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Post by Deleted on Jun 16, 2018 2:46:42 GMT -5
That radiant castle was mocking him.
From afar, all Xehanort saw was a tall structure piercing the skies, an edifice of staggering might and arrogance. Time and decay had tried to force it down, its tawdry beginnings scrubbed apart by a mad witch’s darkness. Even now, Xehanort clearly saw where what had once stood as a metropolis of light and splendor had degenerated into squalor and ruin, a prosperous citadel ruined and reduced to a mere shanty town. Flashes echoed through memories he had yet to live, of walking its streets, of feeling a bright, endless optimism that crawled underneath his skin. He tried to massage his temples, bore the strange, alien memories from his brain.
But to no avail. His mind was resolute, locked in stone.
Xehanort hated this feeling of weakness, a foreign concept in his own youthful eyes. To show weakness, to show and feel any sort of doubt for his talents and his being, that would be the beginning of his downfall. These prickling memories of another heart that once, and had yet, to touch his own- they were testaments to the weakness he would someday inherit. Flaws were inevitable, but they were often obvious and therefore could be excised with the proper application of care and concentration. He could not afford to be placed in such a position that would stifle his stated goals. Failure was an impediment, an irritating obstacle that he must swat away before he could achieve what he needed. He should never have to feel weak. He was destined to become a Master after all, the epitome of a Keyblade Wielder, what all those fledgling apprentices can only dream of becoming. He had seen the strangest and most wondrous of sights awaiting in his long life. He would dare peer closer into the mystery of life, into the veil of reality, dared to dream further than anyone without the guts to do so. He will live and die lifetimes that would be the envy of the cowards, too scared of their own shadows to step beyond the guided path fate laid out before them.
But that was what he had thought. Xehanort could still feel the crumbling pillars of the past rise around him as his foes battled desperately for their lives. More memories bleeding between a heart of both the distant past, and this future given life by his elder self’s guiding hand. The past was to be the future, the fates aligned to repeat the destruction of the worlds, reduce civilizations into ashes and return everything back to zero. It was his hand guiding the fates, his keen mind guiding the pawns to their preferred positions. It was him who held the strings that led the mummers and the puppets to perform their roles exactly to his standards. Even Vanitas, vicious boy that he was, all Xehanort had to do was point, and the boy leapt at whatever the creator beheld. They were all following the paths set out for them, everything had gone according to plan, and still continued onward through the days.
It only galled more that the future fates decided to rebel and reduce his imminent victory to naught.
Xehanort could do nothing. A moment in time that could not be changed, as dire his desire to take his future, now the past, firmly by the reigns and steer the course. His gaze was firmly locked on that haunted ruin, hands clasped back in their customary position, his feet set in stone. He still felt that bittersweet tang on the edge of his mouth. A taste that would be forgotten in his return to his own time. It was rankling, demeaning to have a simple chance, simple bad luck to scatter his plan into oblivion. Fortunate it was that failure was always considered, as tiny and fickle a thing as Xehanort saw it to be, there was no means to deny, nor scientifically disregard that chance it could possibly exist. He knew it did, just as much as the wind, the dark, or even the stars within the night skies bore their own truths upon reality. Xehanort would be a fool to not acknowledge nor entertain the idea of possible failure. Every little detail had been accounted for, every possible avenue of failure was blocked, nothing was going to stop him. What could they have done, Eraqus’ sheep, his own little keystone to the forging of the ultimate blade? They fought valiantly while they should have failed, dead or dethroned, with Xehanort destined to stand tall and victorious over their bodies. How could he have foreseen what would inevitably transpire, the events that will have led him to grapple in the dark against that neophyte, his favorite puppet, all the while watching impotently as his plans backfired and fell into each other.
Bah.
This position was only temporary, but not his own- not yet. Xehanort recognized that all these fates, belonging to all these others would someday become his own. Though nothing so primordial as fear, nor change could deter the path he was to walk. One failure would not stymie him to surrender. He would not back down, would not cave in to despair. He would just plough straight on ahead with plans anew, right the path off this veered detour, and claim the reality that beckoned his plans to fruition. He would not be like these ruins that surrounded him, the faraway castle being desperately resuscitated by its lowly townsfolk, nor the crumbling manse that the cliff he was standing upon overlooked. Xehanort would not just lie down, and let the dusts of time sweep him away.
It was time to assert his rightful dominance as the Master he was to become.
This world had far too many ties to himself than he would prefer. Not unlike the size of the world once called ‘home-‘ this place too proved reversed polarity to his liking. Much time had passed since the shell he would attempt to take had gained its own ideas, gained its own ways of implementing Xehanort’s goals. Xehanort himself was passed only the vaguest of memories gleaned, until that final wrenching moment when darkness finally gave way to blinding light, and the elder had found himself back in corporeal form. That day he returned, when they had failed to make Sora one of their own. In that interim, time had done much to make the landscape alien to Xehanort once more. The Realms of Light and Darkness grew more distant from each other as In-Between threatened to swallow them all. Creatures of the dark, the pawns he most used and dubbed Heartless, traversed the worlds in full strength, impossible to eradicate while swelling their own numbers. Deep within the abyss, he heard whispers of some malevolent force of discord moving to take its rightful claim upon the worlds of light. New worlds among this chaos beckoned with their riches and opportunities. The situation would overwhelm any simpleton but for Xehanort, it stood merely as a simple task of looting out information.
Information that had been easily acquired.
The board was almost set, with only the destined pieces needing to be returned to their proper sides. Obedience was a fickle thing among those chosen to possess the remaining shards of his future heart. Questionable the decision was, to bestow the most significant of strengths to the considered candidates. Even more so, now that several had strayed from the path; the proper application to the darkness within neglected in his hastiness to proceed onward. Ruffles that needed smoothing out, nothing more. Though time would serve as witness, to the subjects inability to stand against, nor resist the temptation that was true power. Each desired it for their own ends, foolishly believing they could fight against his will, and be freed alongside a boon to call their own. Misguided delusions of idle fantasies. These pawns to be put in their place would serve their roles, for his Organization’s cause, and to no other.
Xehanort raised a hand. That castle in the distance was ensconced within his fingers. They clenched together into a fist as Xehanort felt the youth in his bones, the leather of its glove echo sharper than ever. Time, as always, was making a fool of him. But he would be nobody’s fool. Not anymore.
@braig
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Post by Deleted on Jun 17, 2018 18:06:43 GMT -5
The sniper had spent the last few days like a wealthy man. Pockets heavy with currency and plundered goods, his latest heist had provided him with the means to live comfortable for a quite a while. However, the sniper was by far a man of planning, thus it should have been of little surprise to find that, in a matter of days, the one-eyed sharpshooter had already squandered much of his fortune on certain hedonistic pursuits. It was in this way, wondering the streets of the Radiant Garden, eye forever searching for a loosely guarded wallet or an inattentive storeowner, that he felt the pull of another Seeker's shard.
Braig ignored the pull of the shard at first, the urge to fulfill his role as a pawn making his temples ache as he continued to shirk his true responsibilities. To no one's surprise, the former Freeshooter's loyalties ran only skin deep and after being turned loose on such a long leash, he was under no hurry to return. Yet, he shard would be victorious in the end, as it always was, and the sniper found himself inexplicably wondering, his feet leading him back to the cardholder in this would-be game of fates...
"Didn't take you for the sightseeing type." Braig said dryly, his voice suggesting some misplaced sense of humor. The Seeker silently took his place at the young man's side, his yellow eye turning to focus on the object of the younger's fervor. The castle stood before him, a once-gilded symbol of hope for the people down people... now ruined and gutted. The sniper found the situation almost ironic and a small huff of a laugh escaped his lips as he gazed down below.
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Post by Deleted on Jun 17, 2018 19:59:05 GMT -5
Within Xehanort’s mind, the gears whirred with blinding speed. Permutations and calculations were done, erased, redone and discarded. Images, thoughts, skills, facts, they all cascaded through the innumerable corridors of his mind, unfiltered and lacking a guiding hand. In the midst of all this tumult, Xehanort held the reigns securely. There was no floodgate unopened without his direction, no image or factoid not scrutinized by his gaze. His mind was the greatest tool in his possession. Not the currents of darkness controlled by his hands, nor the demonic Keyblade in his grasp, but the keen organ within his skull, leavened by experience and wisdom. If the heart was the source of all power, then the mind was what directed that power.
His thinking led to triumphs while failures were created by chance. Luck and fate were outside his hands- else he would have been victorious all those years ago. Simple chance, simple, stupid chance dashed all his would be dreams in that dusty graveyard. How could his future most self have overlooked mere strength- overestimated three apprentice Keyblade Wielders, whom barely had a crumb of all the talent and magic he possessed? He could very well see how they would be able to defeat that wretch of darkness that was his creation- but to best Xehanort himself? To throw his plans to disarray, to mentally destroy his hold, and resist him so fiercely? He who had wandered the emptiest ends of the world’s oceans, he who had penetrated further into the endless dark than anyone in living memory? He defied the petty laws that govern the worlds’ existences; he sought to push the limits to their breaking point. How could a trio of mongrels- whelps sucking on the hypocritical teat of light until their heads were filled with lies and nonsense. How!? How could they ever have defeated him?
Young Xehanort pondered his inevitable future, as the hand was lowered to his side.
Not again. Never again. Xehanort would not let himself be stalled from his task once more. Sora might have eluded his grasp, yet he was not the only worthy candidate. Time, the eternal destroyer, was coiling its fingers on him. Even now, within the prime of youth, an unmistakable reaper beckoned from the threshold of the end, that darkened door at the conclusion to all paths. He would not have long until the specter of death claimed him. He must insulate himself again, ensconced within layers of power and deceit. Thirteen, no less. Once he was done, once Kingdom Hearts was open to him once more, no one would be in doubt as to who was the true master of the worlds. The wielders of the Keyblade were to be feared, but he was to become a Master unparalleled. They should never have surmounted him like that. It was galling, embarrassing to find himself here, slinking within the shadows, cursing at a castle that had little to do with him beyond fragments of memories.
He could make his excuses for as long as he wanted but one thing Xehanort would make sure: anyone who got in his way, would be annihilated.
Xehanort felt it before he appeared. The darkness bleeding into the surroundings around him as its wielder punched a hole through space and time with the aid of the dark. He ignored the childish barbs, the supposed wit being thrown at his face as he turned to regard his visitor. Whatever this person believed of himself, he obviously thought he possessed a tongue of silver, gifted within the art of insulting. Xehanort resisted an urge to simply disregard this creature, this ghost of a man. The coat was obvious, woven from the very darkness he drew power from. This man was reeking in darkness, though that may very could have been residue of the corridor from which he stepped. What was undeniable was the pulsing sense of power emanating from this man. Xehanort doubted in this meager state he would be able to put a dent into any self-respecting Keyblade Wielder- but it was clear, he was far from the norm as well.
There was also that other curious little feeling: that Xehanort was looking into a black hole.
A nothing.
Xehanort let a smile of curiosity fill his features. For most of his life, Xehanort has made it a point to be acquainted with the mysterious power that comes from the heart. It is a heart’s power from which people draw their innate strength. It is the heart that lends the Keyblade its formidable power. The heart was where everything came from, and where everything ends. This is why the wispy formless darklings he called Heartless could never threaten the Realm of Light, lest they be refined and weaponized: the heart’s strength would ultimately repel them. Kingdom Hearts resided freely in darkness because it had the strength to do so, its brilliant light able to penetrate the deepest pits of darkness. A creature to still exist- yet lack such a heart was the lowest form of creature possible, barely above the dust ground through his boots. The Unversed, the Heartless, they were all below trash.
This man before him had such qualities. He had once possessed as such. The darkness from him was bleeding, stemming from an uncharacteristic pulse, of another heart’s beating strength. The dark shard of Xehanort’s future heart within this ghost’s own, had all but eviscerated what stagnant foils that was free will. There was nothing of that innate light, nothing but a glimmering trace of self that signified humanity. This person might as well have been a collective of inanimate garments brought to life. That would explain why his choice of an opening conversation was through childish taunts. Such incapable beings lacked a true sense of self, and would have to subsist on what they could act out and remember. These fallacies of individualism – surely there existed more like this man here- they were at best, pitiable.
Xehanort controlled himself, refusing to let his eyes widen as they took in the stranger’s appearance. The hair was onyx albeit silver traces, long, and the skin was more scarred than before- but it was him. That stupid, greedy, impatient boy that would have- should have aided Xehanort to victory. The odds of seeing him again…the very simple fact that he was still here, that he would escape the Keyblade’s wrath….
Xehanort had to laugh.
“Make your pathetic japes-“ The enigma in black turned to the castle once more. ”Yet how are you any better?” The inquiry to sate his own curiosity would direct a nonchalant gaze of gold over his shoulder. Then it left, returning to that broken epitaph beyond the town. ”You’ve spent enough time here. What news of my vessels?”
@braig
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Post by Deleted on Jun 28, 2018 16:43:30 GMT -5
The way the younger seemed to peer through him left a dull sense of unease in the sniper, though he had long been accustomed to the rather uncanny vibe that the time displaced keyblade wielder before him gave off. It was a strange feeling, knowing the silver haired kid before him ran his hand through the threads of time as if they were nothing more than cascading water, but the sharpshooter had long made peace with the fact that there were things out there that he would never truly understand.
Braig laughed in response to the younger's quip, though the sound was dead, rasping, seemingly mirroring his own hollowed out soul. He met the other's yellowed gaze with a grin, the same kind of sly smile that implied that the sharpshooter was up to no good, before following the other's gaze back to the castle. Deep down, he felt like a clever beast, as if the old coot's influence on him was something that he himself had allowed. In doing so, the prideful sniper preserved a mental semblance of control. After all, the mighty Freeshooter would never dance to another's strings.
... At least, that's what he told himself.
"The others?..." Braig trailed off, letting out another short, soulless laugh before he spoke again.
"...Aside from ol' Flower Power, it seems to me that they've scattered like roaches." The sniper purred, arms crossing across his chest as tried to see what exactly was so intriguing about that accursed castle. In truth, he hadn't looked for the other Seekers, and quite frankly, he didn't care what had happened to them. Alive, dead, missing, gone rogue, he truly couldn't care less. Silence hung in the air for several moments, and the Freeshooter was beginning to grow almost bored.
"I know you didn't come here to stare at that trash heap all day." Braig eventually spoke, a certain pointedness to his words reading somewhere along the lines of: 'This better be good'. To be so blunt with a keyslinger of this magnitude would have been considered foolish by many of the other Seekers, but the Freeshooter had never been much for manners.
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Post by Deleted on Jun 29, 2018 11:00:26 GMT -5
Xehanort did not fail to perceive the lack of enthusiasm coursing through Braig’s voice. Some of it may be accounted for his nature as an unfeeling creature of the void but it was clear that there was only so much left he could do before the leash around his neck would be tightened even further. All this subterfuge, all this deceit and half-truths, they could only push a cunning man to the edge before he would begin to question the diet that he was being fed on. Braig was no fool. He had the low cunning of a fox and the wiliness to survive in this cutthroat game they played. How else could he cling to such a fate after all these years? Exposure to the darkness was no problem to men of great will. They could withstand all that could be thrown at them to fulfill their wishes.
But did he have the will to go beyond his own selfish wishes and join him in paradise?
Xehanort very much doubted that.
“The goal remains, of course.” Xehanort replied. His focus shifted again from Braig back to that wrecked castle, still standing defiant against time and darkness. “The power of all worlds is too great a treasure, and our momentary setback yields lessons to be learned, mistakes to be avoided. Marluxia’s efforts of collection shall only hasten what needs done, per his intended purpose.” Whom better to sew seeds of dissent better than a gardener after all? His hand came up once more, fingers grasping together to crush that tawdry spectacle in the distance. A spectacle of dancing dark tendrils rose from terra to create passage through shadow; a low ominous howl emitting from the abyss.
Xehanort turned back to Braig, eyes shining with the promise of things to come.
“Answers await only to those whom are victorious. Come.”
Everything was falling into place. They were still on the beginning of the road, a road shrouded in shadow, filled with powerful obstacles that could deter them- block him from his prize. Never fear. Never matter. Xehanort had come close to victory before only for circumstance to snatch it from his hands. That would not happen a second time. Xehanort had emerged from the darkness of time chastened- but better informed of his capabilities and that of his enemies’. He could adapt, he could survive, he could outlast them all. Even this shred of a man, that could not hope to pull the wool over Xehanort’s eyes. The youthful master broke away from Braig’s eye and walked into the shadows, not bothering to hide the darkening smirk on his face.
There was a dark and dangerous road ahead. For all of them.
The first stop along this road, was a place seen time and time again. Ansem’s Lab. They had been here before, Xehanort and this man. This was where the true goal had at last found the surface, and taken direction. It was here, at this crossroads of fate, that so many recurrences of falls and rebirth intertwined throughout time itself. It held as much significance to Xehanort as it would the Freeshooter, as the youth would someday, in another form, take the plunge into darkness, and become more than a mere shell, but progenitors of two different races entirely. It was here that Braig and Isa had been plucked from their radiant garden in the blooms of their rebirth, their second chance at life being snatched away to ensure Xehanort’s will would survive. Kingdom Hearts would be his, no other’s fate would stand between Xehanort and his own.
”A familiar sight for you, this place?”
The rhetorical question was left to dead air as the time traveler crossed the room, taking up command of the computer’s console. Several keystrokes later, a small chuckle would emit from the depths of the youth’s throat. He would reach into the collar of his coat, and retrieve a disc, which was promptly inserted into the computer’s disc drive. The screen would begin to change, destabilize, and glitch before the light on the master drive in the adjacent wall would begin to flash black and white. WARNING! VIRUS DETECTED! The computer would chime before it called out again. CLAYMORE DEFENSE SYSTEMS ACTIVATED Xehanort turned from the computer to the other Seeker, and made a casual gesture to the near emptied room they stood in.
”I found it rather fitting for the occasion.”
@braig
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Post by Deleted on Jul 9, 2018 14:29:17 GMT -5
"Right..." Braig let the other talk, seemingly rather unattached to the young Master's explanation. The sniper was used to Xehanort's blathering - and by extension Xemnas' - and he had learned to tune out the rather endless stream of vague plotting. He had never been interested in the details, waiting instead for the short version: 'Who do I shoot?' and 'When will I get paid?' seemed to be the only relevant bits of information to the gunman these days. Perhaps, it shouldn't be unsaid that Braig had noticed the old coot seemed to be doing a lot of asking and not a lot of paying. The gunman was patient, after all he had come much too far to chicken out now, but he was beginning to question whether or not the old man even intended to cough up his end of the bargain.
The younger's command snapped the Seeker out of his bored thoughts, eyeing the portal with a raised eyebrow. A sarcastic quip formed on Braig's tongue, something about knowing better than to take a strange portal, but the sniper decided not to push his luck any further. He followed the other into the darkness, the shard spurring a sense of unnoticed obedience in the sniper, and emerged in a place most familiar to him.
Braig let his eye stray from the time traveler as he took in the sight of the old lab. It was much like he had left it, albeit considerably dustier. Had the others scattered like insects upon their reawakening?
'Pity.' The sniper thought with a dry chuckle, gazing over the disused machinery with a dull eye. He had been hoping that the former apprentices had been up to something down here, just to make life interesting, but seeing that they hadn't done a thing?
Boring.
Braig's idle observations were cut short by the harsh ring of alarms from the master computer. He turned, pivoting casually on his heel, the expression of boredom on his face quickly turning to alarm. "What do you think you're doing, kid?" He sneered, casting a cautious look towards the flashing monitor. The gunman wasn't pleased about the security system's reactivation, though he hid the displeasure from his face. After all, the Radiant Garden had become his hunting grounds since his recompletion, and deep down, a part of the Seeker still considered it his home.
"The last thing we need is a visit from the home team." Braig hissed, turning to cast a pointed glare towards the door. It would only be a matter of time before the castle's occupants figured it out... if the castle's security feed was still functional. Either way, being outnumbered in a dirty basement lab hadn't exactly been on that day's agenda...
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Post by Deleted on Jul 10, 2018 2:32:24 GMT -5
The fear in his voice, it was definitive.
Xehanort’s eyes would almost twinkle at the sound of Braig’s fruitless demand; the sound of the computer’s alarm droning on to fill the silence between them.
But why did he need to fear this lout?
Braig was a thug, a charlatan who pretended to a higher goal all the while still completely concerned with his own skin. He had no faith, no loyalty except for himself. He did not ally to a flag nor a creed or common cause. All that entered his mind was the will to survive in a reality where the strong would pick apart the weak. Braig would never sacrifice his life or his strength if it did not suit him. Nothing he does is random, only executed if it will gain him something in the future. He may seem lackadaisical, even rash with his actions- but that came more from a certain type of arrogance that Xehanort had no difficulty in admitting kinship to. Braig had supreme confidence in himself and his every move. He may not appeared to have the same calculative force that Xehanort possessed- but The Freeshooter more than held his own out in this game.
Impressive in his own right as he was, Xehanort had nothing to fear come that inevitable day when the two of them would lock blades. In the grand scheme of things, Braig was an inconsequential speck. Just another thug trying to make ends meet and come out on top. Such selfishness never carried anyone forward. They remained small in both their goals and their importance. They never rose beyond the station they had been handed upon. They never sought more than they could want, but what their naïve eyes could only glimpse in the now, never the beyond. That made them easy to control. They were uncomplicated, easy to placate.
To lose to this gunman would be a hideous insult to his name.
Even shorn of emotion and feeling, a Nobody would only be easier to pull down. Braig had nothing that Xehanort could not counter. In the field of battle, his will would prove triumphant. Even still, the force behind this hound’s hunger for power rivaled that of his own.
Assurance of unfathomable answers at the touch of one’s fingertips.
True power lay on the absolute conquest of everything that stood in one’s way.
Was that what Braig wanted? Power for its own sake? What did he hope to achieve with such empty goals? What was to be gained from subjugation, from the outer dominance of others through skill ad strength if they were not a means to an end but the end themselves? It was a pointless endeavor to seek tools for the mere reason of possessing them. Hoarding items, coveting prized objects or seats of power, they were such empty goals, nothing but self gratification. Pleasure was the basest of rewards, the most fleeting and the most useless. Who had time to swim in the shallow waters of moderation and selfish grandeur, unable to establish foundations that will last their corporeal bodies? All the better to snuff out what light in this rogue that had resurfaced.
The lack of his own heart would leave little to hold him back. He would go far.
”You have little to worry about the mechanics of such a venture.”
Lances of dark lightning sparkled and shattered around Xehanort’s hand, fading to reveal a monstrous Keyblade made of barbs and shards of metal. It gleamed in contrast to the dusty room, aimed at Braig’s heart. Only Xehanort’s eyes gleamed brighter. With no warning the youth would hurry forward, and aim an attempt to stab The Freeshooter square in the chest with the weapon. Were the darkness unlocked within, and the man’s needless heart plunged once more unto its depths, Xehanort would seek to stand over the vessel as he felt the shard grow considerably stronger.
”As for the apprenticeship- Rest assured there will stand nothing to be found.”
@braig
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Post by Deleted on Jul 10, 2018 18:17:02 GMT -5
"What are you talking 'bout, kid?" Braig asked, voice riddled with suspicion and eye narrowed in distrust. Years of experience told the sniper that something very bad was about to happen and that it was time to cut his losses. In fact, the sniper's will had already been busy tugging at the fabric of space itself when the dark keyblade sprung into the other's hand. The gunman had tried to dodge the blur of motion barreling towards him, the freshly opened maw in space taunting him with an easy escape...
... But the shard in his chest finally pulled the leash tight. His body faltered against his will, frozen in place with his yellowed stare wide with shock, mere inches from the safety of his own element. Time seemed to slow for the sniper as gloved hand pawed at the torn and jagged blade now lodged firmly in his chest. Numerous curses bubbled up in his mind, but his breath caught in his throat, the blistering pain blooming forth from the wound choking back any attempt at a snide insult. He tore his gaze upwards, snarling like a feral animal caught in a trap as he met the other's eyes.
"You..." Would be the only word the sniper would be able to choke out before his strength finally faded out. The former guardsman collapsed onto the ground, writhing as wisps of darkness spilled from his chest. He could feel it now, the abyss of the shard flowing unabated through his veins, the last bit of humanity in his soul lost forever to its black depths...
The Freeshooter howled in pain, darkness spreading across his form. The shard, repressed for so many years, spread through his mind like roots as it twisted his body into a new form. The struggling eventually grew still, the darkness peeling away like smoke to reveal a crumpled figure, the perfect vessel...
... A Nobody.
The figure before the young Master would look much the same as his Somebody, but the wide silver stripes streaking his now long hair would make the Freeshooter appear aged by many years. Several moments pass, a slow rise and fall of the chest being the only sign of life, before the fallen sniper would begin to stir again. An eye cracked open, the yellow hue renewed in its intensity, as Xigbar squinted against the light. The pain would begin to fade, replaced with what could only be described as all-consuming emptiness.
My heart...
"What did you do...?" Xigbar hissed, seeming rather disoriented as he tried to regain his bearings. Slowly, he'd begin to pull himself to his feet, should the other allow him to rise.
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Post by Deleted on Jul 12, 2018 12:09:28 GMT -5
Xehanort felt the cold steel and black lightning of darkness pierce through this roguish shark’s heart, excavating it from the depths of his chest.The darkness within unlocked. The weapon removed as the man fell. The change would begin, and a vessel of primed darkness would rise. Power for power's sake never lasted. Not even this stripling of a nothing could defeat the march of time, no matter how far he could teleport. The leash had been tightened, and once more Xehanort had demonstrated his ability to seize those that believed themselves untouchable. The fleeting, inconsequential actions of these delusory loyalists that foolishly aimed to slip through the cracks like roaches, hoping to avoid the scorn of his wrath, would not go unpunished. Like the fickle gunman that was allowed to rise from the ground, the rest would all have their rightful places reminded unto them. There was work to be done, and for too long since the sabotaged Mark had the enemy heard naught but whispers of the Organization. Errors along the course to be corrected.
Young Xehanort disregarded the other’s concern about himself, the Keyblade vanishing as he turned his back to the cyclops. The inquiry was met only by the sound of onyx boots crossing the dusty lab floor. The youth would silently observe the flashing lights of the corrupted server, golden eyes twinkling as his mind whirred with contemplations regarding the possible state of the world within. What nightmares awaited the programs within, as a Heartless mimicking virus progressively replicated itself, along with other lesser Heartless, and sought to destroy the remnants of the native data inside? When it was finished, would the insipid louts that called this place home weep for the loss of the data, their only tactical cornerstone, or the few megabytes they so naively referred to as friend? Xehanort could only wonder, a beep on the main console prompting the youth to turn a glance over shoulder. It could have only meant a single thing to him. His eyes closed with a content smile as the virus finished its upload, and the disc was slowly ejected from the drive. Data Replication: 100% Complete read across the console monitor.
Braig had been right about one thing at least, in hindsight. The reactivation of the town’s defense system was sure to draw attention, of both the common-folk and the incompetent tenants of this bastion alike. The virus installed into the master computer, had also been written with a sub-routine code, the purpose of which would rewrite the programming of the Claymores to attack indiscriminately. Why, one such as The Freeshooter might ask? A simple problem to bait attention to the true concerns to be found in this room. With enough people being hurt, or worse, in town, it was doubtlessly a matter of time before an investigation would be underway. Xehanort approached the console to pocket the ejected disc, knowing his future most self would be pleased with the information that had been rewritten to it. It was all around- a successful venture into territory that seemed to have concerned, and even worried the likes of the other, yet no longer present Somebody in the room.
There were few in the worlds that would permit themselves an understanding of the worlds as Xehanort saw it. They would not want to step beyond the cozy boundaries of their limited points of perspective. Why should they bother to broaden their minds and let go of their narrow-minded beginnings? After all, to set forth into the unknown meant leaving the familiar and the safe behind. They would journey from the safe and well-lit path of certainty into a far murkier, thornier road of understanding, where the light of knowledge would often be far away. They feared shadows, scorned those who would try to shed light on their existences. They did not want the truths that made for the foundation of existence. They preferred to wrap around themselves the comforting ignorance that created their worlds, and would actively fight for their chance to stay within such self-hindering confines.
But they were mistaken if they thought they could escape the harshness of the truth. They were fools if they believed they could remain hidden in their meaningless lives, pretending that the worlds have forgotten them. Only a few would dare permit themselves the true knowledge of how life worked, how hearts came to be, how everything exists. To stare into the abyss, to not break from the unrelenting freedom and unrelenting horror, it would take the most uncommon of minds and the strongest of wills. Obviously, not everyone was possessed of such attributes. What they had instead was a malnourished life, devoid of any intellectual spirit or drive to discover. They were programmed to stay within their little homes, wishing for a quick end to their lonely, pathetic lives. Brainwashed from birth to remain in their hovels, destitute and blind. Why search for meaning when that would hardly warm your homes? Why plunge into the unknown with the risk of never emerging back.
They did not deserve the lives gifted to them. They deserved nothing less than the hell he had prepared for them.
”A course correction. For now, we have other duties that require our attention.” Xehanort would traditionally turn his back on Xigbar once more. ”Master Xehanort believes the encroachment of Lea’s actions in our attempt to turn Sora have gone unpunished long enough.” Xehanort was not as curious as to how Xigbar would execute his end of the plan, as Braig was about Xehanort’s own methods. He did not need complete oversight over everything he did. Xehanort can rely on Xigbar’s own cunning and deceit to accomplish the goals set out for him. He did not need education, only satisfying results. Then perhaps Xehanort would owe the gunman results as well. ”Send a message profound enough to douse the fickle flame.”
@braig
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Post by Deleted on Jul 15, 2018 13:41:58 GMT -5
"So you want me to teach Red a lesson?..." Xigbar purred, his tone taking on a more insidious note as he rose to his feet. While his somebody might have scoffed at the order, perhaps even demanding his payment upfront, the Freeshooter was more than happy to oblige the young keyslinger. In the sniper's eye, being free to enact whatever kind of cruel punishment his conniving mind could come up with was enough of a reward. His mind was already dancing with ideas, each half-nurtured scheme approaching a level that even his somebody would have called immoral. He would bring retribution to the Flurry, paved upon the backs of innocent lives if needed, solely for the satisfaction of dousing this fickle flame once and for all.
"Heh... Consider it done, kid." Xigbar replied cooly, yellow eye narrowing to a slit. The Seeker had an almost animalistic quality to him now, with his cold, feral grin and that dead, soulless eye. He paced the lab, letting his fingertips trace along the edges of the machinery like this dusty place of ruin was his own. This monster of a gunman was free to act on his own cruel ideals, free from the restraint of paltry weaknesses of the heart, kept in line only by the silver-haired devil himself.
How unsettling the human form becomes without a heart...
Xigbar moves a hand to his neck, tugging the scrap of crimson cloth free from his neck. He still wore the clothes of his somebody, but those relics of the past would soon be replaced by the Seeker's infamous black robes, the mark of his corruption. In one movement, the sniper tied the scarf to a nearby bit of piping, the flash of red flowing in the stale air like a flag. The bit of fabric would be meaningless to most, but to the residents above, the ragged banner would mark the arrival of new threat.
... A warning of things to come.
... A predator marking his hunting grounds.
... A reminder of the crosshairs on their back. A crooked grin, a cold imitation of an expression of pleasure, crawled across Xigbar's face as he gazes upon his handiwork. Wordlessly, he turns around to face the other. The virus had successfully infiltrated the mainframe, the subroutine already working on reprogramming the security systems in the town. The sniper could already sense a disruption in the nearby village, a faint flutter in space caused by a fleeing crowd.
... The first blood to spill in the Radiant Garden.
"Looks like our work here is done." Xigbar cooed, crossing his arms before him. Behind him, an inky portal blooms into existence. "Believe me, kiddo, I'd love to stay and chat, but it looks like the party has already begun."
With that, the sniper steps backwards, swallowed up by the darkness. The portal fades away, wisps bleeding off into the air, leaving nothing behind but the faint smell of gun smoke and ozone...
//// Xigbar has exited
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Post by Deleted on Jul 16, 2018 12:08:56 GMT -5
So many paths. So many decisions.
The worlds wait for no man, not even such a man as Xehanort. A year wasted was a blasphemy to his untiring mind, let alone ten fruitless ones. The future incarnations, these twisted forms, lurking in the bodies and shapes of his would-be errant new vessel, they had unleashed pointless havoc on a scale unprecedented. He had seen for himself the ungainly savages of darkness adorned with the emblem of a broken heart fighting against shifting white ghosts, each scrabbling for the selves they had lost to oblivion. He had seen the balance of the worlds destabilized, the order of things shifted fundamentally until nothing was certain anymore. He had seen much ruination on a grand scale and felt his hand on each and every one of them.
Pathetic schemes. Inglorious conquests. They were the screams of a rabid, uncoordinated animal fumbling in the dark. To see such simulacra initiate such folly and have their plans righteously blow up in their faces was the only comfort Xehanort could ever hope to extract from the mess they were to leave behind. He would be forced to traverse a minefield of his own indirect making and bring order back into the chaos once wrought. Those that remained from the fallout of the nothing’s crusade yet lingered. Those deigned vessels still harboring resuscitated hearts of their own, believing themselves to be rid of their ties to the Organization. The X within each name, the Recusant’s Sigil they could never hope to find, would betray their whereabouts now matter where they fled. No matter how far any of them believed they could run, Xehanort would find and reclaim them.
A simple task, altogether.
Only by his sufferance had he not wiped out that bitter collection of failures and nothing. Seeing Xigbar’s decrepit state was more than enough to assure him that such a group composed of literally nothings led by one of their own ilk was all but doomed to fail. Who would surrender their own mortal flesh to darkness, to cling to mere scraps of life hanging off the edge of existence? Who would deliberately sabotage themselves to be closer into being intangible? No wonder they so gullibly clung to preoccupations which centered on the mere task of regaining one’s heart. Though Xigbar may do well to hide it, Xehanort could see that all his show and bravado was nothing more than a shallow performance, a piecemeal offering of the man he used to be. Only the foolhardy would ever want to cling to an existence that was barely worth noticing. Only a fool would obstinate such a state on mere promise alone.
But there was no need to dispose of them so readily. Like it or not, the motley band had their fingers spread across worlds, their tentacles coiled ready to choke and make the worlds squirm. They were of better use spreading their own brand of menace and fear, to mask his own movements behind the mass of black coats. Xehanort need only unlock the darkness within the shards of the remaining strays. It was hardly likely that this errant band of ghosts and shadows could pose much of a threat against all he had set in motion. There were none whom could.
Xehanort had long hypothesized what kind of creature could bear to live without the duality of light and darkness that defines them. How could such a being even exist when both light and darkness are wont to shun it, refuse it the commonalities given to people? It would take nothing less than an exceptionally strong heart and will to remain in such a state that they’d be barely human. Leavened of what defines them, they would be just mere shells, a representation of a human but empty on the inside. This is what made the creature before him so dangerous. The shard within would merely serve to guide, to give purpose, and should Master Xehanort deign it- power unto this singular orbed rifleman. Now there was little to hold back the carnivorous beast within that had been snarling behind the proverbial bars to its cage.
There was no longer hesitance, there was no longer doubt. No longer a single flicker, a minuscule lick of a second thought to the orders given, merely clarification in a tone just a shade shy of sadistic glee. The Organization needed people with certain venality, equipped with a penchant to getting their hands dirty with little regard to consequence. They would present the obvious threat, the bare-faced evil that heroes would step forward to defeat and die from. They were the big targets that Xehanort would arrange in front of him while he lurked in the backgrounds and got the important jobs done. Maniacs like Vanitas, like this soul, possessed of low cunning and a thirst for taking power into their own hands, they were relatively easy to point at the direction you want them to run at, so long as one’s promises had merit. Xehanort was not foolish enough to completely thumb his nose at his compatriots’ intelligence. He knew that they all saw each other as disposable pawns for their own plans- that they could never trust each other so long as they could throttle each other. A means to an end, of which only Xehanort would live to see what awaited beyond.
Complying with this newest task the gunman took it upon himself to leave a motif for the residents to discover. Xehanort paid the fabric little mind, deciding to let Xigbar have his fun. A quip and opalescent myriad shades of darkness would rise and fall, leaving the youth alone within the lab to further contemplate the next set of steps within this avenue of the plan. The soft hum of the computer, electronic beeps and luminescence of the lights in the room were all that showed life in any way. Golden eyes remained fixated upon the mainframe containing that other, rather peculiar yet extraordinary world within; a calculative machine running variables and hypothetical scenarios regarding the inevitable fates of those dwelling inside. The ever whirring cognitive gears churned forth an opportunity of suggestive observation, a definitive idea which was taken with the conjuring of the power within shadow once more.
A brief coalescence to overtake his sight, followed swiftly by the sudden intake of the late afternoon air, which was filled with screams and the smell of smoke alike. Beneath the adopted façade of the onyx hood he wore, Xehanort stood from a perfect vantage point to take in the unfolding chaos below. A smile most content was worn as he observed in silence the turbulence that wrought the shanty town. Crowds frequently formed, and quickly dispersed as people that continued to survive the strategic patterns of the turrets were guided to and fro among the town, as though they were all participating in a game to find a way home and off the streets. Such insipidity, so fogged and unseeing were all these inconsequential specks of life. Several minutes were taken in, before darkness would once more seek to eat away at his physical form.
Xehanort’s eyes were back on the horizon. But they saw beyond that. They saw a future triumphant.
The thread has ended @braig
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