Brimstone Tower's Fall
Intro: Dark Birth
Author's opening note:
I've been playing Kingdom Hearts for quite a while. Actually, truth be told, I'm kinda addicted to the game. I've gotten a substantial chunk of number two played, so I thought I had enough background to dare a fanfic. Don't know if I'll continue this or not, it doesn't feel like a one shot. I haven't played the DS Kingdom heats, nor have I unlocked the secret ending in the first game, I also have something of a twist in mind, so expect some breaches in cannon.
He came into his world, followed by a choir of discordant voices. They came in many shades, and followed him into the yellow rimmed dark. Two orbs of yellow he remembered, a precursor to those voices. Two glints of gold yellow, not sun yellow, but gold, a touch, those voices. Voices fell, like stones that preceded an avalanche. Sound tumbled all over itself, and coherence was lost in the jumble. Amongst the meld of meaningless noise were those two yellow pinpricks, and even those two points of chromatic stability shattered. For the yellow orb's heart was darkness, and the dark heart was a fractured thing.
It shattered at his coming, and he fell through the fragments. He dove through the meaningless and meaningful, in a freefall of deathly stillness.
"Having a bad time of it, I imagine?"
Glazed green eyes flicked in the direction of the speaker. They floated in nothing, were twin emerald beacons on a blank canvas that lead to no one.
"We all do, don't worry about it. It's just the beginning you know. You're in for a hell of a ride."
There was no speaker. Only darkness on dark. The no color world he found himself redoubled upon itself, and found its heart in oblivion. It was empty, expansive; in the way one can feel the empty rather than see. But then, lost in this abyss, sight was relative… or rather hypothetical. To those who found the darkness as their home the green of his eyes were viridian beacons, the raised crest of red hair a crimson challenge. The nothing about him moved, and for his being immersed in it he felt that movement.
Like a victim of a riptide, he could feel the dark dragging on him, pulling him forward. Tugging him back. Rocking and pulling, yet for all the motion nothing was ripped or torn. Finally the gyrations stopped, and all was still.
"Wh…" His lips moved, or so he thought. He could sense their motion; the hiss of his own gasped breath was the only thing he could feel. For him there was only a sense of being, the caress of his life's breath, and an encroaching, deathly, cold. The cold was like an overhanging, not on top of him, but ominously close. Its presence made his lips chatter, and had he known, the artic caress made his skin go white. "Wh… where am I?"
"Oh, an inquisitive one! Ya must have been as curious as hell to keep it here!"
Limbs twined around him, his own. He pulled them over his frame, or what he presumed to be his own body. The move was one of desperation, a futile instinct barely remembered. Instinct was purpose mired in survival, but even that knowledge was quick to fade...
For the touch of the one he grasped was as chill as the unseen world about him.
"Wanna know your name, 'fore I send you on your way?" The voice purred into his ear.
Shuddering, he knew only that he wanted to let go, to push away, but there was no getting away. Flight was not an option. There earth to push his feet against, no ground to scramble across, and having no place to begin there was no destination to call away. In this world there was no distance, save the immediate.
"You're a heartless, h-e-a-r-t-l-e-s-s, got it memorized?"
The cold intensified, became a point over his chest and drove in. He screamed, or rather wheezed, in shock. He was beyond screaming, even as he was beyond feeling. Still the sentiment was felt, and the world shivered, the darkness rippled. The freezing touch went in deep and hard, and grabbed at the sole writhing mass of warmth that he knew was his own. His mouth opened, a silent scream this time, and in desperation he snatched at that which strove to steal all he had left.
All the warmth, all the life, all that was left, he reached for it even as the dark tried to rip it away.
In response to his will his hand closed over the dark, not over what was lost, because what was lost could never be reclaimed. His hand closed over something, and that something shivered in response to his touch.
"Aint got nothin' memorized..." He croaked, his grip tightened, the way a dying man's hand closes over the weapon that killed him. "Y.. you... get.. back.. 'ere..."
The dark was obliging. Shadow and nothing folded over him, cut through him and his emptiness. Dark became his everything and nothing.
As did he. Following suit was his only recourse in this no-land never-land. He became everything and... nothing.