A tan, brick street stretched as far as the eye could see with shops and parlors on either side and a rail system running down its center. The reddish-orange blaze of a setting sun painted the sky and bathed the sides of buildings with a bronze glow. The New Orleans street was hauntingly quiet; void of all activity save for two people strolling on the sidewalk. They passed a motel before turning into an alley leading away from the main street. The alley opened into a courtyard at the center of which stood a dying tree with gnarled limbs. The pair, a father and son, approached the tree cautiously.
"Do you see him, Déon?" the father asked while glancing about the deserted area and straightening the tie of his suit.
Déon gave his father a stale "No."
The older man turned to glare at his son. "Did you even look?"
Déon did not respond. Instead he shoved his hands into the pockets of his black trench coat and continued to examine the wicked tree before him.
"This is for your mother," his father pleaded. "You do want to find her, don't you?"
"Sure," Déon said with a shrug.
His father shook his head. "Let's try this way."
Déon followed his father into another alleyway leading further into an unknown area. Scabby vines crawled along the walls like the veins of a ghastly beast. Graffiti covered either side of the alley with voodoo imagery; skulls and shadows watching Déon and his father as they walked. Finally they reached their destination: Dr. Facilier's Voodoo Emporium. Déon's father stepped toward the entrance and raised a wary hand, prepared to knock on the doorway until a voice called out from behind.
"Welcome to my world."
Both Déon and his father turned to look back the way they came to see a slim silhouette with a top hat standing in the shadow of the alley. Dr. Facilier walked out of the darkness and for a moment Déon thought he saw another shadowy person or something following the stranger. It was gone before he could question it.
"How did you-?" Déon's father began, a puzzle on his face. "You weren't there a moment ago."
The doctor grinned. "Just a little parlor trick, no need for alarm." he said while walking around Déon and his father.
"Alright... " Déon's father uttered, hesitance in his voice. "I'm looking for-"
"Shh," Facilier interrupted with a finger to his lips. "Come in, let the cards do the talking."
With that he ducked under the indigo curtain leading to his magic shop, followed by Déon and his father. Violet and crimson colored every corner of the room and the air smelled of spices and ash. Several shelves were lined with all manner of dolls, portraits, bones, and strange instruments. Déon and his father each took a seat across from Dr. Facilier, a deck of oversized cards on the covered table between them.
"So you're from around here?" the doctor asked while raising a card that somehow had a picture of their house on it. "Well, never fear.
I'll make sure that your hopes and dreams draw near!"
"You're from a loving family, you were living happily..." Facilier continued, nearly breaking into song while the cards he wielded changed and danced. "...until your wife and mother happened upon a tragedy?
"Yes, my wife was taken by Darkness." Déon's father admitted.
"You want her back? Well, I can do that!" Facilier cackled, reaching a crescendo. Behind him candles flared and dolls began dancing on the shelves. "The power to find her is within your son, that's a fact!" The doctor concluded, grinning and pointing at Déon.
Déon blinked, unmoved by the voodoo master's show. His father, however, was thoroughly pleased. "Really? That's great!" Wide eyed, he looked at Déon then back to the voodoo doctor. "What do we have to do?"
Facilier smirked and held his hand out to Déon. "Shake my hand."
Déon looked at the doctor and saw the seething taint of his violet eyes. His father looked on eagerly, thrilled at the possibility of seeing his wife again. Such an appealing promise had blinded him to the chance of this being a very bad idea. Who knows what kind of deal they were getting into? Even if it worked, what horrible side effects would this arrangement have? Déon looked over at his father who only gave his best nod of encouragement before turning back to Facilier.
Déon sighed. "Whatever."
The young man clasped hands with Dr. Facilier and his life changed forever. A horrific shock cut through his hand, up his arm and into his chest. First Déon felt as though he had been stricken by lightning. An instant later, he felt nothing at all.
When feeling returned, he found himself laying face down on what seemed to be a solid glass surface. He pulled himself into a kneeling position and looked around, his right hand still numb from the shock delivered by the doctor. Déon looked down to see he was on a crystalline surface of etched glass. Beyond this odd platform was absolute nothingness, an endless dark that extended in every direction.
Déon groaned and stood to his feet, looking down at the platform where he stood to see stained glass portraits of both himself and of people he had never met; his Station of Awakening. While only somewhat familiar with his new surroundings a voice called to him, accompanied by the appearance of a bald man with tan skin, gold eyes and pointed ears.
"Who are you?" Déon asked the man who stalked forward with a sinister hunch in his back.
"I could ask the same of you, boy." The stranger smirked wickedly. "You must be a seeker of Darkness."
Déon glared at the old man, confused. "What?" Unknown to Déon, this moment was his Dive to the Heart and the villain across from him was a remnant of Master Xehanort.
"Do not pretend; I know what you are after," The elder groaned, his left hand behind his back while his right hand hung by his side. "When I assemble the Thirteen, you will not be among them."
A flash of black energy burst from Xehanort's right hand and a spiked sword was forged in its wake. Déon looked on as the villain crept towards him. A similar surge of power formed in Déon's right hand unexpectedly, again leaving a mysterious sword-like weapon behind. Déon failed to close his hand around the hilt right away. As a result the blade fell away from him and clattered on the glass. He bent down to pick up his sword, which was vaguely shaped like a key, then looked to the stranger and his weapon.
The blades were oddly alike in appearance, Déon noticed as the elder vanished in a sphere of blackness. Déon took his keyblade in both hands and when Xehanort reappeared he raised the weapon to block the incoming attack. Sparks erupted between the two blades and Déon felt the darkness pouring out of Xehanort's eyes. Xehanort pushed forward and Déon fell back, reeling from the keyblade master's might. He hurried to stand then thrust his weapon out, hoping to keep his enemy away.
"Taste defeat!" Xehanort growled before moving to strike twice with his keyblade. His first swipe cut the keyblade from Déon's hand, sending the weapon to crash on the crystal platform. The second blow slashed viciously across Déon's neck, spelling his doom.
Déon clutched his neck and gasped sharply, his heart throbbing in his ears until he realized he had not been harmed. He found himself in his bed at home, the faint glow of dawn peeking through his window. He sat up and touched his neck again gingerly, fully expecting a grievous wound to be there.
He heard his father call to him. "Déon?"
"Yes?" he said while getting up and going to the bathroom. He looked at himself in the mirror and was shocked at what he saw.
"You alright?" his father asked.
Déon naturally had dark skin but his ears were now pointed, his hair had become stark white, and his eyes were now blazing gold. "I'm fine," he uttered after a moment of hesitance. He stared at his reflection and hardly recognized himself.
"Alright," his father said. "Get dressed, we're going out."
Déon looked in the direction his father's voice came from then returned to the mirror. Curious, he looked down at his hands and wondered. The memory of the fight with the strange old man played in his mind. A dark power radiated from his hands, lingering from the weapon forged in his dream.
Was it even a dream at this point? The power the blade left behind was quite real. Where did it come from? How did he have the power to wield it? Déon went to dress himself, wondering if would eve have a concrete answer. He put on a white buttoned shirt, black trench, and slacks before walking downstairs.
"You want something to eat?" his father asked while coming out of the kitchen with a sandwich in hand.
Déon shook his head. "What happened to me?" he asked, referring to the physical changes and the power that now haunted him.
"That's part of your new power," he said cheerfully before taking a bite of the sandwich. "Dr. Facilier said you might look a little different."
Déon frowned but said nothing. His father seemed to hold no concern for his safety.
"Once you get used to it, you'll be able to find your mother," the father reassured. "It's a good thing."
Clearly he wasn't the least bit worried that this 'new power' could be dangerous in some way. Déon watched his father finish eating then followed him out of the house and into town.
Unlike the previous night, the street was bustling in the morning hours. People and cars bustled about the street and a jazz band performed on the corner. Déon and his father approached the band as people sang and danced.
"Wait here, Déon," Déon heard his father say as he walked away from the street corner. "I'm getting a newspaper."
Déons face was plain as he watched his father head over to a stand on the side of the street selling papers, magazines and the like. He turned to the band slowly, smooth tunes filling the area and putting smiles on people faces. His corrupted golden eyes sharpened and he looked away, The joy they felt was lost on him. A saxophone, tuba, and trumpet all played in unison to create a jaunty melody as Déon's thoughts drifted elsewhere. He stared off absently and ignored his immediate surroundings until a voice called to him.
"Hey you," a young female called from behind. "Whatcha doing over there?"
Déon blinked back to reality and turned to look at the girl. She was slighter shorter than him but about the same age, maybe a year or two younger.
"Don't tell me you're not fan of jazz!" she said, nearly singing with the upbeat music.
Déon unfolded his arms to place hands in his pockets. "Not particularly."
"Aw c'mon!" she insisted. "Music is like good food; it brings people together!"
"Is that so?" Déon droned while he stared at the girl.
The girl flashed a smile. "Why don't I show you?" she asked while starting to sway. "My name is Raya."
"Déon." He gave his name to be polite but had no interest in dancing. Raya waved for him to join in the fun of the music but Déon only stood there.
Raya shrugged playfully. "Suit yourself," she sung before going back to the band. Déon watched her sing and dance from afar for a moment afterward. Something about her was magnetic; he couldn't look away. Excessive friendliness usually put Déon off, but this case with Raya was different.
He wanted to say something else but before he could join her and the band he felt a hot spark jolt through his senses. Déon raised a brow, wondering what could possibly cause that sensation.
"What the- ?"
Darkness began to gather in the surrounding area, pools of utter black that bubbled along the ground and oozed a disturbing aura. People cried out and scattered and Déon looked around, watching the darkness spawn around him. Beady yellow eyes glared at him from the other side of the abyss and shadowy creatures proceeded to climb out of the dark. In the chaos of people running and shouting and the appearance of these inky black monsters, Déon once again felt the wicked power of the weapon from his dream.
Creatures of the dark pulled the musicians down into the void but their music continued in an odd, surreal mimicry of the joyous tune it had been moments ago. Through the hazy dark Déon could scarcely make out Raya as the shadow monsters closed on her and himself as well. The keyblade roared. Déon closed his hand around raw twilight as the blade formed from glittering fragments of light and dark.
Minions of the dark approached him; Pureblood Heartless, the natural evil in every heart manifested in physical form. Déon raised his keyblade and prepared to clash with this wicked horde. Such was clearly the purpose of this weapon. The dream induced by Dr. Facilier had given him this power and now was the time to wield it. From the sinister mob of ghouls a lone Shadow heartless charged Déon. The novice keyblader struck the dark creature with his blade and it dissolved into a shadowy mist.
Déon glared at the Heartless, his face absent of expression. The Heartless stared back hungrily.
Finally the enemy attacked en masse and Déon fought them to the best of his ability. Other Heartless that were once attacking other people now focused on him and he destroyed one vile creature after another. He had only used this weapon once before: within the dream.
He had not trained with it properly but somehow he was somehow familiar with his blade. Déon was accustomed to the weight and shape of it and basic attack and defense was instinctual. This allowed him to not be instantly overwhelmed by the Heartless swarm but he was still far from a Keyblade Master. The enemy grew in number and more threatening monsters joined their force. They clawed at Déon from every direction and he realized this was not a battle he would win.
The Keyblade had the power to defeat these enemies; it was the wielder who lacked the proper skill required to do so. However Déon did not falter. He did not drop his keyblade as he did in his Dive to the Heart. He held his weapon firmly and continued to battle, prepared for the bitter end.
"Déon!"
He turned urgently to see Raya through the swarm.
"Run!" she shouted to him before proceeding to do just that.
She fled from the gathering forces of shadow and darkness. Déon did the same, cutting down a few final Heartless before making his escape. He ran from the street corner where the band had been playing and continued down the street for several yards. A quick glance around confirmed that the Heartless had not followed him. He sighed and let his keyblade hang by his side, just now realizing he was sweating and his blood was racing.
Where was Raya now? Déon didn't see which way she had gone. She started running before he did though, so she likely got away safely. Déon wondered what happened to his father as well. All of the nearby shops had been hit by the Heartless. In the panic there was no telling where he went and Déon didn't want to risk going back to look around. The keyblade vanished from his hand; the fight was over.
Tired, alone, and confused, Déon turned to go back home. He had so many questions but no one to ask. The only person who would have any idea what was going on would be Dr. Facilier who Déon did not trust in the slightest. If the first visit was risky, the second one was just idiotic.
"If I never see him again, it would be too soon," Déon groaned.
He reached his home after walking a few blocks and entered, shutting the door behind him. It was odd not having his father be in the house with him but Déon brushed it off, figuring his father would return later that day or maybe the day afterward. He took off his trench coat and kicked off his shoes after going up to his room. Once there he went to his bed and just sat there, unable to think of anything other that what just happened.
He just fought dark enemies with a magical weapon from a nightmarish dream. Was this real life? Was the attack at the street corner just a freak incident or was it the beginning of something he couldn't even imagine? Would those monsters have attacked even if Déon didn't have this new power? This was all the result of his father's endless obsession with rescuing his mother from the Darkness. What was 'the Darkness' anyway? It seemed to be a place but also some form of energy...
It's not that Déon didn't love his mother and want to see her again. It's just something Déon would have made peace with and let go. Not to mention it had been two years since his mother was lost and the memory he had of her had begun to fade. Thinking back Déon struggled to even recall what she looked like. Recent events made him wonder if maybe someone was draining his memory to make him forget on purpose. Or maybe it was just paranoia inflicted by the wicked creatures he had just battled.
The doorbell rang and broke Déon from his deep thoughts. He looked up then stood slowly, thinking as he walked to answer the door. His father wouldn't ring the bell to his own house. One of the neighbors perhaps?
"Déon?" a voice called. "You there?"
Déon opened the door to see the girl from the street corner. "Raya," he uttered.