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The Night	By : mewsomniac Category: Kingdom Hearts > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 1695 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: NO profit is being made off this work. Kingdom Hearts, Final Fantasy, and Disney belong to their rightful owners, and I do not claim ANY ownership over their properties. FULL DISCLAIMER BELOW.

Chapter List
- 17
- 18
The following is a series of vignettes that didn’t make it into the final cut of The Night.
Happy 10 years of ghoulies, ghosties, and long-legged beasties.
“I've spent so long in the darkness, I'd almost forgotten how beautiful the moonlight is.”
~ Corpse Bride
Scene 1: Lucky
TW: Implied Rape and Sexual Assault
June 11th, 2027
            He can feel the morning sun warming the side of his face. Though it’s comforting, it feels far too soon to wake up. He groans, burying his face deeper into his pillow and pulling the covers up just a bit more. Soon, the blankets will become like a furnace beneath the summer sun shining through the window… but for now, it’s perfectly warm and perfectly comforting. His mind is ready to drift back into sleep, and he can feel the edges of dreams pressing into his mild consciousness.
            Then, an arm winds around his stomach, and a warm mass is pressing into his back. This rouses him just enough to catch the sigh drifting into his shoulder. He finds himself smiling as he reaches down to grasp the hand pressed against his sternum.
            “Morning already?” Roxas yawns into his back.
            “Mmhm.” Seifer grunts in response.
            Now, Seifer is mostly awake. But comfort is still on his mind, so he plans to remain in bed for as long as possible. He shifts his body around beneath the covers to face the smaller man. Their naked limbs become a bit of a tangle, warming one another where skin presses to skin. Seifer takes in the closed eyes and placated expression on the other man’s features. The sun is making Roxas’ skin glow, with blonde hair and lashes reflecting the light in a way that makes them look like molten gold.
            “Hm…” Roxas groans, shifting slightly in Seifer’s grasp, “It’s too hot.”
            Seifer chuckles, “You were the one who was cuddlin’ me a second ago.”
            Eyes still closed, Roxas pushes part of the covers off and exposes his torso to the sunlight. Seifer drags his gaze across the exposed flesh, marveling in the way Roxas’ skin drinks up the sun as if it were starving for light. Everything about the other man seems to draw in the rays like the sun was meant to shine for Roxas, and only Roxas. It mesmerizes Seifer, and he can’t help but lift a hand to brush back Roxas’ bangs.
            Seifer whispers, “How are you so damn golden, huh?”
            A single crystalline eye blinks open to peer up at Seifer, “What’s up with you?”
            “What?”
            “You’re being so… tender. It’s kind of weirding me out.”
            Seifer lets out a low chuckle, “So I should just always be an asshole, then? Even when we’re lyin’ in bed?”
            Roxas closes his eye again and smirks, “If you start being an asshole in bed, I just won’t sleep with you anymore.”
            “There’s just no winning with you, huh?”
            Roxas reaches up and his fingers dance across Seifer’s neck to tangle in short hair. He shuffles a little closer and opens both of his eyes. Seifer almost feels embarrassed for being reminded of the blue sky on a clear day.
            “Okay,” Roxas relents, “It’s not weird in a bad way. It’s weird in a… ‘this is weird, but keep doing it because I think I like it’ way.”
            Seifer notices that Roxas is close enough that he can feel the other man’s breath on his face. He expects it to smell like morning breath would, but it’s oddly saccharine. He doesn’t mind it at all. In fact, it’s intoxicating. He feels heat, separate from the sun and Roxas’ body, pooling in him. His hand moves to press against the small of Roxas’ back, pulling him closer. The front of their bodies press flush together, and Roxas makes a lovely little noise when he feels Seifer’s hardening cock brush against him.
            “I can do more things that you’ll like,” Seifer whispers, lips dangerously close to Roxas’, as his hand slides down across the other man’s backside.
            “Oh yeah, smooth guy?” Roxas playfully whispers back, “Show me, then.”
            That’s all the permission Seifer needs to dip his head down and take Roxas’ lips with his. He starts slow, pressing each kiss firmly against the other man’s mouth. Then, his tongue slides across Roxas’ lower lip, and the other blond opens his mouth to do the same to Seifer. The larger man rolls on top of the smaller one, their hips locking together beneath the sheets. Seifer’s tongue slips into Roxas’ mouth, tasting the sweetness inside, and Roxas scrapes his nails hard against Seifer’s shoulder blades. Seifer flinches.
            Roxas only giggles up into his mouth and whispers, “Let’s play rough…” Seifer finds himself rock hard at the proposition.
            Leaning back, Seifer spits into his hand… but as soon as he does, a weird feeling washes over him. Something about it feels… wrong. He glances up to his lover, and there’s a terror in Roxas’ eyes—but Siefer blinks once, and it vanishes. He continues to blink, unsure he can trust his own eyesight.
            “Are you okay?” Roxas asks.
            He has no idea. “Yeah, yeah… let me just…”
            Seifer works to lube up Roxas’ waiting hole. The smaller man groans in content as Seifer prods, then begins working two fingers in and back out. Roxas lets out a breath, his own cock twitching as he writhes beneath Seifer. As Seifer works his hole, Roxas gasps, “Why didn’t you do this last time? This feels so good…”
            Last time?
            When was the last time they had sex? Didn’t Seifer finger him that time?
            “I guess I—”
            Wanted to break you.
            The thought feels sudden and dirty. He shakes his head to dispel it.
            Roxas doesn’t seem to notice any of this as he mewls below Seifer, “I’m ready.”
            Without wasting a moment, the larger man withdraws his fingers and spits into his hand once more, this time to lube himself up. He gives his member a few strokes to slick it up, then presses it against Roxas’ entrance. Roxas closes his eyes and holds on for dear life. His fingernails cut little angry crescents into Seifer’s shoulders. Seifer doesn’t complain as he slowly works his cock inside.
            Roxas is so, so hot inside… and unbelievably tight. Almost painfully tight. Part of him wants to ask the other man to relax a little, but something about it makes him want to thrust harder… faster… he wants Roxas to get even tighter. He wants Roxas to hurt. He wants it to be rough, just like Roxas said.
            The other man’s sky-blue eyes flutter open as he whispers, “I’m yours.”
            Before Seifer can think better of it, he’s thrusting in all the way and delighting in the cry that escapes Roxas’ throat. It sounds pained, but Roxas’ face is twisted up in pleasure. He takes this as permission to keep at it, rocking his hips at a rough and steady pace.
            “Say my name,” Roxas moans, “Say you want more.”
            Seifer pauses. Something about these words… doesn’t sound right. Roxas’ voice… it sounds so far away. So unlike him. Still, eager to please his lover, he responds “Roxas—”
            “Say it.” Roxas growls from beneath him.
            The words fall from Seifer’s lips as if they don’t belong to him. “More.”
            It echoes in his head: More, more, more…
            So he goes faster. He gives Roxas what he asked for. Because that’s what he asked for, isn’t it?
            He stops caring about being too rough. He’s just thinking about fucking Roxas as deep as he can. He never wants Roxas to forget this feeling, because it’s theirs and only theirs. He wants to feel complete. He wants to be part of Roxas forever.
            The other blonde moans and tosses his head back, sweat glistening on his cheeks. Suddenly, Seifer feels himself slowing. No, he doesn’t want Roxas to hurt. He just wants to be with him. He just wants them to both be part of this moment.
            He leans down and lays his lips tenderly atop Roxas’. The other blond wraps his arms around Seifer’s neck, deepening the kiss. Seifer’s hips begin a languid roll, his cock working in and out in slow and smooth motions. It’s even better than before, as if Roxas is opening up to him completely. Wrapped in each other's embrace, Seifer loses himself in the sensation of being melded against his lover.
            Then, he feels Roxas pull back.
            “Let me get on top,” The smaller man says, and Seifer is powerless to refuse this request.
            They flip around, the blanket now circling them on the bed. Roxas slides Seifer’s cock back inside, and the larger man feels his head spinning as he takes in the sight. The sun is glancing off Roxas’ ravenous skin, his sweat making his flesh glint as it drinks up the rays. Roxas’ own erection bounces a little with every drop of the hips, a bead of precum forming at the head. Roxas’ hands run up Seifer’s stomach and chest before coming to rest gently across his neck. Half-lidded eyes peer down at Seifer, who is getting unbelievably lost in them. It makes Seifer’s heart swell. A million promises threaten to spill from his lips. A thousand wishes. A hundred truths. He wants this to be forever. He never wants to let go.
            He lets himself fall back.
            He lets his eyes slide shut.
            He lets himself moan, “I love you, Roxas.”
            Then, Roxas stops moving. The fingers around his neck squeeze.
            “If you love me,” Roxas asks, “Then why did you kill me?”
            Seifer’s eyes snap open. There are tears streaming down Roxas’ face, redder than wine, staining trails of blood down his cheeks. His crystalline eyes, once clear as the sky, are now two swirling clouds of crimson.
            “I didn’t—” Seifer starts, and the hands on his throat clutch tighter, cutting off his air. He scrabbles to tear the hands from his throat, but even though the other man is so much smaller, Seifer finds himself too weak to fight.
            Roxas opens his mouth to speak, and blood drains from between his teeth. The once too-sweet smell of his breath runs sour with rot as he speaks, “You did. You killed me.”
            Wounds open across Roxas’ body. The other man’s flesh sloughs off where Seifer is gripping, exposing raw muscle and viscera. He wants to scream, wants to vomit, but he can’t even breathe under the vice of Roxas’ grip.
            Now, blood spills from Roxas’ mouth in a steady stream. It coats Seifer’s chest like red paint across a fleshy canvas. Roxas speaks again, voice somehow uninhibited, “I could have been yours… but you killed me instead.”
            Roxas’ skin rots above him, but the grip of the living carcass never lets up. The skeletal fingers dig deeper, deeper, until they are stabbing into Seifer’s throat and bringing blood to his lips. He tries to apologize, to beg… but he only gurgles in the red liquid, feeling it spill over his chin as it drowns him in the overwhelming taste of iron—
            Seifer bolts upright, crying out into the dawn. He tumbles out of his bed, feet flying to carry him to the bathroom in time to empty the contents of his stomach. He barely makes it to the porcelain bowl, his vomit spilling into the water below. He retches several times until his stomach has emptied and the disgust has passed. Then, he slouches against the nearby tub, breathing hard into the soured air before remembering to flush.
            Then, he figures now is as good a time as any to get his day started.
            The nightmares aren’t always the same, and they don’t always make him puke so violently, but they do always make him sick to his stomach. Sometimes in his nightmares, Roxas rots all the way down to a skeleton. Sometimes he tears Seifer’s throat out with his teeth. Sometimes he rips Seifer’s beating heart out and crushes it to bloody bits. It always rips the air away from Seifer, suffocating him until he awakens gasping for breath. He always wakes well before his alarm, usually before the sun is even up, leaving him a bedraggled mess during the day. He often starts his mornings with a cigarette or two before even getting in the shower in an attempt to manage the trembling. It makes him feel so weak, so hopeless…
            It started as a missing person’s report. It went out the day before the Saturday that Seifer set their next meeting for. At first, he didn’t believe it. Roxas was just playing a losing game, and eventually, he’d have to return if he wanted his friend group to remain intact. At first, Seifer was angry enough to let all the blackmail loose without a second thought… but then he thought better of it. When Roxas returned, Seifer would need leverage if he wanted complete control over the other man. Soon that childish tantrum would be over and Roxas would return to the only fucked up home he had.
            But the days dragged… and the truth came out on its own. Hayner admitted to his own lewd little secret and the friend group fell apart without a word from Seifer. He was furious… but then he caught wind of the funeral.
            Seifer didn’t even know why he showed up. He just did. He sat in the back of the mortuary and listened to the sniffling and sobbing and choking of the people who knew and pretended to know Roxas. They said it was a suicide. Roxas even left a note, though Seifer had no idea what the note said. He just knew he wasn’t mentioned in it, because the police never came sniffing for him.
            All the while, one thought followed him like an imp riding his back and whispering in his ear: You did this.
            He tried to comfort himself by thinking no one could prove that he was the reason Roxas committed suicide… even though they found that note the day after he—
            He never wanted to think of the word. It was such a nasty-sounding word. Seifer wasn’t one of those guys… someone who springs from the bushes like a predator in the savannah… he was just taking what he knew belonged to him. Right?
            Whenever he had that thought, that same imp dug into his back: But you are, it reminded him, You stole him away into the darkness and raped him… and he killed himself because of it.
            He wanted to argue with himself, but what was there to argue? Less and less he found himself unable to make excuses, so instead he tried to accept it for what it was. But it was a twisted kind of acceptance that still diverted the truth as much as possible.
            So what if I did it? He would think, I still can’t prove I was the reason he died, though. Nobody can.
            He figured he could live with that… then the nightmares started. Every single dream was wracked with the horrors of his subconscious—the wish for what could have been colliding with his guilt like a bloody train wreck.
            The thought of turning himself in often crossed his mind. And yet, he was always just a little shy of the courage needed to do so. He even wondered if they’d take him seriously. There was no way to prove the crime: no witnesses, no victim, and no evidence other than the blackmail material. He’d probably get laughed out of the police station, with his confession chalked up to a kind of mania brought on by the untimely death of a classmate. His reputation would be ruined anyway, so what was the point of trying?
            Still, the guilt clung to Seifer. The nightmares would come, and over the course of days or weeks it’d reach a peak that had his heart thumping and hid mind racing. He’d pick up the phone to call the police, or veer toward the station on a lonely walk home… but he always stopped just short, his terror locking up against his fear. It was an impossible place to be stuck in: so full of guilt but unable to do anything about it. He could hardly admit the truth to himself, let alone anyone else, but it still chewed him up from the inside like a temperamental flesh-eating bacteria.
            Graduation came and went, and the painful dredge of life went on. All his friends and acquaintances moved on to greater feats and adventures. Because of his reputation in the Disciplinary Committee, people were sure he’d be joining the police academy out of high school, but the irony that path would entail was not lost on him. He gave up on that dream, and because he foolishly hadn’t made any backup plans, he’d settled for wherever would take him. His most recent stint of work had been as a grease monkey, taking whatever mechanic jobs were available. It didn’t take long for him to quit being straight-edge—another irony that left him with added self-loathing—to deal with the unending grief. He was drinking and smoking as much as he could possibly afford while also keeping a roof over his head.
            Today is shaping up to be like most other days, and he is ready to have his morning cigarette before showering… but then Seifer stands and catches a glance of himself in the mirror. It isn’t anything different from what he’s used to seeing every day, but there’s something reflected in his own face that he can’t quite place. He plants his hands on the sink and peers into his own eyes, feeling a twinge of something within the faded depths.
            Seifer can’t stop thinking about the decaying nightmare Roxas’ words: “I could have been yours… but you killed me instead.”
            He didn’t want to imagine how things could have been different because that was almost more painful than reality. In his mind’s eye, he can see the dream before the nightmare. Roxas resting soundly, the sun cascading across his skin… he thinks back to highschool and pictures the other blond’s smiling face in the hallway, seconds before Seifer was close enough to be noticed, that always turned into a scowl upon his approach. He thinks even further back to snatching that letter and realizing the truth about Roxas’ feelings. He remembers the pain in Roxas’ face, the absolute terror, and how much it thrilled Seifer to see. Now, it just makes him nauseous. And today...
            Seifer watches as his eyes fill with tears. He can feel himself involuntarily bending inward as a sob cuts up through his chest and out his throat. His cheeks are wet in a mere second. For the first time in years, he’s crying. This sensation he’s feeling… it’s regret. He somehow managed to survive living with the guilt, but it’s the regret he still can’t come to terms with. It didn’t come on often, as he usually managed to do enough mental gymnastics to avoid confronting it... but when it did, it was brutal. A million versions of what could have been and what could never be choked him until he was drowning, not unlike the Roxas of his nightmares. He lets it all wash over him, knowing he’s powerless to stop it once it comes crashing down.
            He stays like that for quite some time, and eventually the first rays of sunlight are shining through the bedroom window. It only rips up more visions for him and drags him down further into his weakness. Seifer often wishes he could apologize, but even if Roxas was alive, what good would it do? Would it make him feel better? Would it wipe away the guilt or clear the regret? He couldn’t even beg forgiveness in his dreams, as Roxas never gives him the chance. He isn’t sure he deserves one.
            It’s this thought that finally brings Seifer back to reality. What’s done is done, and there’s nothing left to be mended. He allows one last tender image of Roxas’ smiling face to drift through his mind before smothering everything as far back down as possible. He grits his teeth, swipes at the tears on his cheeks, and leaves the bathroom without another glance in the mirror.
            Whisking up the pack of cigarettes from his nightstand, he realizes he’s on his last one. It’s the lucky one, too—the one that’s flipped around at the start of a new pack. It was a weird superstition he picked up from a coworker, and today he’s wondering if it’s jinxed him. After his crying fit, he doesn’t have any time to stop for a new pack before work. The one fortunate thing is that he’s working up at Central Station today, so on his lunch hour he can just walk down the plaza and get a new pack.
            He looks out the window and thinks about how it’s supposed to be a nice day. He decides that, on his way back from buying cigarettes, he’ll stop by the Sandlot and have a smoke. For old times’ sake.
            Then, Seifer lights the lucky cigarette.
Scene 2: Locomotive
June 11th, 2027
            The train between Dusk City and Twilight Town had an autopilot system. This was partly because it was the mainstream for trains, but also because the position was impossible to fill.
            And why shouldn't it be? Nobody wanted to somehow risk the possible dangers of going in and out of Dusk City, in spite of how little risk there actually was.
            There was something thrilling about doing such despicable things in such lavish luxury.
            Sora is on him. Hard. Kissing, nipping, pulling hair—what is with the vampire and fooling around in public spaces?
            Roxas gasps between kisses, “You’re sure there are no cameras?”
            Equally out of breath, Sora responds, “I’m positive, I checked. Besides, It would cost them a fortune to run them anyway.”
            Roxas couldn’t believe when Sora suggested this to calm his nerves. He couldn’t believe himself when he actually agreed to it. This is his first time going back to Twilight Town since everything happened and he knew he was basically white-knuckled the whole time. As soon as they boarded the fancy train, which had been completely unchanged since he’d last seen it, he was a fidgeting mess of nerves. It was a total amygdala hijack. Stiff drinks from the bar car (which was manned by a cocktail-making robot arm, unsurprisingly) didn’t seem to help.
            “Let me help you relax,” Sora had said, voice as smooth as silk on skin, “We’re the only ones here. There are no cameras in these trains. We can do whatever we want.”
            Maybe it was the cocktails that had made this idea so tempting, because after that he was straddling Sora’s lap, immersed in the other man’s mouth. It’d been a clumsy process for sure. Now they’re trying to sort out if Roxas should bend over the adjacent seats, or sit on Sora’s lap facing forward.
            Roxas fumes, “It’s gonna be a mess either way.”
            “Not really,” Sora grins, “There’s a bathroom on board and I brought condoms.”
            Two blond eyebrows rise, “You…” Blue eyes narrow, “Of course you did. You always do.”
            Somehow, the vampire’s grin widens, “Hey, you never know right? They come in handy.” Roxas’ only response is a terse glare, so Sora continues, “How about this: take off your pants and ride me like this. You can control how fast or slow we go.”
            “That seems even less convenient than the other positions.”
            The vampire pulls him close, whispering dangerously, “Yeah, but it’ll be fucking hot.”
            Face burning with a blush, XIII rolls his eyes. He can’t really argue with that. “...okay, fine.”
            He crawls off Sora to remove his shoes, socks, pants and underwear. He folds them together and leaves them next to Sora on the seat. The vampire unzips his own pants before sliding them down. He leaves his boxer briefs on—Roxas wondering if this is to be mindful of germs or something—and pulls his hardening cock out of his fly. A condom appears easily from one of the inner pockets of Sora’s jacket, and Roxas has to bite his tongue. Sora was keeping it in such an easily accessed place? How did the vampire keep it from making crinkling noises in his pocket? It’s too late to grill the vampire now, as Roxas is quickly becoming more aroused by the moment.
Roxas waits for Sora to open the condom, but instead the brunet beckons him closer. The vampire unzips Roxas’ coat, exposing the blond’s entire front to the air. Then, Sora leans forward to take Roxas’ cock into his mouth. The blond wasn’t expecting this welcome sensation, and his hands move to grip the seat over Sora’s head. The warmth of Sora’s mouth drags up and down his quickly stiffening member, all while the vampire is deftly stroking his own cock. In this moment, the reality of what they’re doing really settles on Roxas and his skin erupts in delighted goosebumps. He may consider Sora to be the exhibitionist, but he’d be lying if he didn’t get a sick thrill out of it himself. Each time Sora’s head moves back, the vampire’s tongue slicks beneath Roxas’ shaft and XIII feels his eyes roll another millimeter further back.
            Sora, the master os multitasking, tears open the package and tolls the condom on his own massive cock as his mouth works in painfully pleasurable ministrations. After a few moments, the vampire’s mouth pops off XIII’s shaft.
            “Ready?” The brunet breathes.
            Snapping from his daze, Roxas nods and positions his hips over Sora’s member. The vampire spits into his palm and slicks himself up before Roxas lowers himself down. The blond starts with the head, working it in and breathing hard. Then, he’s taking part of the upper shaft. He moans. The lower shaft. He grunts. It’s just like Sora said—Roxas is moving at his own pace, and it almost makes him forget they’re technically on a public train. Soon, Sora’s cock is fully sheathed, and now Roxas is moving in a slow rhythm on top of the vampire.
            In the meantime, Sora has one hand on XIII’s ass and another roaming across the other man’s torso. The vampire doesn’t care how fast the blond is going. He’s just grateful to be engrossed in a lover just as naughty and horny as he is. It’s so engrossing, in fact, that when Roxas picks up the pace Sora practically feels his soul leaving his body.
            Roxas didn’t realize how close he might be to orgasm until he was using Sora’s cock to hit all the lovely places inside. That, combined with how lascivious the situation was, he was careening toward release.
            “Sora,” He gasped, “I’m gonna—”
            But the vampire was already prepared with the cocktail napkins they’d received from the bar cart. “It’s okay, Roxas,” The brunet grunted, “Me too.”
            They honestly weren’t expecting their timing to be so perfect. Usually one came while the other rode their orgasm out. This time, though, they both hold on for dear life as they both come. They wrap their arms around one another, breathless. Sora realizes that, for once, he didn’t even get a chance to bite Roxas as they fucked.
            “Feel better?” The vampire asks.
            Roxas responds, “Just a little.”
Scene 3: Momento
November 18th, 2027
            When Sora got to the bar, he knew deep down in his heart that his hunch had been correct… he just wasn’t sure how or why yet.
            For weeks he’d been feeling this sensation. It was a kind of pull that was drawing him closer to something. He’d been feeling it since he and Roxas had gotten back from defeating Xehanort. It was like a little tickle in the back of his brain at first… then it grew into a gnawing sensation. He had to find the source of it, so he went looking.
            It’d taken some time, but it had all finally reached a crescendo when he came upon the little dive on a far corner of the city. A staircase leads from the street down into a speakeasy-themed bar with all manner of shady figures drinking expensive cocktails inside. The heartbeats are absolutely thrumming with nightwalkers abound. It is actually quite a lovely “haunt” to be in, so to speak.
            Sora finds an open seat at the bar and looks over a postcard-sized menu foiled with gold. He orders something heavy on liquor with a splash of blood, because why not.
            The werewolf behind the bar nods, “That’s a vamp favorite. You’ll love it.”
            As he waits for his drink, he takes in his surroundings. Edison bulbs hang from the ceiling, giving the room a warm and vintage glow. The walls are a deep maroon with black stripes. One might think it would overwhelm the eye, but the stripes are wide enough that it gives a certain rhythm to the scenery. Gold is the main accent, with sconces, candelabras, picture frames, mirrors, and other decor flocked with it. It gives the place a strange elegance. In fact, the more he looks around, the more underdressed he feels. All the other patrons are dressed to the nines, and he’s just in his usual leather jacket and jeans combo. Nobody seems to mind, though, as the atmosphere sends him nothing but welcoming vibes.
            His drink comes to him in an elegant little glass—gold-rimmed, of course. He slides some munny across the table, plus a generous tip. The bartender thanks him, then moves on to another patron. Sora sips the drink, hoping for a bang for his buck, and that’s exactly what he gets.
            He doesn’t have much more time to really enjoy the beverage when a seat next to him clears, and a tall man dressed in a lavish black suit sits next to him. Sora can’t see his face at first, as it’s turned away while he takes his seat. The suit jacket he’s wearing is long, down to his knees. The waistcoat beneath is maroon with a matching maroon tie. His long black hair is pulled back into a tasteful ponytail. He seems to have a well-groomed box beard. When the man turns his face forward, Sora feels himself nearly leaping from his stool—a sudden steely grip on his shoulder cements him to his seat. With his other hand, the man gestures to the bartender, grabbing the werewolf’s attention.
            His cool voice says, “What he’s having, please.”
            As the pony-tailed man’s head twists to take in Sora, the light catches his black eyes and they smolder with red. Sora has to grip on to the bartop and chair to keep from doubling over as memories stab into his mind, flooding his senses and leaving him breathless.
            “Drink more, little lamb,” The man suggests, “You’ll feel better.”
            Sora does just that, taking a rather large swig from his glass to settle his nerves. Confident the brunet is feeling better, the man removes his hand just in time for his own drink to arrive.
            Though Sora had just taken a drink, his throat feels dry as he whispers, “A small part of me knew you weren’t dead. Something in me could tell. I just… knew. But why here? Why now?”
            “Sora,” His original Sire breathes, “I wanted to respect your brother’s wishes. You remember him now, don’t you?” The brunet nods, so he continues, “It seems he held the thread that binds us together. I don’t know why I was drawn to you either, but I knew the spell was broken when I felt it.”
            Sora is listening intently, but it‘s strange hearing his Sire’s modernized dialect. It feels like he’s talking to an estranged twin of the man, and not Dracula himself.
            “Vanitas said you were going to ‘bring darkness...’ To what end? It sounded like it was a plan for world domination. And Harker’s journals… I read them. They called you a monster.”
            His Sire lets a slow breath out through his nose. He takes a small sip on his drink, the dark red of the liquid only serving to make his complexion all the more ghastly white. The dialect the Prince knows all too well returns, slick as an oil spill: “Is it the truth you desire, fledgling of mine?”
            Quicker than anyone can blink, Sora is gripping the other vampire’s tie. Dracula’s calm veneer is cracked as the motion startles him. He looks directly into Sora’s blue eyes and they snag. In a low voice, Sora commands, “Este adevărul de care am nevoie. Dă-mi-l.” (1)
            Dracula’s eyes widen and it’s the first time Sora has ever seen such a vulnerable expression on his Sire’s face. Then, they soften again. The elder vampire lets out a chuckle, “You’ve become more powerful. Much more powerful than I could have ever imagined. I’ll tell you what you want to know.”
            Satisfied, Sora releases the tie. Dracula readjusts it before taking a long sip of his drink. Sora does the same, eyes never leaving the pale man.
            Then, Dracula’s lips part to speak, “The plan was to go from Transylvania,” He says everything but ‘Transylvania’ in a perfectly modern dialect, “To London. I wanted to mingle with the society thriving there… a new world power. A place brimming with history… and people to turn. I wanted to create my own army of fledgling vampires. You, Vanitas, and the sisters were only the start.”
            “Then why did you let me leave?”
            “Quite frankly,” A ghoulish smile curls his lips, “You weren’t cut out for evil deeds, my lamb.”
            Sora can’t help but smile back, “No… but Vanitas was.”
            “Oh, perfectly so. What Vanitas did for you was a kindness. Back then I thought you may have understood my plan, but it would have only held you back. I’ve followed your work, kept mind of your trail. You are a vampire that all others aspire to be. But you are not a dominator… if anything, you are a protector.” Dracula gives him a look that a proud father might give his son, “And now, because of it, you are the Prince of the vampires. My precious little lamb.”
            Though he knows it’s supposed to be endearing, something about being called a lamb over and over is starting to grate on Sora. He takes another sip of his drink, trying not to think about it. Instead, he brings up something else that’s bothering him.
            “A kindness, huh?” Sora scoffs, “I don’t think years of my unlife with endless questions is very ‘kind.’”
            Dracula sighs, “Ultimately, letting you both go was a detriment to me. In fact, I attribute part of my downfall to sending Vanitas off with Master Xehanort. Those two brought about levels of destruction I only dreamt of. Even still, part of me is glad I did… I could not have helped either of you live up to your potential after what I went through.”
            “What happened? What stopped your master plan?”
            “What else?” He looks down at his glass, twisting it at the stem between two fingers. There’s a softness in his eyes that Sora never knew was possible. Dracula breathes out, “...I fell in love.”
            There’s a lull in their conversation as Sora’s jaw slowly drops. Dracula’s crooked smile spells out regret. The Prince waves down the bartender and orders them another round. “It’s on me,” He insists. Dracula thanks him under his breath. Sora’s hand rubs the back of his neck, “You were… in… love? Who were they?”
            “You said you read Harker’s journals, correct?”
            Sora was going for a sip of the last of his drink, but he practically spits it back into the glass. “You don’t mean the Westerna girl?”
            Dracula lets out a jovial laugh, “No, goddess no.” He props his elbow up on the bar and places his hand against his forehead. “Her name was Mina. Mina Harker.”
            The heartache radiating off the elder vampire is enough to churn Sora’s gut with his own regrets. But his Sire, one of the most feared nightwalkers in all of history, defeated by… the power of love? It also made his guts churn with something else: absolute laughter. He knew better than to let it spill from his lips, so he stuffed it down and did his best to keep his face neutral.
            “How could one woman,” The Prince asks, “Destroy the resolve of the Count Dracula—master scholomancer and world’s most infamous vampire?”
            Their new drinks get to them, and Sora pays. They tip back the last of their cocktail before starting the next one. Dracula gives his new drink a little swirl by moving the base in a spiral on the bartop.
            “I became obsessed with her. She and the Westerna girl were to be the start of my new fledgling brood. They were also supposed to deal with Harker’s rabble. Lucy, she succumbed quickly. Mina… she fought me, every step of the way. It was astounding. She had grit, moxie, whatever you want to call it. She was powerful, strong, confident… beautiful.” He sighs, and Sora has to swallow another laugh. The Prince feels bad for the guttural sensation, but it’s mostly coming from a place of bewilderment. He never thought such a powerful creature could look so… downtrodden. Heartsick. Vulnerable. It was beautiful, really. Even the darkest of hearts can be tainted with the warm caress of love. It was very poetic.
            As if Dracula were reading his mind, he says, “You can laugh at me if you want, Sora. I know how ridiculous I may seem.”
            “No, Sire, no… I’m just a little surprised is all. But… I know exactly what you’ve been through. I know what heartache is like.” Sora never thought in a million years that he’d be commiserating over love lost with the man who gave him his unlife. Especially after centuries of estrangement. And here Sora was worried they wouldn’t be able to relate to one another after all of this time spent apart. “So… what happened?”
            “Many things. Firstly, Harker and his rabble’s accounts were certainly quite dramatic and didn’t present the full truth. Furthermore, they had no idea a Spellcaster was in their midst, the fools. That damn Van Helsing. You remember how trendy Christianity was getting in the region, yes?” Sora nods. “The man was imbuing ‘holy’ Christian and Catholic artifacts with magick.”
            As Dracula takes a drink, The Prince ponders on this. He had heard of such a thing from Mikaeus’ stories about the Witch Wars. Spellcasters would hide themselves in plain sight as members of the Cult of Christianity and hunt other nightwalkers using disguised magick. It created many of the tensions that led up to the Witch Wars—nightwalkers turning against nightwalkers, mortals thirstier for blood than any monster could ever be…
            Something about it deeply unsettles him. A part of him wonders if the conflict ever really ended. What he and Roxas had stumbled upon, the truths they were slowly uncovering… would the nightwalker world survive another major conflict, right on the cusp of humanity’s acceptance?
            Sora is broken from his contemplation when his old Sire’s glass taps the bartop again. The elder vampire continues, “It was quite brilliant, really. I thought by forging a mind-link with Mina, I could make her understand. Instead, Van Helsing was able to work his covert magick to use the link against me. They used it to track me down. I barely made it out with my life. That day, the darkness had only just settled. I had the smallest bit of power left to become mist and vanish.”
            “And Mina?” Sora asks.
            Dracula shakes his head, “They thought my death freed her from my curse. But it was her power of will. Absolutely magnificent, historically unprecedented too.” He scrubs at his beard, “Perhaps things would have been different if I had tried something else. Maybe if I’d just spoken to her instead of using tricks to get her to side with me. I’d gotten so lost in ideas of domination that I’d forgotten compassion. I went to see her, after some time… but she was with child. I knew there was nothing I could do, then. So, I turned away.”
            “Why did you let the world think you died?”
            “Loving Mina showed me that there was meaning to my unlife other than untold power. Then… quite honestly?” He smiles at Sora, “I thought of you and your ambition. Before, I thought strength laid within power. You showed me that strength is so much more than that. I let my legend fade so that I could be free.”
            Deep down in Sora’s heart, he feels a melancholy he wasn’t expecting. It’s so full and heavy that he almost feels his body being pulled downward from the force. And yet, at the same time, he feels completely freed. For so long he hated his master for bringing him into immortality, for leaving him behind, for dying without Sora ever knowing… and the anger is still there, deep down. But now that Sora knows the truth, it’s almost like a long-shut cellar door has opened wide in his heart to let the light in.
            “I know that my absence has caused you strife,” Dracula admits, “And for that I am sorry—”
            “No,” Sora cuts him off, “Don’t apologise. I… can’t fault you for wanting the same thing I spent most of my own unlife chasing. The anger is still very real, but I’ve managed just fine on my own. My unlife has been fucking amazing. The wounds on my soul have scarred over, my heart mended… I’m less free than I was before, but now I’m ready for whatever is next.” He takes a breath, “I don’t know what brought us together today, but it seems like we both needed it.”
            That fatherly expression returns to Dracula’s face, and he lifts his glass for a silent toast. Sora raises his own, and they clink together delicately. Both vampires take a long, grateful sip.
            In sanguine. In carne. In corde. In meam. Portare in. So mote it be.
            They both put their glasses down. Though Sora knows they’ve only just started catching up, he can’t help but ask “What will you do now?”
            “I’ll follow your example and keep being the best history-keeper I can be.” Dracula quirks a brow. “And you, dear lamb?”
            Sora chuckles, “Maybe I’ll learn from your example and try to take over the world. Until then…” He flashes a dangerous grin, “I’m going after Vanitas.”
Scene 4: After
January 9th, 2027
            It was the furthest Vanitas had ever gone in his mist form… and carrying Ventus as well.
            It felt like they’d gone for days and miles of endless drifting, spiraling through the air and becoming one with the night. Vanitas took them as close to the nearest town as was physically possible, his only goal making sure that Ventus had somewhere warm to spend the night. When he was finally at his breaking point, he released them. They landed in the alley behind a bed and breakfast, one that he’d stopped at with Xehanort plenty of times before. He hadn’t even purposefully picked a location, so this must have been the work of his subconscious taking him where they needed to be.
            Ventus gasps for air as they regain their physical forms, falling onto his backside. Vanitas was hoping he could at least hold himself upright, but he collapses onto his side almost instantly. His body hits the ground as he shudders with breath. Concerned, Ventus quickly pulls up his sleeve and presents his wrist to the vampire. The other man needs blood and needs it now.
            “No,” Vanitas croaks, embarrassed by how weak he sounds, “I don’t need it. I’ll be fine.” He knows he’s being needlessly stubborn, but it feels wrong to take from the blond after all they’d just been through.
            Ventus scowls down at him, arm refusing to budge. Vanitas looks up in annoyance, also refusing to budge. Then, the blond rolls his eyes and pulls his arm away. Vanitas hates when the vampire gets like this, and for no good reason other than some kind of weird pride. Ventus bites down hard on his tongue, drawing blood, and leans down to press his lips forcefully against the vampire’s. A crimson tongue goes sliding into Vanitas’ mouth, and the brunet wrenches away with the little force he can muster. But it’s too late. The taste is already infecting his tongue, and the bestial part of Vanitas’ brain takes over. He grabs onto Ventus’ wrist and stabs his teeth into the pale skin. Ventus winces at the force but is grateful his deceit worked. Vanitas laps up the blood until he has to rip himself away for fear of draining the blond dry.
            The vampire has more than enough strength to sit up now, so he does. “There. You happy?”
            The blond nods and crosses his arms as if to say, “Yes. Very.”
            It’s then that Vanitas notices that it’s snowing and he’s the only one wearing anything that can pass as an acceptable coat. He also realizes that all their things are still back at the Haunted Mansion, too. He wasn’t expecting they’d need to make such a quick getaway, so packing up before the fight wasn’t in the original plan.
            “Let’s get inside. They’re open late, so we shouldn’t have a problem getting a room.”
            It turns out that “late” is a little subjective. After banging on the door to the bed and breakfast, an older lady greeted them with a scowl and a stiff finger pointing at their weekday hours. It became subjective once more when Vanitas simply used his power of persuasion to get them a room anyway.
            When they get to their room, Vanitas wastes no time clamoring into the bathroom to run them a bath. He liked this bed and breakfast because it’s an old historical building with these massive claw-foot bathtubs. There’s something about soaking in a grandiose tub that makes Vanitas feel like the king of everything.
            Meanwhile, Ventus is trying to rub the warmth back into his arms as he watches the tub fill. Maybe it’s the aesthetic of the bed and breakfast, or how drained he is, but it doesn’t feel like they’re on the same plane of existence anymore. It was as if they’d been zapped into another dimension, or even a dream. Nothing feels right. Nothing has felt right for a long time now… not since the day Vanitas left in November. He shudders when he remembers. Waking up, sedated, strapped to a giant slab of wood. He’d been drugged enough to be powerless, yet not enough to not feel the pain. The roaring fire, licking at his skin and burning it away… layer by layer by layer—
            “Still cold?” Vanitas asks, the concern sounding strange in his voice, “You’re shaking.”
            Ventus wants to shake his head no, but instead, he nods and wills the trembling away.
            “The tub will be ready in a bit. You should go grab a blanket or something.”
            Obeying, Ventus goes into the bedroom and wraps himself in a plush throw blanket sitting at the end of the bed. He stares listlessly forward, allowing himself time to process the events of the night. Before he knows it, Vanitas is beckoning him back into the bathroom.
            They stand before the tub and begin stripping down to nothing. In any other instance, Vanitas may have been hungrily looking over the blond’s flesh… but tonight, he’s just examining it curiously. While Vanitas himself sustained some injuries that are still healing, Ventus is without even a scratch. Even the punctures from the bite are closed up. He knew the blond has a healing factor now, but the reality of it continues to settle on him. They really are both immortal, aren’t they?
            Ventus didn’t even get a say in it.
            A sick feeling twists in Vanitas’ gut. It makes him feel like a hypocrite. He thinks of his little brother Sora, and how Vanitas had made that same choice. The screams still echo in his head, clear as day—a curse from his perfect memory. Doing his best to dispel the thought, he pulls off the rest of his clothes and climbs into the steaming water. He wastes no time sinking down into it with a long and grateful sigh. He glances up to Ventus, who’s just in his underwear and has a perturbed look on his face.
            “What’s wrong?” Blue eyes flick to him, then to the water. Vanitas puts it together in his head. “Oh… the heat. Here,” He stands, “I’ll hold onto you while you get in. If it’s too hot, just… I don’t know, pat me and we’ll stop. Then you can pat me when you’re ready again.”
            Ventus nods and removes his underwear. He grabs onto Vantias’ torso and slowly puts one foot in, willing away the visions of heat rising up his legs. His eyes squeeze shut as he puts the other foot slowly in. It’s a long process where Ventus is patting the brunet often, but before he knows it, he’s submerged. He isn’t sure how he managed it, but he hopes that by some miracle he’s too emotionally and mentally exhausted to register any trauma. It feels nice, especially after being both bodiless and in the cold for a while.
            Vanitas releases him and goes back back to sprawling out in the water. Ventus sits under the faucet, hugging knees to his chest. The water comes up to his chest and Vanitas’ neck. They stay like that for a long stretch of silence, comforted by the sounds of gently sloshing water and distantly creaking floorboards.
            Then, Vanitas asks, “What even was that?”
            Ventus raises his eyebrows.
            “That… magick that came out of you, Sora, and that Roxas kid. What was it?”
            Ventus shakes his head. Even if he could answer Vanitas, he really had no idea.
            The vampire sighs, “Whatever it was, it was powerful enough to take that scumbag down. I guess that’s all that really matters. Here I was, thinking this would be a suicide mission and my fucking brother of all people comes waltzing up… bringing your brother with him—”
            He’s cut off by Ventus’ hands hitting the water, the blond’s face saying, “What do you mean ‘suicide’?”
            To Vanitas’ credit, he’d gotten exceptionally good at reading Ventus’ expressions.
            “Well, I figured we could probably kill Xehanort, just the two of us. He’d gotten weaker with his damn dementia. But I wasn’t going to get my hopes up. My goal was to kill him and make sure you stayed alive, but I didn’t give a shit if I made it out.”
            The blond splashes him.
            “Hey!” The vampire shouts, “I’m just being honest, alright? It’s not like I’m an innocent soul that needs sparing. I’ve seen all there is to see… you’ve still got your whole unlife ahead of you.”
            Ventus shifts around to kneel in front of the brunet, staring daggers at him. Vanitas stares right back… but then groans. He sits forward in the tub, pressing their foreheads together.
            “Fine. I’m sorry. And I’m glad we’re both alive. Happy?”
            Ventus’ cool gaze doesn’t falter, but he does nod tersely in response.
            The vampire leans back into the slope of the tub, “Anyway, what are the odds of all four of us coming together like that? And to kill the same guy, on the very same day? I’m starting to wonder if that old man’s insane prophecy had some kind of truth to it.” He sinks down a little bit, “That little shit Sora was never supposed to find me. I’d gone hundreds of years without a trace of him, and all of a sudden he just… appears.”
            Ventus lowers his eyes, also pondering upon this. Up until a couple months ago, he didn’t even know he had a living family. He’d gone so much of his life accepting he was an orphan, even blaming himself for the death of his make-believe parents. This whole time, he’d been ripped away from them by that bastard Xehanort and everyone was none-the-wiser. Somehow, and perhaps this is hindsight, but a little piece of him always wondered how much of it was true. He’d grown so comfortable with the life he had that he was willing to accept what came before was gone. Still, that little piece remained… he could feel it in his dreams, with a voice so distant and yet so familiar. When he died at the stake, all he could remember was a field of white flowers, and a presence so welcoming that it tore his heart to pieces… and then he was alive again. When he watched that man who was supposed to be his brother—Roxas was his name—get speared through the chest, he felt that presence again. It made him realize Roxas would be fine. His eyes slide closed.
            Would it be worth it for Ventus to go and find them, whatever is left of the family he’d never known? Would they somehow cross paths again when destiny aligned?
            Vanitas shakes his head, sloshing the water with his chin and breaking Ventus from his reverie. “This is just too much. Let’s focus on one thing at a time… I say we at least wait for the Haunted Mansion to be empty and go get our things. We have the enchanted mirror, so we can use that to monitor it. How does that sound?” Ventus nods, so Vanitas continues, “Then, we just have to figure out where we’re headed next.”
            The two think on this for a moment. They didn’t really have a home outside of the Haunted Mansion… where would they go?
            Just then, an idea strikes Ventus. He gestures to get Vanitas’ attention. The blond does his best to mime his intentions and the vampire watches in mild amusement. After a few guesses, the vampire asks, “Eraquis?” And Ventus starts nodding wildly in response. Vanitas groans, “As much as I’d like to mentally torture the guy, I have no idea how he’ll react to your condition on top of Xehanort’s blood being on our hands.” The vampire grimaces, “He’s probably going to kick my ass before I can even get an explanation in.”
            Ventus shakes his head and points to himself.
            “What? Are you going to talk to him?”
            Ventus shakes his head again and puts his hands up, wiggling them.
            “Okay, you’re going to convince him with jazz hands.”
            Scowling, Ventus slams his hands back into the water.
            The vampire cackles at him, “I get what you’re trying to say, Ven. You can use your powers to restrain him, or fight back, or something like that.”
            Ventus nods and shrugs as if to say, “Something like that, yeah.”
            “Ugh, then he’s probably going to call the wolf and the witch afterwards and I’ll have to deal with them, too. Shit. It’s gonna be a fucking mess. Fuck, I was so pissed off at Xehanort that I didn’t even think to make a plan for afterward… this probably would have worked better if things were coordinated a little more beforehand, huh?”
            Ventus giggles at him, and it’s the first time Vanitas has seen the blond smile in quite some time. It feels sappy to think about it, but at least Ventus can still laugh. It makes a little chunk of Vanitas’ icy, dead heart thaw.
            The vampire beckons Ventus closer. They shuffle a bit in the tub until Ventus is laying with his back across Vanitas’ front and the brunet is circling his arms around the blond. Ventus leans his head back against Vanitas’ shoulder, and the vampire relaxes his cheek against the other man’s temple.
            “I still can’t believe we did it,” Vanitas mutters, “One of the most feared scholomancers and most hated necromancer is dead… because of us. Maybe you and I really are unstoppable.”
            The blond sits up slightly, just enough to crane his neck up. He lifts a hand to cup Vanitas’ cheek and pull him into a delicate kiss. It’s his way of saying, “Yes. We are.”
            Though one chapter of their lives has closed, there’s no telling where the future will take them. The effects of the Necromancer’s death will rock the foundations of the nightwalker world, all because a senile old man couldn’t let go of an obsession. But right now, anything is possible for them. They just have to choose their next path.
Scene 5: Forgiven
March 23rd, 20XX
            “Fuck off, Organization scum!”
            This one is wily. Roxas ducks as the fist comes hurtling toward him. XIII goes to land a low punch to the ribs, but the nightwalker leaps back until there’s ample space between them. XIII watches as the man’s skin curdles, with bones crackling and fur beginning to crop out from beneath flesh. The blond can’t help but laugh—the guy must really feel backed into a corner if he’s shifting at this point in the fight.
            “You think you scare me? I’ve got news for you...” Roxas says, smiling, “Nothing does.”
            The last of the man’s skin falls off in wet clumps, revealing the towering form of a burly werewolf. This particular one is actually bigger than most of the ones Roxas had seen, with jowls that seem like they could take off his entire torso in one snap. The werewolf lets out a mighty roar, teeth glistening with shining spit, and the blond feels his veins surging with adrenaline.
            This should be fun.
            With a mighty push, the werewolf comes rocketing towards him. Roxas sends a vector into the ground to fling himself back. Fortunately, on this particular street, there is plenty of space to move around. They are surrounded by parking garages and office buildings in the dead of night, so no cars or people are nearby to hinder them. Roxas thought he was fast enough, but the werewolf is just a little faster—the distance closes between them quicker than XIII was anticipating. A massive clawed hand stretches out to snag whatever it can. Roxas blocks it with both hands, throwing himself further back with the force and shoving the claw away. Because of this, Roxas loses altitude; his heels start skidding on the pavement. He watches the werewolf take another step—another leap—before the beast is flying forward again. The other nightwalker is fast, way too fast. XIII does the math as quickly as possible in his head; those jaws will be snapping him up in seconds…
            But that’s what he’s expecting.
            He waits a beat, tucks into himself, throws his hands out to somersault backward. Something snaps in his hand and it hurts like hell, but he manages to follow through with the movement. He uses the momentum from pushing off the ground and two vectors to throw himself up high. The werewolf’s teeth snatch the air where his body just was, a fraction of a second too late. The werewolf’s eyes follow him up, but now Roxas is falling back down… and a vector is holding the wolfman in place.
            XIII focuses all the power of his force into his fist, pressing down with everything he has, as he punches straight down into the werewolf’s pinned cranium. The beast’s head snaps down, hurtling into the pavement within the blink of an eye and cracking it where his jaw connects.
            As soon as Roxas’ feet touch the ground, he takes a cautious leap back and waits.
            A moment later, the fur is falling from the werewolf’s skin as his steaming body shrinks back down to human-sized. Roxas knows he’s won.
            The blond steps over to the defeated nightwalker and checks for a pulse. The man is alive, but definitely out cold. He takes a moment to marvel his work, grateful he read rights while the wolfman was still conscious. He was hoping the job would have been a bit more of a challenge, but it was still a good fight, albeit short. He gives his thanks before opening a portal and watching the body drop into the void.
            It was the first time he’d been back in Dusk City in a couple of years. It felt good to be home… namely where there were graviga wards for portals, and he could just chuck criminals away like a heavy sack of garbage. He never thought he’d be grateful to Xigbar of all people, but it made the job that much easier. Detaining nightwalkers in other cities and towns had been such a pain; having to drag them all the way somewhere, even with his magic, was brutal.
            Pain shoots through his hand and he groans. He managed to keep his hood on in the fight, but that too-fast somersault ripped a finger from its joint. Sloppy, He chides himself. Gripping the ring finger, he takes a short breath, grits his teeth, and thrusts it back into place. His next breath comes out as a hiss as the sharp sting ripples up his arm. He flexes his hand until the ache subsides, feeling his body mending the joint in mere seconds.
            Then, Roxas feels a familiar presence. He finds himself standing up a little straighter, utterly offended but not at all bemused by the sensation.
            Without turning, he fumes, “What are you doing here, Sora?”
            Roxas feels the presence shifting, getting closer. So relaxed, so carefree, in spite of everything. It would take no more than a second to turn around and choke the other man all the way from over here.
            “I heard you were back in town.” He hears Sora say, “It wasn’t hard to track you down.”
            Roxas removes his hood and looks over his shoulder, turning the iciest stare he can muster on the vampire. “How long has it been?” He asks, “Four years? Five?”
            “Five years, two months, 21 days...” Sora checks his phone, “And 17 hours.”
            Roxas knew this, but he didn’t want to admit that he’d been counting the days, too. Sora, unsurprisingly, looks unchanged. Roxas knows he hasn’t changed much either… when you’re immortal, things don’t change often. Somehow, it makes things hurt a little more. The vampire looks no different than he did on the day Roxas left him, save for different clothes. It’s like they’re seeing each other a mere day apart and not half a decade. It makes everything feel too fresh. XIII can feel his lips twitching into an even deeper scowl.
            He turns his eyes forward and stomps away, “Stay the fuck away from me.”
            “Roxas—”
            “I don’t want to hear a damn thing you have to say to me.”
            “Please, just let me—”
            Roxas whips around and points a menacing finger at Sora.
            “You know light can’t hurt me.”
            “No. But a fall from the stratosphere might.”
            Sora stares at him. Hard. Roxas’ gaze is unwavering. Then, a coy smile graces the vampire’s lips.
            “I don’t want to fight but… I’d honestly like to see you try.”
Roxas slowly lowers his hand, “You have some tricks I don’t know about? Last I checked, I was stronger than you.”
            “Wanna find out?” The vampire stretches his arms out welcomingly, “Let’s bet on it.”
            “Bets with you don’t always pan out for me,” The blond mutters.
            “You’re not very good at refusing them, either.”
            XIII scoffs, “Shut up. If I win, you leave me the fuck alone.”
            “For how long?”
            “Until I say so, obviously.”
            Sora shrugs, “That’s better than forever. Sure. If I win… you let me give you…” He winks, “A kiss.”
            The blond glowers at him. “Just a kiss?” What is he up to?
            “That’s all. I swear.”
            There’s a pause as Roxas processes this... then, “Why can’t I just give you a kiss right now and you just fuck off afterwards?”
            “Where’s the fun in that?”
            XIII can’t help but snort. This is annoyingly true. Plus, he is curious to see what new tricks Sora had up his sleeves. They’d sparred plenty of times before, but now…
            “Fine. We’ll go until we draw blood. And don’t even think about going easy on me.”
            Something darkens in Sora’s face, and Roxas notices fangs are apparent in his smile. “Blood for blood, then. How can I say no to the love of my life?”
            Even after all this time, Sora still knows how to make Roxas’ heart race. Sora knows it too, because his smile creeps into a grin.
            They step several paces away from one another until they are a comfortable distance. Then, they turn to face one another. Neither man takes a particular stance, they only stand at their full heights. There is a long moment where the two simply stare.
            Roxas knows better than to blink right now; he only draws a slow breath and waits. He knows the vampire is expecting him to move first based on his rage, so he tries to send an unsaid signal with his expression: You first.
            The night air feels still all around them, and their bodies drink up the light of the waning gibbous moon.
            Then, Sora’s gone.
            XIII feels his eyes widen as he switches into defense—body lowering, core tightening, eyes scanning. Sora is faster than before. Much faster. He was right not to blink, but it still didn’t do him much good.
            He might have just enough time to cast an aura spell. Roxas hisses the first few syllables of the incantation when he feels the air shift to his left. He dodges to the right just as Sora reappears, his arms outstretched as if to grab Roxas. The vampire is grinning from ear to ear.
            Roxas’ hand swings up as he channels a vector, looking to slice it along Sora’s belly. It merely passes through air as Sora’s body phase-shifts at the last possible second.
            “I know your body language too well, Rox,” Sora chides, “You gotta do better than that.”
            Roxas only tsks back at him. He’s focused on gathering information, which means testing the outer edges of what Sora can do. That vector was aimed perfectly and was deadly quick. If Sora really is faster, he probably would have just dodged instead of wasting all the energy to phase-shift. The air felt different so suddenly because the vampire’s mass reappeared within it. Roxas isn’t sure how, but Sora is able to phase shift to a point where his body is near-invisible. Before, it would merely become slightly transparent.
            Interesting, Roxas thinks as he watches the brunette, But let’s see what else you’ve got.
            The black-clad man sends a series of vectors at the vampire, his hands arcing and winding. Sora vanishes again, and Roxas takes a leap back. His eyes scan readily for the vampire. When all he receives is an uncomfortable lull, he starts whispering the words for the aura spell again—
            If his head hadn’t been titled just so, he would have missed it. Hands come reaching out of the ground, ready to grip onto his shins. He’s just barely able to throw force down to his feet, launching himself into the air. He lands in a crouching position a couple of yards away. Roxas watches as the hands adjust to instead lay across the pavement and hoist Sora’s mosty-transparent form out of the ground.
            The vampire laughs, “You figured it out that quickly, huh?” Sora’s body flickers out of reality for just a moment, like a specter.
            Roxas knew the vampire would reappear once he heard the blond saying the spell again. Sora’s aura would have completely given him away.
            “What I want to know,” Roxas says, “Is how long you can keep a shift like that up.”
            Sora flexes his fingers, “I’m sure you also figured that out.”
            Roxas’ guess was not that long. If Sora needs to doge Roxas’ vectors, he’ll have to save his shifting energy for absolutely dire situations.
            It’s the blond’s turn to smirk, “I’m just glad we’re playing mostly fairly now. Maybe we can speed things up while we’re at it—”
            And Sora is already springing forward and throwing a hand up. Roxas braces, but almost has to blink in awe as a dazzling blue light dances across the ground. He stands upright, but that’s a mistake, as he feels his feet slipping. He looks up to see Sora, body bent low, sliding across the ground as if it were ice…
            Roxas realizes it is ice.
            He throws his force at his feet again just as he loses balance, sending himself corkscrewing sideways through the air. He manages to protect his head as comes to a rolling landing. Somehow, he gets his body mostly upright as another blue light fills his vision—it’s a column of ice, stabbing up from the ground in a series of cold spikes. Thinking quickly, he channels as much heat as he can muster and throws up his own column of magic. The light hits the ice, stopping it and melting it. Roxas has to allow himself a short breath of relief, as he had no idea if his light could get hot enough to do that.
            Whatever this is, it’s definitely another carving. Wondering how many more Sora may have gotten in Roxas’ absence, the blond quickly gets back to his feet. He can’t stay on defense forever if he wants to win, but he has to keep testing the waters for now at least. There’s always a limit to the carvings; if Sora used too much of his green fire in a night without a break, his body would start to feel like it was burning from the inside. Roxas can only assume it’d be the same with ice magic, only freezing.
            Meanwhile, the vampire is lowering an outstretched hand. His fingers seem a little stiff, but he doesn’t seem to mind. His hand swipes up, and Roxas watches in wonder as shards of ice materialize before Sora. Then, the shards are speeding at him and Roxas throws up a screen of light, channeling that same heat from before. When the light and ice dissolve, Roxas realizes that Sora is speeding around him in a circle. More ice shards form, and suddenly they’re locked in a battle of who can throw their magic faster. Roxas is dodging and moving away as the onslaught comes at him from several angles. As soon as the light goes up, so many more shards come slicing through the air toward him. It’s starting to feel like a battle of attrition as a particularly large cluster of shards comes for him. Roxas throws up the biggest wall he can muster, and when it comes down, Sora is right in front of him and swinging a right hook at him.
            Roxas’ arms go up to protect his head, Sora’s fist connecting with his forearm. The pain goes rippling down his arm and the blond has to force himself to maintain composure. That’s definitely not Sora’s hardest punch, but it hurts like hell. He retaliates by swinging his leg up for a side kick while Sora’s arm is still outstretched. The vampire barely manages to spring back, so Roxas takes the opportunity to regain his footing and take his own jabs at Sora. The brunet dodges each, head bobbing left, right, left. Roxas notices Sora’s protecting his head and not his core, so he fakes out a cross hit. As the vampire goes to shield himself, Roxas instead leaps up. He channels the force into his foot and lands a push kick squarely in Sora’s sternum. Roxas flips in the air as the vampire goes flying back, rolling into a crouch several yards away. The blond lands and watches intently. Sora’s face is down, and Roxas feels victorious as he imagines blood dripping from the other man’s mouth.
            Sora lifts his head… and his smirking lips are clean. The blond is scowling again. He’ll just have to hit harder next time.
            Using his force to launch himself from the ground, the blond closes in on Sora. He uses the momentum to come in for a spinning kick. Instead of blocking, Sora dodges beneath and goes for a hit as Roxas lands. The blond manages to wheel around and take another hit to the forearm. Roxas isn’t expecting the knee to his rib, but when he feels it, he knows exactly how he left himself open. He goes tumbling away from the impact, rolling and righting himself into a kneeling position. It knocked the wind out of him, but he’s fine… and there’s no blood filling his mouth yet either.
            “You pulling your punches?” The blond sneers.
            The brunet shrugs, “Sorry, I’m still a little numb from all that ice. But maybe I can show you something else.” Sora lifts a hand, a bright energy crackling within his enclosed fist.
            Roxas’ hair stands on end, and every instinct is screaming at him to move. He leaps away, just as the energy zaps the ground where he was kneeling.
            Lightning? The blond wants to marvel at the power, feeling reminiscent of both Larxene and, oddly, Vanitas. Although Vanitas’ was purple, dark, and came from the sky… Sora’s was golden, bright, and concentrated like a bolt in his hand. It was as if Zeus himself was throwing it.
            XIII was really hoping he wouldn’t have to use the ace up his own sleeve… but it might be his best defence against this new magick. He draws on the light of the moon, pulling it all the way into his bones, down into his cells. He concentrates power all across his body and into his hand. In his mind's eye he pictures what he desires, and the light takes shape, elongating: loose, thin, and snakelike. He grips the whip of light and, testing its tangibility, cracks it. It snaps satisfyingly in the air.
            While Roxas had been suppressing his urge to ogle at Sora’s new abilities, apparently the brunet didn’t share any of the same apprehension.
            “Holy shit!” The vampire shouts, “That is amazing! When did you figure that one out?” But before Roxas can respond, Sora lifts his arm, “Let’s test how fast you are with it!”
            Sora hurls another bolt at Roxas, and the blond cracks the whip up into the air. The electricity pops and forks out where it meets the light. Fortunately, the charge doesn’t seem to travel to Roxas from the light other than a slight tingle akin to limbs going numb. Soon, Sora is sending a barrage of the bolts in Roxas’ direction. XIII manages to slice them all away with minimal movement. He wonders if Sora will do what he did last time and wait for the side effects to get bad enough before closing the distance. Forcing the power through his system again, he concentrates another whip into his other hand and uses both to counterattack. He almost wants to laugh when he hears a cry of “Cool!” from Sora. Using two whips seems to reduce the numbing sensation considerably, and with the light of the moon overhead, Roxas’ power won’t be tapping out anytime soon. At this rate, Sora won’t have the opportunity to get in close.
            Just then, it looks as if Sora has gathered a handful of bolts. He leaps up as far as he can manage, then throws them in an arc to the ground. They encircle Roxas, and he can feel the charge building up around him. Thinking quickly, the blond swings his arms back-to-front. The whips lash around him in a circle, leaving his arms crossed over his chest. The explosion of lightning around him leaves his skin tingling.
            Suddenly, his legs go out from underneath him. He starts to fall on one side and realizes with horror that Sora had been sliding along another ice path. It must have kept him low enough to avoid the explosion and Roxas’ whips. In the spare seconds that Roxas is falling, Sora’s hand flicks and a shard of ice comes slicing through the air—
            Right along Roxas’ cheek, completely gashing it open. The millisecond of freezing cold is quickly replaced by the warmth of blood spilling over his cheek.
            The whips dissipate from the loss of control. XIII topples to the ground on his side and feels the eerie sensation of Sora phase-shifting through his body. Then, the vampire is straddling him: pinning his forearm to his back, grabbing the back of his neck in a vice, holding his other arm with a knee, and shoving him face-first into the ground.
            Sora leans down to press his lips right up against Roxas’ ear, “I win.”
            This sends a chill through the blond. It’s pretty embarrassing to go down like this. Roxas is almost certain they’d fucked a couple of times in that very position, minus the arm being pinned with a knee. It makes his face feel hot as steamy memories flit across his brain. He begins thrashing under the vampire, doing all that he can to use his powers and push himself back up. Somehow, Sora is so much stronger than him, strong enough to keep him pressed flush against the ground. He must be selectively phase-shifting too, as nothing seems to connect.
            “Come on, Roxas,” Sora says, “You’re bleeding and I have you pinned. It’s over.”
            Groaning, the blond relents. “Fine.”
            Releasing him, Sora stands and offers a hand. Roxas rolls over and accepts the help up, hoping he isn’t blushing as badly now. He feels the gash on his face stitching itself up and uses his sleeve to wipe away the remaining blood.
            “I guess I owe you now.” Roxas mutters.
            “If it’s still okay, anyway.”
            The blond rolls his eyes, “You’re the one who made the wager,” He holds his arms stiffly at his sides, “Just get it over with.”
            Sora observes Roxas for a long moment with furrowed brows and a soft smile. The blond wants to think it’s a condescending look, but he knows the vampire all too well.
Gently, Sora reaches forward. With one hand, the brunet cups Roxas’ cheek and with the other he pulls the blond into him. Slowly, ever so slowly and with the utmost care, lips descend upon XIII’s.
            And fuck, did it feel good. It makes Roxas feel weak and powerless, like the life had been drained from him in the best way possible. It had been so long, and damn, he had missed it so much. Without realizing it, he is softening to Sora’s touch. His hands betray him and seek out the vampire’s hair, neck shoulders, biceps… whatever he can touch. He leans closer, presses their mouths together harder, parts his lips—
            Then Sora pulls back. Roxas catches himself in mid-lean. Then, realizing what happened, he lets go and steps back. He can feel the blush rising to his cheeks as his eyes fix on the ground.
Sora softly speaks, “Thank you, Rox. I’ll leave you alone now. I just… missed you is all.”
            “Yeah,” Roxas replied, eyes still staring downward, “I know.”
            Then, the vampire turns away. “You have my number when you’re ready. Call me anytime.”
            XIII remains silent as Sora’s footsteps echo in the street. He’s desperate to say something, anything—but he knew that’s what Sora’s angle was. That’s exactly what the vampire wanted. Sora was counting on that kiss to work and damn it, it really did. And Roxas is fucking pissed that it did. He doesn’t want to give the vampire the satisfaction of winning him over so easily.
            But his heart aches. In that one moment, it was aching harder than it did in five years. Everything inside him is rebelling against his stubbornness, and he feels the foundations in his mind cracking.
            His eyes flick up to see Sora crouching slightly, likely to spring up onto a nearby fire escape. A sudden jolt of fear forks through him and, unable to contain himself, he calls out “Sora, wait.”
            The vampire pauses… then turns. Roxas is expecting to see a smarmy grin indicating that Sora had won yet another battle. However, the brunet’s face is placid and somewhat hopeful. This made what Roxas is about to say a little less difficult.
            “If there’s something you want to say to me… I’ll listen.” But then Roxas crosses his arms and scowls, “Even though I think you’re a manipulative asshole right now.”
            Sora comes back toward the blond, a grateful smile gracing his lips. “Thank you. Want to go maybe… get a coffee and talk?”
            “Make it alcohol and it’s a deal.”
            “For you?” Sora whispers, “Anything.”
            The blond rolls his eyes and secretly fights a smirk.
            Even though Roxas didn’t win that night, was grateful he’d taken that bet ever since.
Scene 6: Bloodline
The 19th Century
            It had been a quiet night. Each person in the town was tucked away in bed, comforted by the peace. The waves at the distant shore had been steady but gentle. The breeze was cool and calm. Everything was as it should be.
            Except for the old man. He was lying in his bed, clinging to the last shreds of his life. He was dying, they had said. His old age had finally worn him down, and it was nearly time to step into the great beyond. He thought these last days would be full of fear, but instead, a peace not unlike the one enveloping the town had found him. He’d lived a full and comfortable life with his family. He’d expanded his family’s craft, nearly perfected it on his own. He’d been so many places on many grand adventures. He’d gotten to see so many children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren flourish. Many were even in the rooms around him, taking care of him in his final days to the best of their ability. He was ready for the end.
            When the window came unlatched, it was easy to notice in the peaceful night. The old man lying in the bed had turned his tired eyes to the figure climbing into the bedroom. The figure was as graceful as a cat, and absolutely soundless. The moonlight glinted off the figure’s necklace, and the old man recognized it.
            “I see,” The old man muttered, “It must be my time then, for I am visited by ghosts. Have you come to take me, spirit?”
            Sora swallowed, “A ghost perhaps... For I am unliving yet undying. But I am not here to take you. How do you know who I am?”
            “I recognize the crest… mother and father abandoned it when you died. They said they buried you with it. There was not a picture left after the fire. I was in it when the house caught… I nearly died… but someone saved me. I cannot remember who.”
            This surprised Sora. He had no idea his own younger sibling had been so close to death. Surely his family must have felt that they are cursed after so much misfortune.
            “Please, do you know anything about our family? What happened to mother and father?”
            “Mother and father died long ago, of their age. They never spoke of my elder siblings… I once had a name for them but… it escapes me.”
            Siblings? I… had another sibling? But as soon as the thought entered Sora’s head, it vanished like footprints in the sand at high-tide. Sora blinked through the fog, his brain hinging on one piece of information. “I’m sorry I couldn’t have been there with them. I… have so much I wished to say to them. So much guilt that I feel.”
            The old man, through great effort, shakes his head. “No… you needn’t let your heart ache. They also felt their own guilt. It was never said, but it was apparent.”
            Sora reached forward to grasp the old man’s hand. “Though you do not know me, thank you for your kindness.”
            The old man’s face suddenly hardened. In a rasping voice, he asked, “Specter… spirit… ghost… whatever you may be, I ask this of you. Please protect my children, and their children’s children. Please ensure the Leonhart bloodline doesn't die with us. If I may leave you with one request, let that be it.”
            Sora felt a single tear slide down his cheek. “I will do whatever is in my power to protect them.”
            The old man squeezed his hand, “I thank you. From the bottom of my soul do I thank you.”
            Sora stayed with the old man until his breathing ceased and his hand went limp. The vampire let himself shed tears for the younger brother he’d never known, nor never got to see grow old. He’d come here looking for answers and received few… but at least he got to say farewell.
            Just then, he heard footsteps outside of the door. Thinking quickly, he got up and rushed out of the still-open window, out into the night. He hadn’t been fast enough, as the woman that opened the door caught sight of the old family crest and a man who looked oddly like her father had in his younger days.
            And so began the legend of the Ghost of the Leonharts.
Scene 7: Familiar
June 29th, 2027
            “This cat keeps following me everywhere.”
            Roxas turns to look at the vampire. They’d been heading down a street in the dead of night. A series of street lamps were lighting their way deeper into the city.
            “A cat?” XIII asks. He walks over to Sora, who’s looking behind them. Sitting perfectly still under the light of another streetlamp is, indeed, a cat. They both carefully approach the animal to crouch down and examine it. The feline seems completely unperturbed. It has bright reddish-orange fur that seems to fluff around its face in a regal mane. “It’s this cat? Every time?”
            The creature mews at them as if to reply, Yup, it’s me.
            Sora says, “Yeah, anytime I’m somewhere long enough, this cat just shows up. I have no idea what it is or what it wants.” He reaches out a cautious hand to give it a pat. The creature seems to find this action acceptable.
            The blond cocks a brow. “Maybe you’ve been cursed and it’s a demon. What kind of cat is it?”
            “It looks like a maine coon, but I could be wrong.”
            Though Sora isn’t entirely sure, he did know one thing for certain. Something about the critter looks oddly familiar. Sora looks into its eyes, which shine with a deep amber. The color reminds Sora of soft, lush earth mixed with desert sand. Upon closer inspection, and by twisting his head under the light, he notices the smallest flecks of unearthly green. It’s a green so strange, that he only knows of one place he’s seen it...
            Sora feels his jaw dropping.
            “No way…” He whispers, “It’s you, isn’t it?”
            He gently grabs the cat and stands, lifting it into the light. The cat seems apathetic to this.
            “What are you doing?” Roxas inquires.
            After seeing the shifting sheen in the cat’s eyes, Sora is certain. “It’s Simba!”
            Roxas’ face screws up in consideration… then he scoffs, “The ghost lion? Come on. There’s no way that’s Simba.”
            Sora lowers the mellow cat, turns it in his arms, and lifts it to Roxas’ face.
            “Look in his eyes. Can’t you see it?” The blond incredulously shakes his head. “Look harder.”
            Roxas rolls his eyes, then fixes them on the cat’s eyes. Sora watches the blond’s face for a few long seconds before realization washes over it.
            “No way… I… think it is. Is that really you, Simba?”
            Neither of them are actually expecting a response, but suddenly the cat starts squirming. Sora gently places it back on the ground. It takes a few steps away, into the darkness beyond the street lamp, then turns to them. Like a mirage, the spirit of the lion they knew projects across the cat’s body with a ghoulish glow.
            Both nightwalkers immediately flip their shit.
            “It’s fucking Simba!”
            “Holy—how the hell did this happen?!”
            “I have no idea! I thought after we summoned him he would just… vanish I guess?”
            “Me too, but it looks like he got trapped on this physical plane somehow.”
            Amidst all their tittering, the cat merely sits and watches them, his tail flicking patiently.
            “Wait a minute,” Sora says, “If he’s trapped here… does that mean it’s our fault?”
            Roxas’ hands fly to his mouth in shock, “Oh no… we must have screwed up with the spell somehow. Maybe we never properly released him.”
            Sora turns to the cat and kneels down, “Is that true, Simba?”
            Unhelpfully, Simba merely stares back at him.
            “Right… still a cat… not quite a talking cat, though.”
            “There’s gotta be some way to transfer his soul back to the spirit… plane? Realm?”
            The vampire taps his chin, staring downward intently. Simba gets up and starts winding around Sora’s shins with a steady purr. Although he finds it utterly adorable, he really worries the creature might run the risk of having fleas or any number of street cat diseases. Nevertheless, he makes a decision.
            “I think I know who we need to talk to. But Simba, I’m probably going to, against my better judgment, put you in my backpack… okay?”
            He doesn’t stop to wait for a nonresponse this time. He merely picks up the cat and does what he can to settle it comfortably into his knapsack. Simba, fortunately, seems indifferent… further cementing that the thing is not a normal cat. At the very least, he’s definitely an odd one.
            Simba did an amazing job traveling all the way to the Coven mansion without a single complaint. To avoid being harassed at the door about a cute animal, Sora opted to leave the creature in his knapsack for the time being. They make it up to Mikaeus’ study, where they find The King sorting some paperwork alone.
            “Your Majesty,” Both nightwalkers greet him, bowing slightly.
            At first, Mikaeus starts in his seat. But then he relaxes when he sees the two. “Gentlemen,” The King greets back, regaining his composure. “I must apologize. I hadn’t even heard you come in… I’m afraid I’ve been chest-deep in paperwork for the first time in quite a while. It seems a great disturbance has befallen the world of nightwalkers.”
            Both Sora and Roxas had been mentally training for moments like these since the days after they killed the Necromancer. They knew no one would tell them the news, not for a long time. It was their job to simply pretend that their leads had dried up and they were refocusing on their work in the city. There was an unfortunate accident, and they found out Roxas became immortal from the Organization’s baptism. Nothing more, nothing less.
            That’s why Sora rolls his eyes and waves a hand in the air, “See Roxas? This is why being an immortal sucks. The paperwork goes on for eons!”
            Without missing a beat, Roxas put his hands on his hips and frowns at him. “You keep saying things like that, but I’m already immortal…”
            The King lets out a snort, then a hearty laugh, “Ah, it’s good to have a momentary distraction.”
            “Oh? Only momentary?” Sora asks, eyebrows wiggling, “We can do one even better for you. How about a full-on distraction?”
            Placing his papers down, Mikaeus smirks conspiratorially at them, “Do tell. I could use a break.”
            Now, Roxas steps up, “Your Majesty… we need an exorcism.”
            The King’s smirk twists into a disappointed scowl. “Oh, is that all?” He sighs and places a hand on his forehead, “Forgive my disappointment, fellows. It’s just… most exorcisms aren’t even real. Usually, a possessed person just needs a vitamin regimen and some mental health counseling. There’s nothing trapped inside them...” He wiggles the fingers on his other hand, “But themselves… ooooooh, so scary.”
            Sora scrubs the back of his neck with a hand. He asked Roxas not to call it that on their way up here, but the blond had been stubborn. Now, he’s shooting XIII a cynical look that says, I told you so. The blond shoots a look back that says, Well, what are we supposed to call it, then?
            “Actually, Sire… it’s not a person we’re trying to help. And an exorcism isn’t the best way of putting it. It’s more like, we’re trying to help a displaced soul find its way back to where it came from.”
            The King lifts his head, looking curious once more, “Interesting… okay, I think I may be able to assist with this. What soul are we ferrying this day?”
            Grimacing, Sora brings his backpack around to his front, “That’s the thing… Please don’t freak out, but…” He lifts the flap to expose the cat snuggled comfortably inside.
            Mikaeus bolts upright from his seat, practically knocking his chair over with the force. The vampire’s eyes narrow dangerously.
            He growls, “Sora—”
            “Hear me out!” The Prince interjects.
            The King pushes on, hissing, “I hate cats.”
            Unsure he can make the situation any worse, Roxas adds, “Please Your Majesty. It’s our fault he’s like this.”
            This seems to distract Mikaeus from his rage for a beat. His brows furrow and he looks back and forth between them. “How did either of you manage to trap a soul in a damnable cat?”
            Simba doesn’t seem very keen on this insult, as he lets out an unhappy little growl. Sora goes to soothe him with a pat on the head. “A while back we were chasing a lead on a suspect. We decided to dabble in some old-world summoning magic to see if it would help. The creature that we summoned… his soul never seems to have left. It’s stuck here in this cat.”
            Sora feels very pleased with the story he and Roxas came up with on their way up here. Technically, none of it is a total lie… it’s just missing some major details, is all. Because of that, it’s easy to be earnest.
            The King continues to look back and forth between them. If Roxas is making the face Sora’s thinking of, the one where his eyes look all glassy and his lips are pressed into a thin line, then surely Mikaeus is doomed. After a long moment, The King lets out an aggravated sigh.
            “Part of me wants to ask, but I don’t think I honestly want to know. Let’s just see what we can do so you can get that creature out of my office.”
            Both nightwalkers relax and belt out a series of honest gratitudes. Mikaeus moves a table to the middle of the room and covers it with unneeded papers. Then he instructs Roxas to use his powers and grab some tomes from the bookshelf that are up entirely too high. Once in hand, Mickey sets to work flipping through them for what he seeks. In the meanwhile, Sora removes the cat from the knapsack and places it gently on the paper-strewn table. Simba sniffs around his new surroundings, but stays put.
            The King gathers crimson candles and places them in a circle around the table. He lights them with a match that makes the room smell like incense. He rips up some paper into small squares. Then, he pierces a thumb with a fang and copies symbols from a book onto the pieces with blood. He places the symbols evenly around the cat.
            Roxas and Sora watch with intense interest, following Mikaeus’ every move.
            An incantation is spoken and a sudden shift in the room draws them all in. The air takes on a hum that settles in their bones and teeth, rattling them. A wind whips through the room, flickering the candles but not extinguishing them. The cat seems uncomfortable, but he remains in his spot.
            Then, just as quickly as it began, it ends. Mikaeus stares intensely at the feline… then opens the book again, squints at it, and shuts it between his hands. “Oookay. Next one, then.”
            Time drags along into the night. Sora and Roxas, once eager observers, are now sprawled in Mikaeus’ office chairs and glued to their phones. Every hour or so, they’d take Simba outside for a break and to use the bathroom if necessary. The creature had remained surprisingly placid the whole night, though The King was growing impatient. He had to go grab books from all over the mansion to aid them in their efforts.
            One massive stack of tomes and several hours later, His Majesty slams one last book shut. “Well,” He announces, “Those were all the spells for accidental binding, passing over when ready, moving from one plane to the next, et cetera… but they all only work if the spirit is willing.”
            Sora and Roxas sit upright. Willing? They both wonder.
            The King continues, “If you want, we could move on to forceful removal. That may be a little more in line with your ideas of exorcism.”
            Sora asks, “Wait… forceful? You mean… Simba doesn’t want to leave?”
            “Sora, at this point, I think this creature isn’t here because it wants to leave. If it did, it’d be gone by now. I honestly think it’s here because it wants to stay.”
            They all turn to look at the cat. Simba was lazing across the papers a moment ago, but now he’s standing at full attention. He meows at them as if to say, Yes, exactly!
            Sora steps over to the table and stoops to the cat’s eye-level, “You want to stay? With me?”
            Simba purrs in response. Looking at the creature now, Sora is reminded of that savannah that appeared in his mind’s eye—the amber eyes glinting in the sun between the grass.
            Roxas asks, “Don’t you already have a familiar, though? How does that work?”
            Mikaeus responds, “Scholomancers often have multiple. Sora’s original Sire, Dracula, had quite a few. Familiars have very special kinds of souls, but I’ve honestly never witnessed a case like this. From what I’ve gathered, that lion has a very old and unique kind of soul… perhaps you two didn’t trap it here. Perhaps you freed it from wherever it was trapped.”
            Then, Sora smiles, “I guess we already have a kind of bond, but…” He lets his teeth pop out and sinks them into the fleshiest part of his hand. He presents the wounds to Simba, saying, “In blood I give upon to thee, I seal our souls, from you to me, so mote it be.”
            The cat wastes no time lapping at the wounds. A sudden burst of wind and greenish-gold light envelopes the room, candles blowing out and papers being strewn through the air. The light spirals around around the room, ricocheting off the walls with trails of blues, reds, greens—
            Then it strikes right through Sora. He feels his soul filling up with an energy beyond any he’s felt. His head tips back, the sensation flooding him. He sees an endless grassy plain. The sun sets a bright orange. There’s animals as far as the eye can see. A massive rock formation. A lion, standing tall at the bridge of it. It’s jaw falls open as it roars. The roar stretches through space and time, settling down in Sora’s cells and vibrating them on an entirely different frequency. His eyes see everything that Simba sees: the grassy beyond, the scorching desert, the thick jungle, the clear sky, the glittering city, the inside of Xemnas’ office, the back alleys, Mikaeus’ office… then himself, as if he’s looking in a mirror.
            Suddenly, he’s being swept away… dragged all the way back through, all the way until he’s back in his own body and dropping to his knees. He gasps, amazed at the journey. Simba is definitely a vastly different kind of soul… nothing like that happened when he forged a bond with Diabla.
            Despite being rattled, Roxas and Mikaeus are by his side in an instant.
            “Are you alright?” The King asks, “I’ve never seen anything like that.”
            “What the hell was that?”
            Sora’s wide eyes take in his arms, his body… then, he looks up to the cat. The ghost-form of Simba sits over the creature at it’s full size. Then, it slowly fades away, leaving only the cat. In Sora’s mind, he can sense the concepts for look, seek, and find. He isn’t quite sure what it means just yet. “I think…” Sora starts, “I think I just soul-bonded with a power beyond my understanding.”
            Suddenly, Mikaeus stands, “This… this might be unprecedented… I need to write this down. Now.” He goes to his desk to fix the mess to the best of his ability. Then, he grabs a pen and starts jotting furiously.
            “I would help you, Sire,” Sora says, “But now that I have a cat, I need to go get it a litterbox. We’ll be back in a bit, alright?”
            Without tearing focus away from his writing, Mikaeus remarks, “When you return, I expect to hear the full story of how you found this creature and what purposes its magic was used for.”
            Despite inwardly cringing, both Sora and Roxas maintain their composure on the surface. “Yeah, sure. Sounds good,” Sora agrees.
            He lifts Simba from his spot and the two take their leave. Sora decides to just stick the cat back in his knapsack since the feline didn’t seem to mind.
            They dare not speak a word until they’re far, far away from the mansion and back in the city. As soon as they’re percepticably in the clear, Sora groans, “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me…”
            “It was the risk we took with asking for help,” Roxas assures him, “No matter who we went to, they were gonna have questions.”
            “I guess that’s true… we’ll just need to alter the story just a bit. We can make it work.”
            “It looks like you saw something in there,” XIII presses, “What was it?”
            “Well, it’s not uncommon to be able to see through a familiar’s eyes, right? But this time, it felt like I actually saw into the past… into his past. And, and these words… well, not really words, more like feelings… I could sense them. Look, seek, find… I think the magick we used to summon Simba is now permanently part of his own magick.”
            “So you mean, he’s like our own personal scrying glass? He could find things for us?”
            “Well, if my hunch is correct, then yes. Which means,” He stops them mid-step to put his hands on Roxas’ shoulders, “We could try and find them, Roxas. We could go after Vanitas and Ventus.”
            The blond’s eyes widen.
            Elsewhere, a very different cat is observing them. The person watching through the black feline’s gold eyes only has one thing to say…
            “Fuck.”
Scene 8: Library
March 2nd, 2025
            Just knock. Roxas thought, Just fucking knock.
            But something about the double doors seemed to glower over him. This is his first time coming to Xemnas’ office, and for some reason he’d gotten cold feet standing before it. Just as he was chalking up the courage to finally knock—he swears he was—a dry voice came from within.
            “Roxas, please just come inside.”
            He jumped a little bit before pushing the door open to enter.
            “Uh. Good morning Superior.”
            Hunched over some paperwork, Xemnas took a brief break from scribbling to give him a tight smile.
            “Good morning, XIII. Is it time to show you the library?”
            “Y-yes sir... if you’re not too busy, anyway.”
            “Not at all, XIII.” The Superior stands and makes his way to the door, “Please follow me.”
            He takes them down, deep into the stacks in the library. Roxas feels as if it goes on for forever.
            “You’ll come to find that our headquarters is full of resources for you to experiment with. We’ve done our best to collect everything any budding or seasoned spell-casters would need for whatever interests them.” He gestures to the shelves around them, “You’ll find everything is categorized by topic in alphabetical order, then subcategories, then organized by title. We also have a digital database if you’re looking for more recent information, or you need help finding a book. Questions?”
            Roxas feels overwhelmed, “I… I don’t even know where to start.”
            Xemnas smiles, “Worry not, XIII. Allow yourself to get lost among the literature, go where your heart feels is right.” He begins the trek to the elevator, “Zexion has a levitation enchantment tuned for this library, so if you’d like to read anything just pull it out and give it a little toss in the air. When you’re done, toss it again and it will return to it’s home. I’ll leave you to explore.”
            The blond looks out onto the glass balcony, scanning the three levels packed floor to ceiling with books. He didn’t notice this on his first visit, but there are sometimes even two or three more shelves beyond what can be seen. Fortunately, many of the topics have a large enough label to be seen across the atrium. He figures the only place he can think to begin is looking into telekinesis, so he starts perusing. After some wandering, he finds the “kinesis” section. After finding the topic under T, he comes to a very hefty shelf full of tomes on the subject. His eyes pass back and forth across the spines, looking for something that might catch his eye. He pulls out a blue book with a peculiar title, and experimentally flicks it into the air. It quickly stops in mid air, suspended by an unknown force, before slowly floating off down the aisle. Curious, Roxas follows it out of the rows of bookshelves to see where it goes. The book floats over the railing, all the way down into the lounge at the bottom of the atrium, where it places itself upon a table. Excited, Roxas zips back into the shelves and begins scouting for more reading material. He takes some books out to skim, either putting them back or hucking them depending on their first impression on him. Soon, the air is filled with a line of books floating down the table, a whole week’s worth of reading ready to be devoured by Roxas’ hungry eyes.
            Number XIII spends the next few days like this: tearing down scores of books from the library shelves and somehow devouring them in only a few hours’ time. He’d always been an adept studyer—it’s part of why he was able to technically graduate early—so devouring the information and quantifying it comes easy to him. Using a notebook and one of the library’s portable tablets, he’s created his own mini-database of information.
            The library was almost a hurricane of books, as Roxas spent hours upon hours every single day doing research. The books on telekinesis led Roxas to books on psychokinesis, which led to historical documents of witches with similar powers, which led to tricks on how earlier spellcasters used these techniques, and so on. In doing more research into the matter, he discovered a different variety of telekinesis, in which the user moves oneself as well as other objects. Historical data showed a cult of what were called the Vector Witches who used such power as if they had extra appendages, and another cult that called themselves Warlock Knights who used it as a sort of force to push and pull themselves or objects.
            He began to experiment using his mind to pull the books from the shelves, but it only seemed to work when he wasn’t actively trying.
            Eventually he turned his appetite toward other areas, delving into the worlds of enchantments, wards, and summoning. He started to take some of the books and random objects into the summoning chambers, where he would try different incantations. Though his own magick was still very weak, he was catching onto a lot of things very quickly. So quickly, in fact, that often his coworkers were instructed to keep an eye on him in case a accident occurs. Which is good, because it did—in only a few weeks, Roxas’ power increased tenfold and suddenly objects imbued with impeccable power began hunting him and Xigbar for sport one day.
            One day, concerned for Roxas’ well being, Axel decides to bring him food.
Scene 9: Mine
October 31, 20XX
            The cufflinks are speaking to him. Yeah, that’s it. Why else would they be so… so in need of fidgeting with? Without really thinking about it, his trembling fingers are going to adjust them. Again. How many times has he done this? He wasn’t counting. Maybe he should be. The cufflinks feel oddly heavy. He was never a cufflinks kind of guy. It was just a suggestion—Axel’s suggestion, actually—and they make his suit look a little extra sharp. Two little black metal dots laid in embossed platinum.
            “Sorry, no silver,” Axel had said, “So don’t try throwing them at Riku.”
            Roxas laughed and replied, “That would be icing on the cake to a perfect day.”
            They weren’t having cake though. They had macarons stacked in the shape of a cake. Roxas had initially protested, but someone brought them anyway. He wouldn’t admit it, but he loved it. He loved it all. Every drape, bundle of flowers, piece of chiffon… all of it.
            But fuck was he nervous.
            His fingers twist the cufflink, and suddenly Cloud’s hand is over his.
            “You need to stop moving around,” His older brother chides, “If you keep fidgeting I won’t be able to fix your tie properly.”
            Roxas knew how to tie a tie, but his fingers had been such a trembling mess that the knot simply refused to cooperate every single time.
            The shorter blond lets out a sharp breath, “Sorry… I’m just losing my mind right now.”
Cloud raises a brow at him, “Really. I couldn’t even tell.”
            Roxas rolls his eyes, “Shut up.”
            It didn’t help that it was a full moon on Samhain. The magick was flooding through him, vibrating him down to his core. Every part of him was thrumming with energy, and that certainly isn’t helping with his mental state. His older brother snorts and moves his hands to fix Roxas’ tie. “You know, grey is really your color. You look great.”
            XIII glances down at the grey suit he’s wearing. The white dress shirt is peeking out from beneath his suit jacket. He watches as dexterous hands work the black tie.
            “Thank you,” The shorter blond’s words come tumbling out like snowmelt in spring, “It’s funny, I was actually wearing a grey hoodie when he and I first met. That was forever ago. I can’t believe how much has changed. How much you’ve changed. Do we have any more wine? Champagne? Vodka? Anything?”
            A cool gaze is leveled at him, “I already told you. No more alcohol. Not until later tonight.”
            Roxas groans, “I know, but… fuck I’m so nervous, Cloud.”
            “You’ve fought how many creatures, monsters, and other forms of evil and this is what’s making you nervous?”
            “You know this is different. This is… serious.”
            Cloud scoffs, “And life or death isn’t serious? You’ll be fine. Quit fidgeting!”
            Roxas’ hands snap from his wrists to his sides. His eyes find their way from the ceiling to Cloud. Though he’d been watching the man age for decades now, it still surprised him every now and again. Here, his brother was growing old, and Roxas remained the same. Ever the little brother and older brother, except only one was really getting older. In Cloud’s youth, he bore more of the soft features of their mother. Now that the angles of Cloud’s face were becoming more pronounced, it reminds Roxas of their father.
            Without really thinking about it, Roxas asks, “Is it bad that I kind of wish dad was here?”
Cloud cinches the tie and shakes his head, “No, I don’t think that’s a bad thing. I think he would have liked to be here too.”
            Roxas can’t help but think of how strange the funeral had felt. Cid had attended the services of his own son, and that same son attended the services of his father. But today isn’t the day for those memories.
            XIII smiles, “I know mom is here, in her own way.”
            When Marluxia asked what kind of flowers they wanted, Roxas asked for white and yellow lilies… the flowers from his dreams. Every time he inhaled, their fresh scent enveloped his senses and helped settle his nerves.
            Suddenly, there's a knock at the door. Roxas practically leaps from his skin, and Cloud has to put his hands on the shorter blond’s shoulders to steady him. Kairi peeks her head in. She is absolutely glowing, like it’s her day and not Roxas’. It’s a little contagious, and Roxas feels a little bit of his color flooding back into his cheeks.
            “It’s time,” Her pillow-soft voice announces in the sweetest way possible, “Are you ready?”
            Throat closing up, Roxas is unable to answer her. As if sensing this, Cloud answers for him. “Yes he is. We’ll be out in just a minute.” Kairi nods and vanishes back through the door. Before Roxas can walk forward, his brother stops him. “Wait. Can’t forget this,” He lifts a lily boutineer and gives it a little wiggle to shake off any errant pollen before pinning it to Roxas’ suit. Cloud flashes him a rare smile and pats his shoulder. “Shall we?”
            Roxas nods tersely. It’s now or never.
            They exit the storage room that he and Cloud had turned into a dressing room. They took a long hallway, full of gorgeous pictures of stars, planets, and asteroids, all with their own blurbs of facts. Sora and Roxas had talked extensively about the location. They’d settled on the observatory just outside of Dusk City. They’d been there many times, and it just seemed… weirdly fitting. They two were like stars, burning in space. There was no telling when they’d shine bright or when they’d burn out.
            When Sora asked him for forever, it was at the beach. They were sitting in the sand, enjoying the sun and the soft rhythm of the waves on a quiet day off. They’d spent years together, then years apart. Years uncertain, years completely sure. Years with other lovers, years inseparable. Sora went to grab Roxas’ hand, and the blond felt something press into his palm. Roxas looked down to see a black ring.
            “I’ve thought about this since that time we went to Twilight Town,” The vampire admitted. He had been looking forward, toward the horizon, but then he turned those whirlpool eyes on Roxas. XIII felt the pull without Sora ever having to say a commanding word. “I didn’t ask then because I knew things wouldn’t always be great… but now… now I think we can make it happen. And if it doesn’t always work out, that’s okay too.”
            Now, Cloud was linking their arms and pushing open the door to the observatory. Roxas thought it was funny that they almost couldn’t agree who was coming down the aisle that day. Sora had said, “How about I do it? No one will expect it!”
            Then Roxas laughed, “Vanitas would never walk with you. Cloud would do it in a heartbeat.”
            It wasn’t that particular fact that made them decide, but the realization that Cloud would actually happily fight anyone for the opportunity. And there he was.
            The door opens, and he sees the audience in attendance turn to look at him. As he and Cloud come down the aisle, he looks over to his friends. Axel and Demyx had aged into fine men, married themselves long ago. It was the same with Marluxia and Zexion, who were sitting next to them. Squall is up at the front. His friends from Twilight Town are also in attendance, happy to come all the way for a momentous occasion. They, too, had aged significantly… and still, they’d been his lifetime friends. They never questioned his perfect face—lost in time, forever unchanging. They still loved him, even after all this time and all the heartache.
            For some immortals, watching your friends grow old would have been torturous. For Roxas, he sees it as a privilege. Not only does he get to walk by their side until the very end, he also gets to carry on their stories within himself. For that reason, they would never truly be gone… at least, not until Roxas himself was gone.
            Roxas wants to search their faces further, to see the awe and admiration painted on their expression… but his eyes lock with Sora’s. The vampire is wearing a black suit, black dress shirt, and a red tie with a lily boutonniere that matches his own. It is so perfectly him in every single way. The vampire’s eyes, though… so open, so loving, so soft. They are the eyes Roxas had looked into probably a million times over centuries, and he still couldn’t uncover their secrets. It always reminds Roxas of looking at a galaxy and watching the slow swirl of it, always curling inward, always infinitely twisting amidst the cosmos. Maybe that’s part of why XIII agreed on the observatory.
            Roxas and Cloud continue down the aisle. He passes their immortal company: Kairi and Riku, Mikeaus and Mina, Ventus and Vanitas. Soft piano music plays overhead, and Roxas barely registers the tune. Before he can really take it all in, he’s standing next to Sora and in front of Namine, their officiant. Cloud lays a loving hand on his shoulder. The brothers exchange one last look before Cloud goes to join Squall in the seats.
            Then, it’s just him, Sora, and Namine. They’re standing under the artfully crafted arch sporting lines of white silk, lilies, and chiffon—all Marluxia’s lovely handiwork. On the table before Namine are one bottle of wine, three candles with only one lit, two goblets, and two rings: one black and one platinum.
            “Hi,” Sora breathes, as if he’s desperate for breath.
            “Hi,” Roxas whispers back, also breathless.
            Namine opens a book and says some words that seem like they matter, but Roxas is so lost in Sora’s face that he’s not sure they matter all that much. Sora seems to be just as engrossed in Roxas. Galactic blue eyes are flicking all across XIII, committing every inch of him to memory. Roxas just remembers the vow that they agreed upon, and that’s all that really counts.
            Namine looks to Sora. The vampire takes a breath. The time has come.
            “With this hand,” Sora raises a hand, “I will lift your sorrows. Your cup will never be empty,” He takes the bottle and adds a splash to one of the goblets, “For I will be your wine. With this candle,” He lights the candle on his side with the one in the middle, “I will light your way in darkness. With this ring,” He takes Roxas’ hand, sliding the black band onto the blond’s ring finger, “I ask you to be mine.”
            Roxas repeats the process, this time with the platinum ring, all the while saying the vows: “With this hand I will lift your sorrows. Your cup will never be empty, for I will be your wine. With this candle, I will light your way in darkness. With this ring, I ask you to be mine.”
            They link arms and drink from the goblets. Roxas can taste the blood in the wine.
            Smiling, Namine says, “You may kiss.”
            The two nightwalkers share a look. It’s a look of now and forever. It’s a look of space and time. It’s a look of the day and the night. It’s a look of Sora and Roxas. To them, it’s a lifetime. For them, it’s forever.
            The two seal their union with a kiss.
            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.
Exeunt.
A/N:
Scene 1, Lucky: When I ended the Epilogue scene with the fact that Seifer “already had been suffering,” this is what I meant. The original idea was to have this start the Epilogue, but then I decided against it.
My perpetrator admitted what he did to me a long time ago... I told him to fuck off. I never pressed charges. I still don't know if I made the right call. IF YOU ARE HURT OR SUFFERING, PLEASE VISIT MY AUTHOR PROFILE AND LOOK UNDER "ADDITIONAL RESOURCES!"
Scene 2, Locomotive: This idea was also scrapped as an intro to the epilogue. It's not an awesome sex scene either. Oh well.
Scene 3, Memento: This was the idea that actually inspired the bonus chapter, but I’d only ever competed an outline of it. Admittedly, it’s been several years since I’ve read Dracula last so the details are likely way off (which is kind of silly considering how many times I’ve read that fucking book). Even still, the basic idea is there, as is my silly headcanon about Dracula and his ultimate fate. I fear I may have not done a very good job of expressing why exactly Dracula went into hiding. If his motivations don’t make sense, please let me know and I may come back to adjust it.
The bit about Van Helsing comes from an idea that I had early on in planning The Night, but I never actually got around to explaining. Basically, to blend in, some Spellcasters would hide their magick using Christianity and Catholisicm. They’d imbue “holy” objects with regular spells to give them the effects they had on other Nightwalkers. It was going to be part of the catalyst for the first Witch Wars, as Casters were turning on eachother or hiding in plain sight among the Cult of Christianity.
(1) Sora says in Romanian, “It’s the truth I need. Give it to me.” (If you are Romanian and this translation is total shite, please tell me and I’ll fix it ASAP!)
Fun fact: I tried really hard to fit a “Transylvania Twist” joke into this for Halloween, but I just couldn’t figure out a subtle way to do it lmao.
Scene 4, After: This was supposed to happen right at the end of Chapter XV after Roxas passed out. I had the idea of maybe writing an entirely separate fanfiction that follows the events of The Night from the perspective of Vanitas and eventually Ventus, but I realized that would be waaaaaay too much work, which is why there’s only an extended flashback in the beginning of the chapter. I scrapped this scene because I wanted whatever happened to Vanitas and Ventus to remain a mystery for the time being. Then, I picked up the outline and wrote it out for this bonus chapter.
Scene 5, Forgiven: The reason this idea didn’t make it in was because it didn’t fit in the timeline and I don’t know what can cause a fight big enough to last five years between soul mates. It’s pretty silly, but I started writing it very recently because I was curious what a conflict between two supernatural badasses might look like. I could still use a lot of practice, though! The fight didn’t end up as epic as I’d hoped it would. I explored what happens when former lovers fight in Glancing the Abyss, and it’s something that I really enjoy writing. If you can come up with a reason this conflict occurred that makes sense, let me know.
Also, a note about Sora’s “carving” magic: if you haven’t figured it out already, the different powers come from different Disney movies (hence why Mickey was given all of them by Yen Sid). The first one Sora gets is Maleficent’s green fire from Sleeping Beauty (obviously). The plan was to give him a lot more, but I just never really found time in the story itself to do it. The two choices for this one are ice magic from Frozen and lightning bolts from Hercules because Zeus and Elsa showed up in Kingdom Hearts III. Where do you think Sora decided to get them carved? What do you think they look like?
Scene 6, Bloodline: This scene didn’t make the cut because it just didn’t fit into Sora’s original timeline. I also found it spoiled a little too much of what Vanitas did. The “legend of the Ghost of the Leonharts” (holy crap that’s a mouthful) would have also spoiled Leon/Squall’s story too soon, and I wanted that to be its own reveal. Not to mention, I was just having the worst time actually getting the Dracula dialect going for it, and I totally gave up at one point.
Scene 7, Familiar: I was originally going to have Simba become Sora’s familiar pretty shortly after he helps them find the magic mirror. Then I realized it really doesn’t fit with the rest of the story (Sora gets another familiar, so what? They already found the Necromancer, what do they have to gain from it?) so I scrapped it. Then, I realized it might actually make an interesting way to get Sora and Roxas back on the trail of Vanitas and Ventus. So I dusted it off, changed the time, and adjusted it for this bonus chapter.
Scene 8, Library: This is the least-compelling entry. It was supposed to open up the Arcane and the Arts chapter, but I skipped right to Axel coming in with food instead.
Scene 9, Mine: This is the scene that really inspired me to write and post these lost scenes. I had this thought in my head as I was watching Corpse Bride early this October. I was just thinking, “What if Sora really did decide to ask Roxas to marry him? How long would it take?”
Edit 11/1/20: I mentioned on tumblr that my computer was being a dick while I was trying to proofread and submit this. HOO BOY this was missing entire chunks for some reason? And the spelling errors… and the TENSE PROBLEMS. Fuck me. They’re fixed now but holy Zeus what even was that main submission?!?
-+-
Thank you all so much for your ongoing support of this fanfiction. It was such a large part of my life for so many years. I’d suffered from depression, anxiety, rape, sexual assault, trauma, suicidal ideation, and all the stress going on with Covid… and my writing saved me from all of it.
It was the one thing that kept me going all this time. It was the one hobby that made each day that much more bearable. It was the only release I had. And you… you all loved it. Every comment, favorite, follow, kudos… it lit a fire in me that is still burning to this day. I love writing fanfiction. I love all of you for giving me support when I needed it most. I love Kingdom Hearts, no matter how ridiculous my headcanons get. I love this fandom for all of its strengths and flaws.
And most of all… I love you. For reading this. For appreciating my hard work. For sending a little love in spire of my long periods of silence. Whoever you are beyond the screen: you matter to me. You make my life worth living. You are the moonlight in my darkest night.
Happy Halloween.
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The Night