phone, “Oh shit! Vani, you need to leave like, right now! You’re going to miss your train!”
           Vanitas sprang up and started grabbing his clothes, a steady stream of “fuckfuckfuckfuck” drifting from his lips.
           Ventus helped him stuff a couple more things into his backpack, and he followed the vampire downstairs to the door.
           “I lo—” Vanitas stopped himself, throat drying up suddenly. He hoped Ventus didn’t hear him start to say that, but the mortal’s eyes were wide with realization. “I, uh… take care of Lu for me.” He backpedaled, “I’ll be back in a couple days.”
           “Yeah.” Once Vanitas vanished in the distance, Ventus muttered, “I love you too.”

November 30th, 2026
           On the train ride home, Vanitas wondered how well Ventus’ next level of training was going. The Master hadn’t been very specific about what he had in mind for the blonde, and it made Vanitas a little uneasy to leave them alone with Xehanort’s failing mental health. But the old man kept reassuring him, and sent him off on this trip to gather some old tomes that a black market seller had for him. Despite his decrepit state, Xehanort typically went on these ventures himself, so it seemed a little off that he would send Vanitas to do it so suddenly.
           He just couldn’t shake the terrible feeling in his gut.
           Eventually, Vanitas made it back home to the Haunted Mansion as he called it. Why Xehanort felt the need to disguise the place with such an intense ward was beyond him. One day, a few years ago, they just left their old home without warning and Xehanort erected this fantastical mansion in the middle of fucking nowhere, then hid it beneath a disguise. Vanitas always assumed the old man was steadily becoming too paranoid and delusional for his own good, but he followed the guy along anyway.
           He’d grown increasingly apathetic in these last few decades. He felt so little joy in anything but drugs, fucking, killing, and time spent with Lucifer. Even the marvels of history and science had come to bore him. He’d already traveled the entire globe, so there was nothing else to see. His immortal life had lost meaning, and now that he’d found the power he sought… there was really nothing left.
           Nothing… He thought, then, he looked up at the trees.
           He could clearly picture the first autumn Ventus spent there with him. The maple trees surrounding the property began their lovely gradient into a fiery red, and Ventus would spend hours outside just laying beneath them. Lucifer would lay curled by his side or on his stomach, snoozing gently. Vanitas always thought it was silly how much mortals adored things like the sunset or perfect snowflakes or trees changing colors. After all, he’d seen it so many times that it lost its charm.
          Yet, seeing Ventus so wrapped up in the natural beauty of the season… it reminded him of something he’d forgotten, despite his perfect memory. That day, he came to sit with Ventus and cracked open an old bottle of Pinot Noir to share. They sipped the wine in silence, staring at the leaves and watching them fall as a gentle breeze would shake them from the branches.
           It was the very first time Vanitas realized that Ventus wasn’t just his fuck buddy.
           It rarely happened but, just then, a genuine smile graced his lips
           Maybe ‘nothing’ is too extreme. He thought.
           He bit his finger and used the blood to unlock the shield and door. When he stepped inside, it was quiet as always.
           “Hey,” He drawled into the emptiness. “I’m home.”
           Silence. Not unusual, but he did arrive home on time… at least Ventus should be there to greet him.
           He left his things in the foyer, climbed the stairs, and walked down to the long hallway. When he got to Ventus’ door, he knocked.
           “Hey, Ven?” He said, “I’m back. You in there?”
           Silence.
           The blond might be asleep or even just elsewhere, but he decided to open the door to be sure.
           He cracked it open, peering inside…
           And saw Ventus sleeping peacefully on his bed. The blond’s body was turned away, but Vanitas could hear his heartbeat.
           The vampire let out his breath, not realizing he’d been holding it in the first place. Why is he so nervous? Ventus is fine. He’s just asleep, that’s all.
           Just then, Lucifer’s head popped up from somewhere in the blankets. The cat sprang from the bed and began yowling at Vanitas as he trotted over.
           Something was definitely not right.
           “What’s wrong, Lu?” He whispered, and the cat crossed back over to the bed. Throat tight, Vanitas crept into Ventus’ room and approached the blond. Cautiously, he reached forward and gave Ventus’ shoulder a little shake. “Ven?”
           No response.
           Vanitas couldn’t help the nervous laugh that escaped him, and he shook a little harder.
           “Come on, this isn’t funny.”
           More silence.
           “Ven… please…” Vanitas muttered, kneeling next to the bed and gently pulling the blond over to lay on his back.
           He flinched back when he saw Ventus. The blond’s face was sallow as if he hadn’t eaten for weeks. His eyes were… dim. Dull, like a lake underneath a sprawling fog. Dark circles hung beneath them as if sleep had forgotten him. In a daze, he looked up at the vampire, and although he seemed relieved to see him, he obviously wasn’t completely conscious.
           Finally able to dig out the words from beneath the shock, Vanitas whispered, “What happened to you…?”
           Ventus’ chapped mouth hung open: gaping like he couldn’t breathe, yet no sound would leave his throat. He reached up to Vanitas with a shaky hand, and Vanitas took it without question.
           “Ah, Vanitas,” A voice crept up his spine from the doorway. “You’ve made it home safely.”
           Lucifer skittered under the bed, regarding Xehanort’s presence with angry eyes.
           “Master, what’s wrong with Ventus?!” He shouted, panic laden in his voice. “What happened?!”
           “Yes, yes… the boy. He’s fine. Rather, he will be fine. You see, while you were gone, I proceeded with the next step of the prophecy. The baptism.”
           “Hang your prophecy, you old fool!” He bit out, dialect slipping in his rage, “What have you done to him?!”
           Brushing off his apprentice’s anger, Xehanort replies, “It’s simple, my dear boy. I’ve unlocked his truest magicks. He is reborn into this world as an equal to us. He finally has the ability to become an unstoppable killing machine, just like you and me. I knew when I took that child from his mother’s hands he was the answer to all my hopes.” Reaching his hands up, he grinned wickedly, “Finally, the three of us will be able to take over this small planet.”
           Vanitas wanted to fly into a rage, wanted to scream and rip Xehanort to shreds with his bare hands…
           But something stuck to his brain like a vile paste.
           “You said his mother and father were dead when you found him. You said the spell we created was to protect what little family he had left.”
           The Master paused thoughtfully, realizing his own slip of the tongue. “Vanitas, I assure you I only misdirected you to protect both you and Ventus. If he’d stayed with that family, they never would have been able to unlock his potential—”
           “You kidnapped an infant from an intact family? He could have lived a normal life. And now he’s…” Vanitas looks hopelessly back down to Ventus, who has fallen into a trance. “You did this to him.”
           “I assure you, my young apprentice, this will all be worth it in the end. When we stand atop the peak of the world, looking down at all the ants scurrying across our feet, you will thank me. It was meant to be for both of you. It’s destiny.”
           Vanitas was silent for a long moment, still looking down at the dozing figure on the bed. Right then, he realized the obvious truth that was staring at him all these years: he’d also been part of this madman’s precious prophecy. Every action coordinated by Xehanort pushed him closer and closer to his grand plan. Before, he was merely a helper… but now, it was obvious he and Ventus were at the dead center of it all. All these years Xehanort had been so careful to not let this fact slip, and there they were now: the old man’s fading mind was bringing out all the truth and inhumanity inside of him.
           And now, on top of all that, Vanitas had a different epiphany. What’s the point of untold power? What’s the purpose of taking over the world? Life is worth living because of the unexpectedness of reality; watching as each day brings new change, as the sun sets or the leaves fall. To forever control the world would be, in it’s own way, a form of suicide.
           “Okay, Xehanort.” He says, finally. “I see now. As you wish, the plan will continue as intended.”
           “I’m so glad you realize my intentions, Vanitas. You’re probably exhausted from your trip, and certainly hungry too… why don’t you take a drink from Ventus?”
           Vanitas looked back to the old man to see some kind of scientific curiosity laden on his features. Obviously he wasn’t going to do that to Ventus while he’s catatonic and incapable of consent. The blond is clearly traumatized enough. Furthermore, doing it in front of the old man felt… wrong. Just wrong.
           “No, I… I’m not hungry.”
           “Nonsense, Vanitas. Ventus would want you to be at full strength after such a lengthy journey.”
           His patience running thin, Vanitas responded, “I said I’m not doing that to him!”
           With a few heavy steps, Xehanort was inside the room and reaching a hand down to grab Ventus by the front of his shirt. He flicked out an ornate thief's knife, pressing it perilously against the blond’s cheek.
           “Drink NOW.” His voice boomed, “Or I shall force your nose to any number of gashes until you comply, you impetuous creature!”
           Vanitas was so taken aback by The Master’s actions that he was frozen in place, which was a beyond rare occurrence. He should have ripped him to shreds right there, and scratched the madman’s eyes out for even considering threatening Ventus. Vanitas’ eyes flicked to Ventus, and despite the layers of haze apparent on him, he seemed to be pleading the vampire to comply. Crazed or not, Xehanort was still far too powerful to take on alone. He’d have to cooperate for now.
           Gently taking Ventus’ hand, he leaned down and lets his teeth sink into the flesh of the wrist. The flavor that entered his mouth practically exploded with intensity. It was sweet and bitter and heavy and light… cold and warm, and disgusting and enticing. It’s not the same blood he’d been feeding on these last few years. There was no way to describe the addictive sensation that was enveloping him. He quickly pulls away, the lingering sensation making his stomach turn in unsated hunger.
           The Master laughed at him, dropping the blond back onto the bed. “Brilliant… brilliant! I’ll allow you two to rest. Vanitas, you might consider stepping into the sunlight soon. I think you’ll find the results surprising. And if you’re worried about sweet Ventus’ family… I’m afraid only his mother missed him. I made sure to take care of her myself.” He guffaws heavily, crossing the floor to leave the room… then, he stops. “Say… why was I in Ventus’ room anyhow? I thought I was in my study…” He enters the hallway, seemingly unaware of their presences. The vampire can hear the old man muttering “Vanitas should be getting home soon…”
           Moments pass, perhaps even hours… then Vanitas slammed a fist into the floor. He could feel the wood splintering under his strike, but he kept punching and punching until his knuckles were bloody and the boards were creaking, and Ventus was laying a tender hand upon his head to comfort him. Without looking up, he took Ventus’ hand.
           His thoughts were a blurry rage, like a maelstrom of fury spinning in his head. The only discernible string of consciousness centered around a plan.
           Alone, The Master would surely defeat him. If he stood a chance… he’d need Ventus. He has to pretend to comply for now, get the blond rehabilitated, and together they may actually be able to accomplish the impossible.
           They were going to kill Xehanort.

January 9th, 2027
           Vanitas releases his grip, dropping Sora back onto his feet.
           “No,” He says, “No, no… goddess-fucking-damn it, you were supposed to forget me.”
He doesn’t know how it is possible. With the power of persuasion, you have to be incredibly careful with your wording. He thought his command for Sora to forget him and Dracula was perfectly fine, but…
His eyes widen when he realizes something: the fatal flaw.
I said ‘until we meet again.’
           Meanwhile, Sora is stuck between wanting to cry, and laugh, and scream, and tear his own brother’s throat out with his teeth. He grabs the other man by his shirt, snarling fangs exposed and murder in his eyes.
           “TWO CENTURIES without a brother. And but five decades worth of agony I was in, wondering who you were. The chasm in my chest was INFINITE with the pain of suffering you’ve caused. I could not even picture your face! I could not even remember your smile… Why would you torture me like this?”
           Vanitas rips his brother’s hands away, laughing facetiously. “Precious little Sora… what I’ve done was to protect you. Because of me you suffered.”
           “Is this not suffering?”
           “You would have slowed us down. Dracula and I were to bring darkness—”
           “And how well did that go for you? He’s dead and here you are!”
           Vanitas snarls, but regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth: “I should have just let you die when you asked me to.”
           Vanitas makes the mistake of blinking.
           In a fire-hot second, he is stepping back from the weight of a punch landing expertly on his cheek.
           Sora growls back at him, “Then why didn’t you?”
           Vanitas lunges at him, and Sora is ready to meet him halfway when they both feel themselves freezing in place.
           “Enough!” Roxas shouts, “We don’t have time for this! We have to find The Necromancer and kill him before he gets the drop on us!”
           “The… Necromancer.” Vanitas mutters, “Right, that’s what people kept calling Xehanort for so many years.” Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Ventus ready to counter. “Stand down, Ventus. I guess they’re on our side.”
           Roxas drops Sora, but leaves Vanitas pinned. “Is that guy… Ventus right? He’s my…”
           Vanitas sighs, “Estranged twin? Yeah, it’s about as crazy as it sounds. Let me go.”
           Hesitant, Roxas carefully releases his hold on Vanitas. Slowly, he approaches Ventus who still has his guard up.
           “I… uh… I’m Roxas.” He says.
           Ventus does not respond, but his face softens. “...can you speak?” Roxas asks.
           Ventus shakes his head.
           Vanitas steps in, “He can’t talk, and we aren’t sure if he’ll ever be able to again. Xehanort tortured him. He strung him up at the stake like a witch and…” He sucks in a breath of air through his teeth. “We’re going to fucking kill him.”
           Roxas looks to Ventus, who won’t make eye contact now. “Does he know about our mother?” Vanitas nods in response, and Roxas says, “Tell me where The Necromancer is.”
           Vanitas sighs again, “He’s not here. We don’t know where he went.” He was about to find out, though, as the Enchanted Mirror was tucked safely into his jacket.
           “Ah, Vanitas…” A voice drifts from the staircase, and all eyes turn to its source. “You are wrong. I never left.”
           It was him: Xehanort, The Necromancer. He practically floated down the staircase, golden eyes flickering with an intensity that shook Sora and Roxas down to their core.
           “I foresaw your arrival. I felt the eyes of a scrying glass on me for the first time in centuries, and I knew something was on the horizon. I’ve spent hundreds of years searching for power and purpose on this godforsaken planet… human life has become so pitous to me. Like a million grains in an hourglass, they pass by me. But this prophecy… this prophecy finally brought curiosity back to my life. It gave me hope, and visions for a grand future where I am finally atop the world, and not just amidst its endless spinning.”
           “‘Prophecy?’” Sora asks.
           The Necromancer nods, eager to recite it to them. “Power of ages creates life / Of whence the key of Destiny is borne / A mirror of fate envisions thy angel / Which maketh Heaven’s light pour from the skin / Of whence nightdevil will turn to air / Scarred from the Sun and cursed to the Moon / Eighteen years or little more / Maketh true the hearts entwine / As fate sees their love alive / Feast of blood and Baptism of death / Baptism of blood and Feast of death / Release the magicks which lay within / And so the devil will walk in the sunlight / and the Angel will drink blood in the night / and the world shall bow before them!”
           Sora looks at Roxas, “Key of…”
           “...Destiny?” Roxas whispers.
           Xehanort’s fingers begin to twitch in excitement. “Now then!” He bellows, “If you wish to kill me, I hope you try your best!”
           The floor beneath their feet shifts.
           “GET OUT OF THE WAY!” Vanitas screams, and everyone just barely has enough time to dodge as several pillars of marble and earth rocket toward the ceiling. More sections begin to rattle underneath them, and they nearly miss slipping away as more pillars jut out of the floor. Cracks start to form in the ceiling with the force of the impacts.
           Phase shifting through as much as he can, Sora sprints to the staircase and leaps from the bottom, a green fireball crackling in one hand. The Master smirks at him, and a rush of arctic air rushes passed him. He barely escapes it in time, falling back as the searing pain of frost rips through his arm.
           “SORA!” Roxas shouts, and his eyes lock with Vanitas’. Without a word, they share a single thought.
           “Keep those pillars down,” Vanitas says, and his body melts into black mist before darting toward his brother like a quick stream of smoke.
           XIII stretches his hands out and, summoning as much magick as he can, uses his power like a flooring to keep the pillars from jutting out of the ground. They start banging against the force, and every hit feels like it’s going to tear Roxas’ arms out of their sockets.
           Vanitas gets to Sora as the blue-eyed vampire is dodging ice strikes with his phase shifting while returning fire in kind. The ice on his arm has melted and the skin is healing extremely quickly. Out of the corner of Sora’s eye, he sees Vanitas’ mist form and creates a circle of green flame around the Necromancer. There’s a crashing sound and Sora looks up to see a pillar is speared through the ceiling and is now soaring upwards through the sky. Before Vanitas cloaks him in black mist, he turns to see Roxas standing with his arms outstretched and Ventus next to him; pointing a single finger in the air and eyes trained murderously on Xehanort.
           In a breath, he feels a bizarre lightweight sensation, similar to when he’s phase shifting, and within a few seconds the blackness dissipates and he’s back with Ventus and Roxas.
           “Nice going, you fucking idiot,” Vanitas hisses at him, “What were you think—”
           There’s the sound of cracking wood as the airborne pillar comes crashing back through the ceiling and straight into the circle of fire where Xehanort is standing; demolishing the wooden staircase and the floor beneath it as dust and dirt explode into the air.
           Sora, Roxas, and Vanitas turn their gaze to Ventus, whose finger is pointing down and whose cold eyes are glaring at the mess.
           Suddenly, a series of metal weapons comes shooting out of the walls and pulverized staircase. They coalesce into a cloud and shoot down toward the four. Ventus holds up a hand and the cloud of weapons splits in twain, stabbing into the ground in a triangle around them.
Across the room, Xehanort rather gracefully extracts himself from the gravel. His fingers twitch and twist in that grotesquely erratic way, and black pools begin forming on the floor. Ventus makes a graceful movement, and the swords lift themselves out of the floor and begin to impale the pools, inhibiting their growth. Long spiking tendrils jut out from the untouched blackness in a spiraling path toward them.
           As if on instinct, Roxas knows exactly what to do.
           “Shut your eyes!” He commands, and he throws a massive ball of light into the largest patch of tendrils. It explodes, filling the room with pure white light, and the blackness on the floor vanishes.
           Just then, a searing pain goes ripping through him.
           It’s a pain so unbearable that it takes the air from him, and his brain is unable to comprehend it. He watches the world around him at half-speed, sees Sora’s horrified face, looks at the black spear-like tendril stretching from the Necromancer’s hand and passing through his chest…
           And blackness takes him.
           Roxas is dead before he can hear Sora screaming his name.
           He’s dead before the tendril vanishes.
           He’s dead before his body even hits the ground.
           Xehanort’s next move is to take the XIII’s head off before the other three come out of their shock, but a booming command rocks through the room: “STOP!”
           Nobody can move. Even Ventus is compelled by Sora’s words.
           The blue-eyed vampire pulls Roxas’ limp form into him, sobbing desperately as XIII’s blood soaks through his clothes. He can’t find the words to beg, doesn’t know what incantation can will the living back to form, is hoping this is the part where he wakes up.
           Roxas’ lifeless eyes stare endlessly up into the exposed starry sky as Sora goes blind from his tears.
           His head splits in two.
           The smiling face of a woman—
           His own face.
           The edge of everything.
           Black.
           A scream, eternal, echoing across every cell in his body.
           A never ending spiral.
           He is everything.
           He is nothing.
           Horrifyingly simple.
           Bizarrely complex.
           A woman’s face.
           A woman’s face…
           Aerith’s face.
           In a field of soft grass and white flowers, he stands. The clouds drift slowly overhead, and the wind rustles the field, but it is silent.
           He can feel someone’s presence behind him, comforting and kind.
           “Oh, my sweet light. I was hoping I wouldn’t see you again so soon but… but I’m glad I don’t have to worry.”
           “Mom?” Roxas whispers, finding himself unable to turn toward her voice.
           “I hoped I could protect all of you. I hoped that keeping the truth from you, even if I failed, would save you. It was very selfish and foolish of me to think that. A mother’s greatest wish is for her children to be happy. But Roxas, I love you and Cloud and Ventus so much. I just need you to know that.”
           “I’m sorry I ever blamed you,” Roxas responds, tears in his eyes, “You did everything you could to help us and—and… now I’m dead right?”
           Aerith is quiet for a long moment. “The answer was always there, but only now you have the eyes to see it.”
           “Will I remember this?”
           “You haven’t yet.”
           “There’s so much I want to say to you… there’s so much I want to tell you.”
           He can hear her lovely laugh, “Maybe one day you will, but please don’t try to come back any time soon. Okay? You worry me. You and Cloud both.”
           He can’t help but smile at this.
           “What happens now?”
           “The same thing that always will.”
           He can hear her turning around, and feels her hand on his forehead.
           “You better hurry, my sweet light. Dilly-dally, shilly-shally.”
           It falls away.
           A single pinprick of light.
           He reaches for it, but it reaches him first.
           His mother's face—
           A woman's face—
           Black.
           What a strange dream.
           He must have passed out from the pain. That blow hit him pretty hard. He wondered if he had cracked ribs. It took him a moment to notice he couldn't breathe, but at the same time he didn't need to. It felt like his insides were sand, spilling into a hole like an hourglass. What a peculiar sensation. He wanted to reach toward his chest to examine the area but his body wouldn't cooperate. He likened it to sleep paralysis.
           Why was Sora screaming at him, anyway? He just needs a second to lay there and wait for his brain to remember how to move and breathe.
           Suddenly, air is rushing his lungs and he gasps out a breath, his body finally feeling unparalyzed. His eyes fly open and he grabs his chest to feel for any wounds—
           But there is only a hole in his cloak. He touches bare, unscathed skin, and his eyes dart up to meet Sora’s.
           The vampire is completely and utterly shocked, and desperately trying to blink tears from his eyes so he can see.
           “You’re… you were… how…”
           “SORA LOOK OUT!” Vanitas shouts, but Roxas is already on it. He throws a blanket of light across Sora’s shoulders, and the tendril of darkness forks around them like deflected lightning. Sora’s Glamor had stopped working once Roxas had come back to life.
           “I see you have your brother’s gift of life, young man!” Xehanort jeers at XIII, “My, how he screamed as he burned! I feared his body would never regenerate. When your mother confronted me, I made sure to take her brain first for this very reason. I shall not make the same mistake with you twice.”
           “You won’t get that chance, you fucker!” Vanitas responds, his hand reaching toward the heavens.
           Everyone’s hair stands on end.
           Nobody had noticed the heavy storm cloud forming over the broken ceiling. Thunder roars overhead, and Vanitas whips his hand down; within a split second, a purple streak of lighting explodes on the ground before them. The current crackles between each of the weapons impaled on the ground between Vanitas and Xehanort, forking in an instant to the old man and wracking his body with electricity.
           Suddenly, Sora, Roxas, and Ventus all share one feeling. Roxas and Sora stand, then all three of them lift their hands.
           The words come to them at once, even to the muted Ventus: “Unus pro omnibus, omnes pro uno.”
           The last thing Xehanort is able to think is that all this time, maybe he’d been a little foolish about his beloved prophecy.
           Two blinding white beams cascade from Ventus and Roxas’ hands, spearing through Xehanort’s head and chest respectively and instantly killing him. A blast of green fire, hotter and brighter than anything Sora has created before, completely engulfs the Necromancer’s body. The flames don’t even leave a charred corpse; they completely swallow the corpse as if whisking it to another realm.
           Just like that, over the course of a few second, it’s all over.
           They stare at the rubble and ruin, air heavy with sulfur and hints of petrichor. The storm cloud overhead, instead of raining, begins to shed heavy flakes of snow into the open ceiling.
           “We actually did it. We really fucking did it. Sora,” Vanitas says, “Take care of yourself, okay?”
           Sora whips around to face him, but Vanitas was had already swung Ventus into his arms.
           “Vanitas, don’t—”
           In a blink they dissolve: vanishing into the very dust that was hanging in the air.
           “Don’t leave me again…” The vampire mutters.
           Before Roxas could think to comfort the vampire, his vision becomes blurry, a sudden wave of exhaustion taking over his body. “Sor…” He barely manages to say as his body goes limp.
           The last thing he remembers is Sora catching him, and hearing the vampire telling him, “It’s okay, Roxas. It’s finally over.”

Exeunt

A/N: 11/11, make a wish.
I PROMISE THIS IS NOT THE LAST CHAPTER. I was planning on releasing this one and the last one at the same time, but I’m still not very happy with how the last one turned out so I’m going to keep working on it.
ALSO technically I DIDN’T miss my Halloween deadline because if you're a Nightmare Before Christmas fan, any time between Halloween and Christmas is still technically Halloween! HAHA my logic is flawless!
I’m sorry, I hope nobody is mad. If you are, here’s a cheesy joke.
Wanna know why vampires rarely get anyone pregnant?
It’s because they need permission to come inside. ;)
References and inspirations:
- Aerith’s Theme
- My Chemical Romance’s album “May Death Never Stop You.”
- Fall Out Boy’s song “Golden.”
- Adventure Club’s song “Gold.”
- 1: This use of "anon" is in reference to it's oldest form, meaning "immediately" or "with haste".
- 2: Dracula, chapter XIII.
-+-
Please please PLEASE favorite, follow, review, send kudos, add bookmarks… anything!
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The Night