You can tell I said "Screw it, this is going up so they won't be surprised/pissed off later."

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Chapter 13: The Pawn's Part

Solemnly, the dark-haired boy stares into the small pendant he had cupped in his scarred hands. The fine golden chain dangles through the spaces between his fingers, threaded through the blood-red gloves he wore. He had been staring at the heart-shaped pendant for over an hour now, and even then, he couldn't get tired of looking at the tiny picture within.

It was an old, faded picture – probably worn out from being worn around someone's neck so often. The day he had visited her, he had personally snatched it from her. She didn't deserve the picture. He did. It was his by right, considering what she had done to them.

A cold smirk appears on the boy's face as he crushes the locket in his hand, curling his long thin fingers into a tight fist. Rage burned deeply inside, only reinforced by the hatred he felt for the two adults in the picture. What else could he feel towards them, besides betrayal? It was their fault, all of it!

"Damn them!" He hisses venomously, his mouth contorting into a savage snarl. Even now, even with the happy picture of the small family he had lost now in his possession, hate and rage still grew within him.

It was so intense, he could practically feel a bitter iron taste in his mouth at the thought of the two adults who had cast him aside. Even now, he longed for the ancient bladed weapon he had mastered with such difficulty to find its way into the man who had betrayed him, just as his little "friend" had found a lovely nest inside of the woman's heart, driving her almost to the brink of insanity with pain from her newly acquired "illness". Ah, how sweet it was when he learned from the parasite that she was dead! It had almost been a pity when he learned he couldn't toy with her some more.

He chuckles quietly to himself for a moment before placing the broken chain – he had accidentally snapped it when he tore it from her neck; a pity because he had actually wanted to wear it because of its sentimental value to him – back inside of the small crimson pouch he now wore around his neck since that day. Almost in afterthought, he pulls the glossy black helmet off of his head, allowing his dark hair to bask in the glow of the early morning sun on top of the Clock Tower of the town his Master had told him to supervise for a time.

The Master.

The boy's golden eyes narrow slightly at the thought of the old man and, like always, the burning desire to drive his blade deep, deep inside of the old man's bald head was almost overpowering. Oh, he longed to kill him, just as he longed to kill the two betrayers. But for now, the old man would have to stay alive long enough to help him find the missing ones. As much as he hated him, as much as he desired to kill the old man in the most painful, cruelest way possible, the missing ones came first. After all, that was why he had gone with the Master in the first place.

Idly, his gloved fingers play with the black ribbon around his neck, toying with the dark crimson pouch that held the locket. He longed to open it up again, to look at the missing ones and see himself when he had been a child. He never noticed before how strangely beautiful their shared eye color was. After stealing the pendant, he had been mesmerized by the startling sapphire hue that each of them had displayed in their irises. It was almost, but not quite, a pity that he had lost that color so long ago.

Briefly, he brushes a finger against the shadows beneath his eyes, brought on by a lack of sleep and an excess of training. His innocent oceanic eyes had long since faded away, replaced by a harsh, metallic gold. He smirks in amusement. Oh, how they would laugh when they saw him again. He knew that they would. They would greet him with open arms, just like they had when he was little and still had that blue-eyed stare. Then, once they helped him kill the last betrayer and his Master, they would be happy again. He would make sure of it.

He stands up on the ledge, brushing his tight-fitting, red-tinged black body suit off carefully before snatching his fingers away from the pouch. He shakes his head violently, forcing himself to focus on placing that hated black helmet back onto his head and obscuring his features once again.

As he steps into the ancient mansion, he's careful not to knock over any of the cobweb and dust covered furniture, not wanting a repeat warning from his Master. For an old man, he sure did like to talk. He shakes his head, ridding his mind of any defiant thoughts for the moment as he strolls idly past the cracked statues, the only remnants of the previous inhabitants. And a symbol of his master's rage.

He stops, listening calmly. Closing his eyes, he focuses only on the weight of the helmet he carried in his hands, ignoring the screams of his master and the howls of the creatures that he was trying his best not to create. After a moment or two, his master's cries become too faint to hear, as the medicine that he had been given finally takes effect, silencing him for a few hours more, preventing him from feeling the missing part of him.

The boy sighs. Finally.

Now that the old man was dead asleep, he could finally look. Taking care not to wake him up, the boy tiptoes across the room to where a small glass sphere was resting on a filthy blue pillow. The glass itself is completely clean, and glitters in an almost friendly sort of way as the boy looks into it. For a moment, there are no shapes in the glass except for his own. All he can see is his own reflection, his once delicate features twisted with his anger and his hate.

Then it shifts, the clear glass going murky with a thousand more colors than were present in the dank little room. The boy pulls up a chair and looks into the glass even harder, childishly thinking that it would work faster if he wills it. Colors bend and break into fragments, like stained glass in a cathedral

Slowly and delicately, he picks up the glassy sphere and places it firmly on his head, screwing it on tightly until he could no longer see the world anymore. All he could really see inside of the helmet was the shadows in front of him, the ones that marked what he had to do next. He smirks. That was just how he liked it.

And now he could finally get back to school. Ven would be waiting for him there... Ven... and his little brother. He smiles beneath the helmet, wondering exactly how dear little Sora was doing.