Chapter One: Rejecting
'Dignity is the moment you realize that no one is your enemy, except yourself.' –Unknown
Cold.
That was the very first thing he felt when he came to. It was this horrible feeling of ice oozing in his veins and through his heart, which hurt as well. There was one thing he was already sure of: he didn't like this feeling of the cold void that was within him. It made him feel both afraid and angry all at once.
But why was he not able to see? Was he sleeping or was he blind? Fear bubbled up in his…form. He would much rather be sleeping than be blind. Did he not have a body? But how could he feel if he didn't have a body? There were so many emotions clashing with one another, each seeking to be the champion with his heart, to be the one that reigned supreme.
However, fear was the one that won out for now. He wanted to see! He wanted to escape this black void around him, to touch and feel. He wanted to live!
Suddenly, the blackness around him faded, allowing him to stretch his body excitedly. Of course, he realized he was airborne, but he was no longer afraid. So long as he had legs, so long as he could see, he wasn't going to let some height make him be afraid.
No, he had come to the conclusion that it wasn't the darkness that made him afraid. He feared the powerlessness that had been associated with not being able to move, to not being able to see.
He feared helplessness.
As he exercised his power so he could float down lazily to the dusty, wind-swept, lifeless plains below—where had this well of strength come from, anyways?—the boy took the time to inspect his surroundings so he could figure out where in the Hell he was.
'Well, this isn't Hell, but it sure ain't far from it,' he thought as his hidden eyes looked around. All he could see for miles was towering pillars of stone, worn by age and wind. There was no plant life, no green, no color. There were also great tears in the ground, signs of a mighty battle—or more correctly, series of battles. Smashed towers, ruined features, and dark burn marks could be seen both close by and far away. This place screamed of pain as well, like thousands of lives had been lost here and the pain they felt was trapped in the very wind.
By now, he had decided he didn't like this place much. Not because of the feeling of pain and misery that seemed to permeated even the very ground and air, but because this was boring. Boring like studying one's hand boring.
Speaking of which, which did his hands look like? What did he even look like?
Looking at himself would have to wait a moment because right now he had realized two people were in front of him. He would inspect them first and then go from there. One step at a time, right?
One was an elderly man, but he could sense the sickening level of power contained within that feeble looking body. He was bald except for thin eyebrows and a curled, silver goatee, with pointed ears and piercing yellow eyes. He had broad, hunched shoulders and a crooked back. His attire consisted of a white and black coat with a red inner lining, which was worn over a white shirt with two thin black belts. The man wore white gloves, covering his hands from the harshness of the land. There were black cloth pants and calf-high black boots to complete the picture before him.
Before he could inspect the other person, a boy around his age, the man spoke in gravel, rough voice that could make babies cry.
"Empty creature from Ventus riven...to you, the name Vanitas shall be given," the man said with a slight growl, making the newly christen 'Vanitas' bristle in anger. How dare he think he could name him? He wasn't empty, either, judging from all the rage that now bubbled up in his heart. And didn't care how strong this guy was, he was not going to let anyone boss him around!
"Really, old man? You see me and that's the first thing you think? If we judged books by their covers, I would think you're a stripper who's been out of the business too long and is trying to get back in," Vanitas sneered at the ancient man before him, watching with dark enjoyment as anger twisted the man's face. He was going to have to remember that one for future references.
Vanitas quickly came to regret the words that had rushed unfiltered from his mouth because the moment he back talked, the old man summoned a rather deadly looking weapon he hadn't spotted when he was running his mouth.
A weapon which now was smashing into the helmet Vanitas was wearing. Vanitas rolled for a good fifty feet from the overwhelming powerful blow, his entire world spinning as he started to slide along his back. As he came to a halt, Vanitas found a foot pressing down painfully on his chest, rewarding his attacker with a groan of pain mixed in with coughing and sputtering.
"Now you will keep your mouth shut and listen to me very carefully, boy," the dark figure towering over Vanitas hissed, grinding his foot painfully into Vanitas's suit. How could such a feeble looking old man be so damn strong?
"Your name is Vanitas; I am your Master. I, Xehanort, created you. Sending you back to nothingness is something I can effortlessly do," Xehanort warned the creature he had forged from half of his pupil's heart. The creature of darkness promptly stiffened up at the threat, clearly understanding Xehanort was fully capable of carrying out his actions. If words didn't do it, then the crackling energy around Xehanort's Keyblade shored up any doubt, concreting the absolute authority in Xehanort's threat.
Finally, Vanitas replied, "…yes, Master." He had no desire to die.
Pleased with Vanitas's submission to his command thus far, Xehanort removed his foot and allowed Vanitas to stand up. Vanitas stood up slowly, body aching from the head-shot he had just endured. He was thankful for his mask because he couldn't get the twisted expression of anger and disgust off of his face.
Did he even have a face? He was still wondering what he even looked like, despite all the hate tearing into him.
"Now, Vanitas, look on the weakness I have cast off of you," Xehanort stated to his new 'pupil,' causing the dark being, who still didn't even know what he looked like fully yet, to shift his gaze over at the motionless body of the young boy from before. Vanitas started to move over to the boy, mostly to inspect him and figure out why he felt a connection to him.
'Who are you…?' Vanitas thought out of curiosity as he used this time to ignore Xehanort.
Vanitas was detailed oriented, oddly enough. He much preferred knowing as much as he could, especially if the object or person held some level of importance to him.
The first thing that caught Vanitas's attention was how lifeless and pathetic the boy's eyes where. Moving along, he noticed the strange jacket the boy wore, with white on the right side, black on the left side, with a red, pleated collar. Underneath this, there was a grey vest with a single button and several white, angular patterns on it. A third layer was under this, in the form of a plain, high-necked, black shirt.
Over all of this were two crisscrossing straps on his chest, a silver Keyblade Master emblem mounted there. How Vanitas knew what it was—or anything was, frankly—was beyond him. A frown came to Vanitas as he wondered, only briefly, if he had felt cold because this boy was cold. He had to be, wearing three damn layers of clothing in a damn desert.
There was a chunk of dull green and grey armor on his midsection, with another piece of armor on his left shoulder. His pants were colored in various shades of grey, black, and white. He also wore an ornate, dull green and grey piece of armor on his upper-left arm. And his shoes! Did he just armor some sneakers and call it good?
As Vanitas inspected the boy, in asked a curious tone, "Who is he?"
Xehanort approached Vanitas from behind slowly, de-summoning his Keyblade for now, confident in his control over Vanitas. Answering as he walked, the ancient Keyblade Master replied, "His name is Ventus. You were once apart of him, but he was too weak to utilize the darkness that you are. I separated you from him, giving you life."
Vanitas heard the boy's name and felt something swirl to life in his chest. It was an emotion that made him want to cry. It was sadness at the fact he had been separated from the light, from his other half. However, if Ventus had been weak…
The sadness he was feeling was soon stomped out by much more dark feelings, like a dark pit that swallowed up the weak emotion of sadness. Something shifted in Vanitas's chest, causing his hands to clenched inward, become fists.
Hatred and contempt replaced his sadness and he lashed out on these feelings, kicking the limp form of Ventus roughly, sending the defenseless boy flying through the air. Ventus hit the ground hard twenty feet away, landing with a crunch on his side. He didn't even react to this, making Vanitas even more furious as he couldn't even defend himself he was so weak; just like how he couldn't defend himself from Xehanort's power. He was weak and Vanitas was weak for being from Ventus.
Xehanort came to a halt away from Vanitas as darkness swirled around him, black, purple, and blue tendrils around him like angry snakes. Watching with a cold interested, Xehanort elected to allow an uncontrolled series of events to happen that would further his own plans.
"Then I'm glad you separated me from that waste of human flesh. What a weakling. I can't stand being around him!" Vanitas hissed with fury, summoning his own weapon with a flash of darkness. Vanitas looked at it for a moment, seeing something that gave him a good vibe: a weapon, akin to Xehanorts, but so much more.
Its name was Void Gear.
It was his Keyblade, it was a part of his identity. It was red, black, and powerful, matching how Vanitas felt about himself. Its teeth and head were black, with a bloody red outline and possessed a round, cog-like shape. The handle was red while the guard was like a mirror of the teeth. The shaft was predominantly colored with shades of grey, broken up by a copper-colored gear in the center, with two intersecting, black chains wrapped around it. Two more chains were wrapped around the base of the shaft in a similar fashion. Void Gear had eyes too, one located in the head of the blade and one embedded in the hilt. There was a chain is comprised of three small, copper gears and charm at the end resembling two halves of a gear arranged in an S-shape.
"Why was I created, you old coot?" Vanitas demanded from Xehanort, turning to face him as many emotions once again flooded Vanitas's mind. He wanted answers, but Xehanot was silent. The silence only made Vanitas more upset, making him growl loudly, like a predatory cat ready to pounce on his prey. Little did he know, his emotions were about to translate into something much bigger.
Xehanort watched coldly as the creature of darkness started to birth more darkness around, the negative emotions he was feeling creating monsters. Several humanoid beasts with predominantly blue skin appeared around the dark boy, making him look around rapidly. He snarled with anger at the recently spawned things, shouting commands at them, "Get away from me, you scrappy pieces of shit!"
What Vanitas immediately loathed about these guys was those red eyes set in sorrowful expressions. The creatures, rather than run from him, clambered around him like puppies to a mother, only further fueling is anger. With a roar of pure rage, Vanitas began to slice and slash. His swings were vicious and wild, but against opponents that did nothing to defend themselves, it was brutally effective. Cutting down the entire group of monsters, Vanitas saw flecks of darkness spraying from them as the teeth of Void Gear tore into their hides.
He hated these things. They had such expressions of weakness that reminded him of his own weakness and self-loathing. In them, he saw himself and that made him become unhinged. So he hacked and slashed until all the Scrappers were gone.
Vanitas was panting as the monsters faded away, dying into wisps of darkness. He was starting to lose any semblance of patience with what was happening around here! He wanted answers; he wanted understanding, not more confusion. But no one was forthcoming with the things he desire, and that made him further outraged.
Before he could process what had happened with the randomly appearing monsters, a horrible level of pain torn into his chest, making his legs buckle out from under him. Vanitas lost his grip on his precious Void Gear, which clattered on the hard ground next to him. Vanitas toppled onto all fours, screaming in pain as the pain of the monster's death flooded back into his mind.
You killed us.
We are your creations. Why?
Save us.
You did this…
Why? Why? Why? WHY? WHYWHYWHYWHYWHHWYHDH…
Eventually, the screaming, sorrowful voices of those he had presumably murdered became a high-pitched whining noise that only Vanitas could seem to hear; Xehanort didn't react to the wailing that Vanitas was hearing, as he was only watching with those piercing yellow eyes. His vision darkened as he nearly blacked out from the pain, little dancing blobs of black invading his vision as if to mock him for his weakness.
Soon, he was on his side; dry heaving as he struggled to regain his composure. What had happened there? He didn't understand why he felt so much pain when he had destroyed those things that had appeared around him. What did those voices meant by he had created them? How the Hell did he create them when he knew hardly anything about himself?
A cycle was beginning to take root. The confusion and fear led to anger, which led to rage, hatred, contempt, panic, and many more negative feelings. These overwhelming feelings Vanitas was experiencing formed into monsters, something the highly knowledgeable Xehanort quickly understood, but the newborn Vanitas couldn't even fathom. How could he? Vanitas was like a baby with pre-determined knowledge and instincts, but still lacking understanding. He had so much to learn, but he was learning in a way that could only bred resentment and pain.
Getting onto all fours, the faceless boy fumbled to find and grab his Void Gear. That was his safety, his blanket, the only thing he wanted. Without it, Vanitas felt vulnerable and open to attacks.
Soon, his fingertips brushed against cool metal that tingled with magic, signaling him that he had found his weapon. Grabbing it, Vanitas rose to his feet sluggishly, clutching at his helmet as a migraine began to pound away in his head.
When his hands pulled away from his helmet and he could see clearly again, Vanitas recoiled in horror, irritation, and anger. His eyes didn't deceive him; that much was certain. He was once again surrounded by more monsters, but these ones where different looking than the last batch, with only the blue color they had being the same as the monsters before them. These ones where small in stature, with triangle shaped heads that had a pair of lightning bolt-shaped antenna. They had legs and arms that ended in points, lacking digits all together.
Their eyes looked angry, however, blazing with boiling anger. Their motions matched their expressions: twitchy, jerky, and erratic.
Vanitas didn't even speak this time, letting out a fierce, bestial cry as he leaped at the large group, creating a purple shockwave of darkness that vaporized the monsters instantly upon impact, Void Gear piercing into the ground. The ground was burnt by the explosive force of the attack, darkness peeling away a good hunk of the ground. A smoking crater was left behind after the conclusion of the attack, being several inches deep.
Moments after the newest group of monsters fell by Vanitas's increased display of power, Vanitas was in agony, screaming at the top of his lungs as he tossed his head back. How could he be feeling so much pain while hearing the now furious voices of the dead assaulting him, taunting him, mocking him relentlessly? Vanitas was on the verge of losing his mind.
With a snarl, his attention was back on Master Xehanort. Vanitas tore Void Gear out of the ground with a bellow of rage, murderous intent seizing him. Vanitas was gripping his weapon so hard his bioorganic suit he was clothed in began to tear, revealing black skin under it. He took several shaky steps at the golden eyed man, the dark boy's entire frame quivering with hate, lingering feelings of contempt for his own displays of pain adding to the emotional overload.
"Damn it, old man, give me some answers! I want some answers right now!" Vanitas commanded Master Xehanort, forgoing any pretense of submission to the elderly Keyblade bearer's power. Xehanort watched silently, however, as more monsters, dozens of the small blue monsters and Scrappers, along with a new type that was taller, bottom heavy, blue, and looked a fist fighter, appeared around Vanitas. The newest monster type was much more impressive looking than the previous two monsters, the creatures looking around lazily as they stood towering over the smaller, puny monsters.
'A superb power, to say the least. Vanitas cannot control the creation of his beasts, born from emotions his newborn heart was never meant to experience so early. However, with some effort, his power can be controlled and be of great use for my ambitions,' Xehanort thought as he watched with an icy stare as Vanitas looked around, in a fearful panic, but also clearly on the verge of completely losing his mind to rage and sorrow. Vanitas didn't know what to do to save himself from the monsters, from the weakness, from anything.
All he knew how to do was attack in a blind fear.
Vanitas flung his Keyblade into the nearest large monster, decapitating it instantly and making it exploded into tendrils of darkness. The spinning weapon flew in a downward arc, flying into a mob of small monsters and tearing them to ribbons. Vanitas rushed through the monsters, punching through the chest of a Scrapper, making it go limp on his arm before it faded away rapidly.
Grabbing his weapon as it came back to him, Vanitas was doing his best at ignoring the immense pain that began to course through his body, using the power of darkness to fire off a horizontal wave of black and purple energy. The arching wave smashed through small monsters, ripping off arms and shattering bodies.
The more monsters Vanitas killed, the more pain mounted in his frame.
And this pain continued to increase more and more as Vanitas kept slashing, cutting, punching, kicking, and breaking the monsters around him. No longer was he using magic to kill the beasts he was spawning. Vanitas had regressed into more primal mannerisms, using his Keyblade and bare hands to kill everything round him.
However, it was a losing battle. The negativity of the emotions Vanitas was overflowing with served to spawn more creatures, which Vanitas struggled to cut down fast enough at this point.
More death, more pain, more creation; it was a cycle Vanitas couldn't escape.
And the cruel Xehanort watched, waiting for his chance to swoop in and play savior to the 'poor Vanitas,' setting forth in motion his plans for the almighty X-blade. Vanitas was one key for unlocking the door to the glory beyond. With the X-blade, light and darkness could be in perfect balance, all under one banner.
Vanitas, by now, had slaughtered dozens of monsters, one after another. The sounds of death filled the air, coupled with Vanitas's own furious howls. The dark boy was unaware that he was the source of them, the source of his own suffering. He was his own worst enemy, but he never once thought of this possibility.
Lunging at a large fat 'Bruiser,' his Keyblade drawn back above his head, Vanitas cut the Bruiser in half vertically with Void Gear, the two halves falling in opposite directions of one another. Vanitas looked around, darkness smoking around him like angry storm clouds. He was breathing erratically, shaking with agony and rage, underlying fear just below all this rage.
It was in this one moment that the pain finally became too great.
The pain surged so much that Vanitas collapsed pathetically onto the ground, face first, kicking up a puff of dust as he impacted the ground with a dull thump. His entire body had gone limp, much to his abject horror. Void Gear also disappeared with a puff of darkness, adding to Vanitas's bone chilling fear. He was once again powerless and defenseless.
At first he struggled to get to his feet, to do anything, but when nothing happened, Vanitas did the only thing a baby in the body of a young child could possibly do.
He cried.
He was surrounded by never ending monsters that seemed to not fear him at all. He was in so much pain. He was alone, scared, and frightened. He wanted someone to care, to show him a better way. Vanitas wanted someone to tell him he was going to be okay and protect him somehow.
Big, fat tears dripped against the inside of his helmet, as he dared not to show his face to anyone so they could see his tears. But Xehanort watched as Vanitas's body convulsed while he let out powerful sobs; the elderly Keyblade Master knew that Vanitas had broken. He was weak, vulnerable, and ripe for Xehanort's help.
It was time for Xehanort to make his move.
"Dear child, you are in pain, are you not?" Xehanort began as his put on his mask of pity and sadness, gesturing widely with his arms. Vanitas continued to cry as Xehanort spoke, but Xehanort's keen vision didn't miss the sluggish nod from the masked boy. Smiling at this, Xehanort continued his charade of caring for Vanitas's wellbeing.
"If you could, wouldn't you prefer to be free of all the agony, of the misery you are feeling?" Xehanort inquired of Vanitas, who sobbed back weakly, "Y-Yes."
"You want to be powerful, do you not?"
"Yes…" came the reply full of conviction and desire.
"Then, my boy, I can give you all of this and so much more: I will train you and make you strong," Xehanort said with increase fervor, like a priest riding on the emotions of his flock. "And then, you can go and forge the all-powerful X-blade. In the X-blade, you will find your salvation from this dreary universe of weakness and hatred against the dark!"
"But you will be more than that…you shall be everyone's salvation!" Xehanort proclaimed to Vanitas, whose eyes widened unbeknownst to the speaker before him. Vanitas could be everyone's salvation? He could be not only that, but the strongest? All he had to do was train in order to help mold this X-blade?
Vanitas knew he wanted that freedom. He craved it with all the fire in his belly. If he had the X-blade, he would free of anyone's reigns or strings. He would be free and everyone would fear him; respect him.
This was all Xehanort needed to offer to the weary mind of Vanitas. Getting to his feet with renewed vigor, Vanitas coldly ignored the swarm of creatures around him. Maybe Vanitas had them wrong: maybe, without understanding it, these monsters respected him, hence why they didn't flee him. He had been stomping them out because of a stupid misunderstanding, all because he showed weakness.
"I will create the X-blade, Master. I'll show you I ain't weak like that kid Ventus!" Vanitas stated with conviction, certain of himself. He stood to his full height, re-summoning Void Gear to him. The weapon appeared in his right hand, causing Vanitas to feel much more at ease.
'If I feel this comfortable with Void Gear, I can only imagine how I will feel with the X-blade,' Vanitas thought as he stood calmly before Xehanort. Whatever the future held, while it did make Vanitas anxious and nervous, meant nothing so long as he knew his goal and his purpose.
Xehanort was not showing it as he nodded to Vanitas in mock understanding, but inwardly, he was smiling. It had been so simple to convince this creation of his to work towards the goal of the X-blade. So long as Xehanort had control, Vanitas was nothing more than a puppet. He was already moving to Xehanort's tune.
Looking around, Vanitas's gaze landed on Ventus's motionless form. Ventus hadn't moved at all during recent events, like he had no care in the world. Vanitas felt his stomach twist out of pity and then disgust. How could he have come from that pathetic heap?
Then, for Vanitas, it suddenly clicked.
'Of course. That stupid, worthless kid is the reason why I'm in pain. Why I am weak. Once he's gone, I can get rid of my weakness…!' Vanitas thought with sudden realization, glee filling his heart. Once Ventus was out of the picture, he could reap the full benefits of Xehanort's training. Ventus would only hold him back.
Pointing Void Gear at Ventus, all Vanitas said to Xehanort, roughly at that, "Get him away from me. I don't want that discarded weakling even remotely near me."
Xehanort glanced in curiosity at Ventus, letting out a low hum as he thought about what to do with the blonde. Vanitas did have some point to his accusations, but not in the manner that Xehanort perceived them. Ventus was far too weak for Vanitas to merge with and create the X-blade with; further more, his heart was fractured and the light within was slipping away.
Ventus was dying. Vanitas's darkness would only smother Ventus's dimming light that much faster, expediting the damaged boy's end.
"If that is what you wish, my dear boy. There is a suitable location for Ventus to enjoy his last days, which are few in the making," Xehanort explained to Vanitas while moving over to Ventus, picking the boy up and hefting him over his left shoulder. Piercing eyes settled back onto Vanitas, with Xehanort then ordering him sternly, "You, however, must stay here. Do not leave this area, Vanitas."
Vanitas was fine with this, letting himself rest for now. Flopping down into a sloppy sitting position, the masked boy dismissed Void Gear before gesturing at Ventus with disinterest now. His problem was leaving him, so Vanitas was content for now.
"You don't need to tell me twice, although I would prefer a more comfortable waiting room," Vanitas chimed back at Xehanort, who snorted at the absurd request. With not another word to his newest pupil, although Xehanort used this term only sparingly, the old man called on his own wealth of power. Flicking his left hand out lazily, Xehanort summoned a Corridor of Darkness, a swirling miasma of black, purple, and steel grey coming to life before the old man.
Vanitas did watch this display of power, something Xehanort did so effortlessly to the point it was second hand nature, with childish awe. That was the sort of power Vanitas wanted; the power to do as he wished, the power that would keep him safe and sound. That was what Vanitas craved deeply.
But Vanitas also craved something else.
As Xehanort walked away and into the darkness with no fear, Vanitas felt something else twinge in his heart. The masked boy dismissed it as nothing, but little did he know, Vanitas's heart, as black as it was becoming, wanted something else.
Love.
Vanitas wanted love.