Credit to the 'verse to LordCavendish, my inspiration. Disclaimer; I do not own any characters in this fic except original characters of my own creation.

Prologue: The Wolf King

Oceansburg, the central world of the Grand Universal Alliance, the now-wizened force of order in the universe, its only rival being the emergent DRA, which existed primarily in the worlds further off from the main worlds visited by Sora and company. Following the retirement of President Sneer, the Alliance was headed by the stalwart Alric Maynes, who promised the people of the Alliance "a return to normalcy."

Indeed, nobody wanted a new war, except for some odd portions of the Imperial forces that did not seem to recognize the war with the Imperial Axis had ended. Well, them aside, it seemed to be that the forces of the worlds had finally achieved some measure of quiet.

Granted, this was not constant – in addition to the last vestiges of Imperial power, it was whispered that denizens of the realms of Darkness, Demons, some called them, had emerged into the Worlds of Light, and were causing chaos at the frontiers.

However, following a punitive expedition, it appeared this disturbance had quieted itself down. Alric's Normalcy resumed seamlessly. Even as the people of the last age, those who fought the Imperial Powers, aged or died, it seemed they were not needed.

Their sons and grandsons could be counted on to lead the people of the worlds into a new age of prosperity and peace. While there was some worry about the intentions of the far off DRA, nobody really paid them much mind.

The forces of the Sorceress Liana Hellish had been a much more dire threat when they had emerged, the threat almost overwhelming the forces of the worlds. It took the tragic sacrifice of Court Wizard Donald to vanquish Hellish, outright banishing her from this plane of the universe.

And so, with the heroes living happily with their descendants and with their successes, all looked well for the time.

The Oceansburg Gran Museum was undisturbed that night, aside from a scuffle with a very odd thief indeed, who claimed to have seen "Walkers", and "dark and white things". After escorting the young man from the building, it had been discovered he was a deserter from the military.

He had been simply serving in his capacities as a soldier against the Remnants, when all of a sudden his eyes had glazed over, and he started to rant and scream. He had ran from his position, and nobody had been able to find him for around five weeks.

And that he would resurface now, clothed and acting as if a common beggared questions about what would bring this on.

Something had stricken him with such vicious madness that he had ran from his post, his loved ones, and all those who cared for him. Not even his erstwhile lover had known where he had ran.

The only thing the thief said before his arrest was that something was going to happen in the museum that night, and that he alone could prevent it from occurring by damaging the Hell's Vortex. The age old contraption functioned as a vortex that kept the mad tyrant of the last age within its swirling arms.

No one knew whether Lord Cavendish lived or died, even during that day, when science had advanced even further. All that was known was that the Vortex was inescapable, even though the method of its creation was yet unknown.

Thus, with the enigmatic Old Lord out of sight and out of mind, the deserter was hauled off. The security guards ended their perimeter sweeps for the night, and everyone went home believing that everything was right.

Nobody was around the museum that night except for the odd scurrying mouse or two. Not one of the anthropomorphic sort common in the Disney Kingdom, simple mice, simple sights...until the Hell's Vortex started to rumble with a shuddering ambiance.

Everything seemed to quake and waver for a brief moment, security cameras shut off as if to not see what was about to be seen. A wellspring of energy began to form, surging, black, like a geyser of crude oil from deep within the earth.

Seemingly unending darkness, pouring out of the once inert device, a loud, disturbing scream echoing from the Vortex as if the forced emergence pained even it. The force of blackness caused the ceiling to quake and dust to shake loose.

And then it started to consolidate, forming slowly into what appeared to be a humanoid form. Orange-red eyes with the intensity of fire. Spread black wings ready to take flight. A figure that could be identified due to the negative forces associated with it and yet the awe it commanded...truly, either as god or devil.

This dark figure's features slowly began to tame themselves, as if adjusting to the world around it. It was slowly starting to show a more human nature, as if returning to a nature it felt closer to.

Skin, pale, as if this individual had not seen the sun in many years, bleary, glazed over blue eyes seemed to emerge from the red pits that existed just moments earlier. The figure's wings vanished for a brief moment.

He was handsome beyond any means, an unearthly kind of handsome - uncanny in some way shape or form. His black hair was greasy, badly combed, matted to his head. This thin, slim figure did not resemble that black winged entity that emerged moments earlier.

Yet there was no mistaking it; they were one and the same. A buzzing sensation filled the air, the small, scurrying annoyances (to the guards) stood as if mesmerized by a figure both great and terrible.

The man-like individual stretched his arms and cracked joints to awaken himself from a stupor. He had not walked for many years. Not since the days of old. Not since he was betrayed twice over. He remembered who he was as he stood there, taking everything in.

"...Hey, world, its me. I'm Wolfang Richler. And I'm back in action!" He remembered the betrayals, the loss, the love, the horror, the internment...and the irony when he saw his erstwhile captor enter the same circumstances as he himself.

A beautiful scenario that had to have been dreamed up in whatever plane inspired the greatest of ironic fates. If there was ever a hell for Lord Cavendish, it was the hell he created himself, the one he fell into. As far as Wolfang had gleaned, this world was seeing a large number of really exciting wars.

He had longed, then and there, to join the festivities, but sadly he had been unable to partake. He now looked around, feeling like he had missed out on so much.


The new prisoner on Wolfang's empty block had been all the sorcerer needed to know. That his containment was not absolute, that this horrible device created around him could be escaped. And now, with all that he had done in there, he had finally escaped the Vortex.

It took a massive amount of his magical power, his terrifying might would need to be recharged with rest, but he for now needed to know where he was. By all appearances, it was a museum of some sort. Glorifying statues...images of past battles...people charging embroidered upon cloth, pictures of grand occasions.

The world, he could tell, shuddered, it fluctuated and pulsed. Subspace was open as always, the pathway used by Keyblade Masters and Travelers to reach worlds. To wreak their own whims. And all defended by a simple mantra of "no-telling" the people on those worlds, as far as he remembered.

A policy of enforced ignorance that even Wolfang found disgusting, if only for the fact it prevented people from really knowing all they could know. Why, with the right knowledge, the possibilities were endless.

Now, he decided, lets see who was pegged with the world's least desirable job. It seemed carrying a key was just like holding a magnet that told people "victimize me".

He looked over the picture of a team of people standing triumphant at the end, apparently, going by the caption. The spiky brown haired boy with innocent eyes and a...a KEYBLADE.


And his silver haired friend too. So many others. A young woman. A red haired youth. Some spear wielders...ohh, yes, Wolfang thought, bringing his hands up and grinning in a child-like way. This looked all so exciting! They looked epic in this pose!

"Yes, yes! I'd love to meet these fascinating young people! I-I burn with passion! I need to see them in action! I need to see every swing of the sword!" Said Wolfang as he quaked with glee, his clenched fists near his chin.

Though he could tell just looking at the kid with the key that he had won with a lot of losses. Things had happened to him. He had lived through a lot of really horrible circumstances. Wolfang knew what that felt like.

Would not stop him from doing what he wanted, but he could recognize something similar to himself in Sora. Could it be? Could that boy be...he'd need to check.

He read the caption aloud, "Victorious Team KH. May this commemorate them here for generations to come." Someone had been naughty in this world, telling them things. He guessed the order of the day had changed a bit.

Wolfang checked the date, looked around, and suddenly went from smiling to frowning, with the speed of a crack of lightning. There were so many, many commemorations. So many heroes in this war. One which was apparently over for a good amount of time, he'd guess.

A simple wave of his hand displayed the current date, which he compared to the date he looked at from the painting. A dissatisfied snarl showed on his face, "Too late. Far, far too late. Absolutely disgusting. They'll be too old and withered...of course they let themselves get old. Of course they do."

Babbling to himself a little, the man-like creature suddenly pinched himself on the face, showing that he had gotten an idea; "Yes...yes...that'd work. They're young in these pictures, and we all know what young people do..."

The seemingly bored young sorcerer looked around the room, at some scenes also depicting Team KH fighting against someone. These valiant little heroes marching ever up the hill against the villains of the act.

Wolfang looked at them as if he was a grand author, arranging his characters in his head before committing them to paper. And he had just about decided who the villains of this new epic were going to be.

He knew what he had to do now. This did not have to be a fruitless escape. He might not have been able in this day and age to achieve what he wanted to achieve, but there was still a chance for him to get SOMETHING out of it.

This museum might as well be a temple, with all the scenes of glory given to these victorious, scarred heroes. They had won the war, they had made their history, and now the worlds lived according to what they deigned.

In some ways, these deified people were not so different from him. Was what they did really any different?

Wolfang simply pointed one hand at a statue of someone or other, blasting off the head with a bolt of bright blue force that emitted from his hand. "I see the temple around me, but now, let's see if I can find my way to the Gods."

The young man then considered his form. These rags would hardly do. They showed altogether too much of his most human form. It was a nice form, but he doubted it would be appreciated if shown like that.

So with a wave of his hand, his rags seemed to melt and transform, becoming like the clothes he saw on these brave members of Team KH, though not identically. He made sure to add his own little stylizations.

The sorcerer then looked back at the now-dormant Hell's Vortex, and smirked. There was still a use for that old dreary thing just yet. But for now, he needed these false gods on his trail. What to do...what to do...he bet the realms were all fairly boring by now.

It was about time to liven up the joint, breath some life into this happy ending! But first, Wolfang thought as he started to walk out, doing a jig all the way, he needed to make some phone calls to some old friends, see if they're still around.