A Heart To Hold

A beauty that could mystify the most curious of souls, was truly the fairest in all the land; Was it not? If such a thing held marvels that could make the cogs and gears within a mind such as Morrigan’s churn and whir, then it was either something incredibly powerful, something ancient, something dark, or perhaps all three. Were it the latter, it would prove to be an most exceedingly dangerous thing that held her intrigue. The heart was all these traits, and more. It was the very source of curiosity and purpose behind this expedition on this wayward planet. It was a source of power that connected everything, yet Morrigan suspected such a theory would go far deeper, far farther than something so simple. On various, multiple levels all things were connected. Perhaps at one point it was all joined together in a collective, perhaps all worlds, all hearts, existed as one whole somewhere. Thus were the various musings that crossed the witch’s mind before the voice of another broke her pensive mood.

The witch smiled as she continued her trance-like gaze upon the encased crystalline within, breaking it with an eventual slow blink, regarding the disheveled youth over her shoulder. ”Yes, it quite rather takes my breath away.” The witch rolled her eyes sarcastically, focus returned upon the heart, and the power that seemed the emit sparkles of light and dark off its crystallized form. Each of the specimens were coming along fine, yet only time would tell whether any would be of use in the future. After all the plans for them couldn’t afford any hiccups, any flaws. As Morrigan righted her posture, she regarded the nearly hundreds of identical lights down the expanse of the lab, before her attention finally settled on the source of the voice.

Oh? Just whom was this? Morrigan eyed the youthful looking hume up and down, noting his unkempt appearance, and the lacerations on his arms. Another would be escapee looking for a way out? Looking for an escape from her enigmatic colleague’s inhumane experiment? This one seemed to value its heart, so much so that it would risk wandering out into Smith’s tower full of thugs without any evident protection. No- something seemed rather peculiar about this one. The dosage used to put the subjects under would have been too great for him to be awake, much less walking around, or coherently talking at all. Morrigan crossed her arms at this consideration. Was he even a test subject at all? It was a curious thought, yet an even more unsettling one would shortly follow. The conceived idea that this face, unfamiliar to her, was possibly another spy employed by yet another business rival of Smith. This was possibly the last lab she wanted to find a cockroach in, yet most everything in here would break were she to simply smash it like a careless brute.

The raven haired girl would shift her weight on her stance, the artificial fog around her billowing about with her coat tails. ”And just where do we think we’re off to?” she would rhetorically ask the poetic escapee. ”’Tis past curfew if I’m not mistaken…” The witch would slowly start toward the blue magi, her steps almost deliberate in a lack of haste as they were to taunt Blaise’s resolve. ”I daresay my colleague would be displeased- to find one of his rats escaped their cage…again.” She would once more eye the man, like a lion stalking prey, as she ceased her advance but a foot before arm’s length. ”To keep quiet or harp the alarm- What to do…what to do?” A devious smile to make it clear if there was a way out, it wouldn’t be granted so easily with charity. It remained to be seen whom this individual was, but Morrigan was more curious behind their intent behind their presence within the most secure of labs inside the building, a near nigh impregnable fortress to the modern man or hero.

The words that came held interest, yet nothing that could help the witch determine anything about the intruder’s origins. There was what sounded like offer to serve as a potentially willing patsy to serve blame, should his aimless investigation go awry. It was amusing to think he actually believed she would permit such meandering so under supervised about the more restricted areas of the tower. More so that he theorized the methods for which these hearts, these vast reservoirs of power, were to be used. The unease with which he carried himself, respectably commendable presentation aside, allowed the witch to ascertain a clearer idea of the suspect’s predicament. Was he afraid of her? Possibly not. Though anyone whom could brave such a scenario with Morrigan in the room, was to herself, holding back in some aspect. Whether it was fear, or a power they wished to hide, the feigning of such foolishly misplaced valor was easily seen through. The youth was indeed right about one thing though, Morrigan loved to watch the uncomfortable squirm with their own insecurities.

The witch couldn’t restrain the chuckle that followed Blaise’s claim to Morrigan’s inevitable victory, deducing that she might possibly require the use of so bland a tool. Why, in another life, were she the hapless, clueless adventurer that had unknowingly wandered into such a place so foreboding with dread, perhaps she might have seen the use of having him as a friend. Though amber-gold eyes merely looked up and down the mage with that same predatory intensity, like a cat longing to play with the mouse on the other side of the glass door. He strangely enough, almost resembled Tobias in the eyes. Perhaps it was this similarity that already soured Morrigan’s opinion of this wayward oaf. Though she was inclined to continue giving this one the benefit of the doubt. So far he didn’t appear so dogmatically zealous, a fact that was easily welcomed by the witch. The idea wasn’t entirely ignored, rather it was considered intently, though Morrigan would never let him know that. She continued to smile darkly at the boy, advancing a few steps more.

”What makes you think I require an edge?” The witch would pause again, then raised a hand as she regarded the closest glass cell containing yet another crystalline heart. ”Do you honestly believe any of this is their design?” She bit her lower lip as she chuckled, before bringing that same raised hand forward to briefly caress Blaise’s chin. Turning from the speculative guest, Morrigan would approach the nearest containment cell, then run a hand over the glass within the sealed door. A glimpse within would reveal no prisoner contained within, but rather a comfortable storage for one, complete with restraints and ports for tubes and wires. Necessary precautions to keep those inside safe, secure, and monitored with the utmost proficiency the lab could provide. She observed the interior for a moment, before looking back to Blaise, finding herself curious over how he was able escape such a confinement (were he ever within one to begin with). She still had no answer as to why or how he was here, other than he simply wished to look around. If that was what he wanted, perhaps there was something in this lab that Morrigan could find to hold his interest, if only long enough to get more information out of him.

The witch would beckon with a finger as she turned from the mage, traversing the near extent of the lab back the way she had came, before making a hard left near the entrance. A retinal eye scanner took a quick glimpse of her right cornea, and another high security door was flung open on pressurized hydraulics. Stepping into the next room after the overbearing hiss of the door had subsided, Morrigan would step into an observation booth containing multiple terminals, which overlooked a darker room filled with three containment cells similar to the main lab. A few keystrokes here and there, and the data displayed on the monitors would change. Morrigan would observe the numbers and equations with a fondness, before seeking to ascertain the reaction of the youth with yet another dark smirk.

”Curious are we?”

A lifetime of being ridiculed, of being looked down upon, of so many attempts of being silenced by the doubters, the naysayers, the naïve fools that would believe themselves never in the wrong. Would any of those souls now slithering about the dark realm, ever have imagined the sort of future awaiting that curious, withdrawn little girl? What would they know now, if nothing more than a primordial desire to consume hearts? Was this the fate of all whom rode the back of a world, as it faded into the maw of the darkness? The floods of umbra had taken world after world, seemingly countless by this night since she had unlocked that first Keyhole. How much more had the worlds revealed in each plunge into the abyss witnessed? Morrigan certainly fathomed years beyond what she had back then, and still as ever, the thirsting desire to continue to learn lingered within. Perhaps it was insatiable, an uncontainable lust to understand whatever eluded her knowing, whatever continued to escape the grasp of her ever expanding curiosity.

It was that very same intrigue that had led to this place, to meeting the youthful magi that questioned the intent behind the ambitious endeavor inside this tower. The steps taken to get here had been perilous, only for those whom got in the witch’s way. “Sorry.” It was a word that she never tolerated, a word among so many that she downright loathed. How many times had she heard that single word that begged for forgiveness? For every soul that had risen their arms against her in fear for what she was, there was a “Sorry” when she had hunted them all down to their final moments. There was always a “Sorry” for every plead of life her ears had to endure, and how laughably pathetic every one had been. The only comfort she found in the word was the inevitable silence that had followed their feckless bleating. Had she batted an eye when plunging Queen Riding Hood’s kingdom into the abyss? Had she shed a tear when the Keyblade extracted the heart of her childhood crush from the academy? Had she made any effort to find her sister since home vanished from the light?

No, forgiveness was for the weak. Morrigan stood above such fallacies.

The witch’s focus had returned to the data on the monitors when Blaise spoke up, her fingers quickly making more keystrokes on the digital keyboard. The more that managed to leave his lips, the more Morrigan would come to deduce this apparent escaped rat was far more clever than he led on. By the time the last question had been uttered, the witch had lost all focus on her task, fingers paused absentmindedly as she regarded the words. A brow would arch curiously as she glanced over to the blue orbs beneath unkempt brunette locks. The manner in which he had spoken about a theorized intent, almost made it sound as though he were inclined to some study; arcane, alchemical, scientific, she couldn’t be entirely certain. She had yet to have had the pleasure of reading whatever files the scientist had on this rather unusual specimen. Morrigan met the magi’s inquiry with a cold silence, and an equally accommodating stare. That was when a voice could be heard, muffled yet distinct enough, from within one of the pods within the sealed off containment.

”L-Let me out of here! H-Hello!? Let me out! I want to be freed!”

The corner of Morrigan’s lips would curl sadistically, the witch maintaining eye contact with Blaise as she silently pushed a button on the digital keyboard. The sound of a machine starting up could be heard, a fierce electric whirring, buzzing of static as the tubes leading to the pod withholding Subject 9 would begin to activate. Steam would emit from the various ports in the pod, before it would begin to glow with a bright energy. Violent screams of agony would call out from inside the chamber. The numerous tubes began to flow with illuminated essence of varying colors, all discernible by the bright sparkles that seemed to emit from the plasma-like substance within them. There soon came a fierce pounding from behind the sealed door of the pod, a fist fervently beat against the glass as Subject 9 would attempt to escape their confinement. A fierce war cry that became a whimper, would soon grow silent with the machines as the same control button was pushed again.

Behind the blue magi within the room they stood, a distinct yet faint chiming of bells could be heard as the sparkling essence emptied from the various tubes into a depositing device, containing a glass cell like those in the other lab. The essence would appear as naught but a contained conflagration upon first entering the special jar, yet after several minutes it would begin to form a crystalline heart. Across the other side of the lab, a console held a canister that had also been filled with the same essence, and stored within a shelf with many others behind an airtight glass door. The witch would cross her arms as she approached the freshly jarred heart, like a predator approaching prey, eyes never once leaving Blaise. Morrigan would simply smile with confidence, then slowly run an ebony nailed finger down the side of the glass container, as she acknowledged the prize within.

”You’ve managed well enough along so far…” she began, a brief chuckle filling the back of her throat. ”What? Can’t guess the rest?” she would taunt cooly. There was a sinister twinkle in her eye as the light emitting from the heart would play off of it. Amber-gold spheres would suddenly snap back to the magi, Morrigan rising from the prize to step away from the container. He was rather clever after all, why simply stop halfway through if the answer was right before his eyes? Ah but therein belied a curse among so many brilliant men, to possess so many answers, yet to be so arrogantly blinded to those right in front of them. Morrigan found many would be historians back home often never saw things so plain as day, incapable of looking under their noses when they remained in the sky. Though she would digress, after all she too had not always found such familiarity and mild comfort among these lifeless machines. A mere means to an end, yet it did little to sate the hatred for such a place.

”Why indeed!?” laughed the witch, stepping away from Blaise. Morrigan nonchalantly gestured a hand to the window overlooking the pod containing what remained of Subject 9. She would turn on her heel, raise a hand as the fingers would curl and flex, before a plume of obsidian smoke would begin to seethe around them. ”Hearts are the source of all power, little rat.” The display would cease, Morrigan approaching the essence filled canisters as though her mere flaunt of ability was nothing more than a flip of the hair. ”If it can be manipulated, whom is to say they cannot be fabricated? What would a heart become if it possessed the strengths of many, and the weaknesses of none? What might one learn from such a venture? What could be gained?” There was a silence that followed as Morrigan examined the beautiful shine within the essence inside the various containers, almost as though she were enamored by the sight of them. Though in truth whom could deny such beauty the truth of its nature? Morrigan could not, as they were perhaps among the most divine sights in all the worlds.

It would take a few moments, but eventually words began to spill through the cracks in the dam that had become the magi’s lips. The disheveled and barely naked brunette’s spiel over a tale from his homeland caught her interest, if only for the slight relevance in similarity it held to the ambition being carried out here. A quick wit, and even more thorough recounter of world history and lore. The woman in black would slowly cross her arms, listening intently over this brief statement while she took slower steps toward the lab rat. She knew there was something special about this one. Far too curious and resourceful for his own good. He proved the more clever of the lot rounded up from whatever world they had been snatched, yet only time would tell if he would prove to become equally as troublesome. The witch came to stop but a foot or so from the nervous conjurer, the confidence in the smile she wore could send shivers through a snowman.

”I want you to take a moment and think about all the things that define your life. All the people you love. Your job. Your associates. Your home. And now imagine if one day in a flash all of that vanished. Do you simply accept your new life, continue on or would you do whatever it takes to get back what was taken from you?” Morrigan would grant Blaise a moment to ponder the question, before cooly running a hand down the side of his cheek, her lips approaching almost close enough to kiss the skin. ”Mmm- Then one wonders that you wouldn't be grateful to the one who allowed you to stretch your legs, magi.“ she playfully chuckled, cocking her head to the side as she adoringly toyed with his hair. ”Come, let us see how you’ll repay that kindness…” A confident smirk, as though she held the very answers to all he might seek to know. However before the magi might say a word, Morrigan would forcibly cup his chin, and that same onyx smoke would blot out the room around them.

The stygian mist would dissolve to reveal the pair now stood within an artificer’s lab of some design; an uncomfortably small rectangular room with glass cases that lined one wall, and a larger crafting table with a crane-like robotic arm that dominated the other half of space. At the end of this unusual room, which held numerous amounts of evidence to gear alterations and customizations, was a glass case containing a manikin donning Blaise’s signature blue garbs. Morrigan would release him promptly as they arrived in the room, a place that in truth remained on the same floor of the massive tower, yet far away enough from the highly secured labs of which she had so generously provided a tour. She took a few moments to let the conjurer gain his bearings, recognize his belongings, using the minutes to casually observe the attires donned by the other manikins. Highly sophisticated armor, bearing some type of nano-tech weave into the fibers, and an assortment of accessories built in to compliment the wearer. From the looks of it, the grunts put in to oversee the weapons and armaments developments were serving their roles more than sufficiently. Fingers strummed along an elbow as Morrigan felt her patience begin to wane.

There were some noticeably similar, yet minor alterations to the attire of the blue magi, striking a resemblance to some of the armors within the other glass cases. The same material had been woven into the coat, an additional belt for scrolls or elixirs, and a coms device to communicate with wears of these other armors. Further tinkering with the tech would reveal it possessed comm hacking capabilities. What anyone of these enigmatic overseers wanted by installing these things into Beaulieu’s things was anyone’s guess, though Morrigan would not utter a word. The woman would simply observe in a cold silence, wait until Blaise was finished, before promptly turning for the door to lead him into what would be the entrance to that particular floor. There were the pair of elevators that she had used almost several hours prior, the woman finding her eyes narrow with displeasure in recollection of the meeting with Smith. The area was deathly silent, the moonlight creeping through the large pane windows to shine down upon planted trees and placid marble. The heels of her boots clicked as she traversed the extent of this hall, before a black-nailed thumb would firmly press the call button.

A chime, and doors would open.

With a beckoning, yet generous wave she would offer first entrance to the lift to her shadowing guest, following in suit as the doors would close. The witch would still say nothing, moving to the panel to press the button for the roof access. The ring of light around the button would form, the steel box would lurch, and then they would begin to ascend at an accelerated rate. With a slow to a stop, a second chime, the doors would creep open to a scene of complete chaos. Flashing lights of red about a helipad were hazed by the rain that poured from the dark clouds above. The occasional bolt that would split and illuminate the sky could be seen over the city skyline, evidenced as one would exit the lift and ascend the height of the landing pad. Amidst the howls of the wind, the pattering of rain, the booming of thunder, and occasional crack of lightning, the whirring of helicopter blades could be heard in their approach. Morrigan approached then stood at the peak of the helipad’s flight of stairs, focus and expression unwavering in the downpour, while the torrential currents billowed about the tails of her ebony duster. The helicopter would land with a fierce pump to the landing gear’s shocks, before the door was thrown open, and a rifle-toting guard would wave the witch and her guest forward for entrance. Stepping into the aircraft, Morrigan would take the seat reserved for her, opposite of the one cleared for the hopefully subordinate conjurer. A slam of the door, the rotor blades would begin to quicken as the craft slowly began to ascend, and shake within the storm.

The constitution of the aircraft’s occupants was sound, as the way these private army soldiers held themselves, one would hardly think the tossing of the vehicle bothered them at all. Stoney faces all upon the four in the cab, a grit of teeth by the co-pilot being out shined by the man in charge of all these lives in this rain, as he showed everyone why he had the job. It was a nasty storm certainly, perhaps one unlike this city had seen recent memory, though who could really say. The bothersome notion that such things should worry her, had long left the darkened corridors of Morrigan’s mind. Rather the lady in black remained quite complacent, considering all the ensuing chaos abound the shuttle to their destination. Arms and legs both crossed as she quietly observed the contemplation endured by the man sitting across the cab. It was any wonder what went through that mind, though the possibilities certainly made the witch curious.

That was when it had been enough time to allow the information to be digested, and he spoke once more. Her gaze followed the hand as it was outstretched in formality, yet she made no motion to acquiesce this request. Instead her focus fell on his more collected presentation, taking in the names, before drawing the attention of a soldier with a nod. The armed man in shadowed grey replied with a nod in turn. The soldier would then reach under his seat to retrieve a glass container like those back in the lab, and would force the empty container into Blaise’s arms. Morrigan’s passive manner was briefly broken by the smallest of tugs at the corner of her lips, serenaded by the faintest of scoffs in the depth of her throat. It was good that this dear Blaise was finding himself again, for that confidence would probably needed in what lied beyond the storm.

”Destination in sight, prepare for descent!”

The helicopter would continue to toss, and sway through the winds and rain, yet almost all the occupants remained statuesque. Guns held tight to their chests, no sound save for what protests of their journey the storm held for them. The thunder-cracks were so loud in this world, Morrigan found it quite fascinating, as though the intensity of the reverberations intensified among the taller buildings. The whirring swooshing of the copter’s rotor blades certainly couldn’t be heard among the spirited symphony of this natural orchestra. Though the closer they reached their destination, the greater the lights from below would grow, the interior of the cab becoming more artificially illuminated by the minute. That was when the hydraulics of the landing gear pumped furiously, an unexpected landing given the intensity of the air in the descent. Perhaps the tower upon which they had landed was taller than expected. Though what expectations were held by a man whom knew not where he was going?

The door to the cab was thrown open by a soldier furiously, the sudden roar of the storm making his shouts indiscernible under the claps of thunder. The men in shadowed gear all hopped out of the aircraft, onto what would be revealed as another helipad, across the platform the tower’s CEO suite which would suddenly expel an abundance of opposing forces. Gunfire began to ensue across the platform between both sides, during which only then would Morrigan rise from her seat, nodding to the jar bestowed upon Blaise. ”Were I you, I would be insistent that survive the trip.” With those words she would step out into the rain, beckoning with a finger for the magi to follow her as she headed straight for the firefight. The rain and wind had its way with her hair and clothes, yet Morrigan’s disposition remained unchanged as she simply strode toward the group of enemy soldiers with little fear. Their shots missed their mark multiple times, the visors on their gear either fogging too quickly or the weight of the rain would reduce the clarity of their visibility. That was when the witch would stop abruptly, bring one hand to rest behind her back, and the other was raised to the air as an auric darkness began to envelop it.

”So contemptuous of your new guests. I’d instruct you to know your superior, dogs.” With a twisting snap of her hand into a firm fist, darkness and ambient magic would coalesce in the air about the attackers, before Morrigan would throw a punch to the platform at her feet. A recreation of her fist in the darkness above the soldiers would then force itself down, blasting the group with so much power their weight would submit themselves to the ground beneath them. A dozen cries of disbelief and pain would follow, some in the group having been effectively rendered unconscious, as the group from the chopper would move in to pick them off with ease. Morrigan rose to her feet, then dusted her hands off together in a nonchalant manner before following her shadowed guard. After moving through the fallen soldiers, they would near the suite entrance, prompting Morrigan to whistle and nod its direction. One of the private mercs approached, and open fired upon the glass doors with a gauss rifle. Shrapnel glass and steel would burst into the suite, frightening what remaining enemies lurked within and their employer cowering behind his expensive, oversized desk. Morrigan stepped into the room, beaming sadistically upon the ruination that crunched beneath her heeled boots. The soldiers followed suit, entering the room with a blaze of gunfire. Tapestries, canvas art, high end furniture, a pool table, and parts of that compensation of a desk were torn apart by high caliber incendiary rounds. When the screaming and gunfire had finally stopped, the room fell silent enough to hear one man cough, and the faintest pleading whimpers for life from behind that grandiose piece of furniture.

After a minute more of silence, a sly mousey, stick of a man in a suit would peer over the top of the desk, his bushy mustache dusting the surface ever so slightly. Morrigan found the sight pitiful, as she started forward, a symphony of crushing glass would to play in her steps. The mercs reloaded their weapons, and proceeded to sweep the perimeter for any more of the CEO’s security. The witch’s palms came to rest on the desk, while she leered down upon the cowering figure of power. The man looked back to her, though curious, there was an evident horror in his eyes when he gazed upon this enigma in obsidian garb. He nervously cleared his throat, adjusted the collar of his shirt, before stuttering in an attempt to gather his voice. Eventually words began to form.

”Wh-Wh-Who s-s-ssent you? Th…that b-bastard S-S-Smith!? What d-does he w-want now!?”

The way practically paved for Mr. Beaulieu’s ease to presumably enter the room, Morrigan would sweep a hand the direction of the magi’s entrusted jar. A smile its direction, which was then given with confidence to the cowering business tycoon. ”Why he sent me to collect, of course.” The witch would nonchalantly walk a pair of fingers across the desk toward the terrified man, before she would seize the tie around his neck, then use it like a leash to drag him, protesting, over the top of the desk to be thrown to the floor. A pair of the shadowed guard would approach, and restrain each of the struggling tycoon’s arms, one forcibly seizing his hair and pulling his head up to make him look at the stalking witch. She found amusement as he tried to squirm his way free, slowly approaching with that same predatory manner as Blaise witnessed before. A hand was raised out to the air at her side, a flaring of an umbra conflagration about it as her keyblade Erised was summoned to her grasp. The tip of the weapon was immediately brought to beneath the tycoon’s chin, whose eyes had grown wider with terror at the sight of the eldritch armament. Morrigan would give the man a dementedly charming smile in turn.

”Care to take a guess to what I’m after?”