A/N. Where's the Xaldin love? A tribute to the lancer, enough said. Poems belong to me.
Force
Who calls the wind into his hand? Commands the lances; a steel-tipped fan Of the air he makes a lethal knife
Sparing not the bravest life.
Who crafts his spears as a throne?
The wind belongs to him alone
Those who oppose do pay dear
For he will be their darkest fear.
Six lances.
A hurricane.
All enough to decimate.
Xaldin contemplates this on his high-backed chair. He's alone in the meeting hall. Despite the fact he is to embark on a mission today, he does not think it would be his last.
It would.
Demyx had gone. Larxene, Zexion, Vexen, Marluxia have gone. But then they were betrayers. Fighting over Riku and Sora like they were collectibles. Why not just destroy Riku and Sora? Toys, that's what they were. By this time Xaldin was sure they would have left the previous world and were on their way back to the Beast's Castle. Pathetic. They had to put themselves into all his plans. This time, he would go.
Destroy them.
Merrily he smirked, despite not having a real heart, he could always pretend. In truth, the whole Organization was simply an act.
He arrives at Beast's Castle via portal. The darkness closes behind him as he steps out. The courtyard around is silent.
Then the keyblade is flung at him, he sees them running towards him. What harm can a mere fowl, dog or even a boy do to him? And of course, the Beast could be easily manipulated. Xaldin was supreme. He summons his lances, and the wind blows around him. Ebony dreadlocks trail in the wind. There was something so beautiful about it all. About the killing.
The Superior would be pleased.
He summons a hurricane. The keyblader's friends are long gone, over the balcony of the courtyard they fall.
His six lances move together. He smirks at the boy. They start to spin like a drill, spinning, spinning. The air gathers in a heavy rush around him, he can see the mist. The boy looks vaguely afraid. He launches the lances, it hits the target. He smiles in triumph but the keyblade embeds itself into his back. Pain sears through, but yet he smiles. He damaged the boy still.
He gives a primal scream of hate as the lances vanish. And then he too fades into black. The boy revels in his triumph. Too soon.
Because wind never fades.
And then, somewhere along the edge of the balcony the darkness starts to gather. It gathers and calls the wind once more. The wind would not take the loss of its master. The pieces of darkness draw into a mass, and there he stands again.
Xaldin is supreme.
Who lives; immortal, on the wind?
Each battle lost is now a win
The foes; they think it is his fate
But they are wrong; his strength is great.
Who sits upon his alabaster seat?
Strives to kill; lest his heart be complete
Who cares not about sins atoned
The power belongs to him alone.