A/N: So this came out of playing waaaay too much Kingdom Hearts. I noticed how everything in this game is neutered For Your Protection (since it is both Disney and E-rated)- meaning that (among other things) since it's Not Safe to play with knives, Sora has to save the world with the in-combat equivalent of a baseball bat. In any case, the whole thing may make no damn sense. Or it might be great. I really can't tell at this point- do me a favor, O Reader, and give me your opinion.
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It doesn't hurt the first time, when Sora is alone on the beach but for the percolating monsters at his feet, and the Keyblade turns in his palm like an old friend come home. Any other emotion is gone in the floodtide of adrenaline and fear, and he charges berserker at the shadows, throwing them head over heel. They came at him, and he at them, and an arrangement was made without speaking, and so they all collided for better or worse.
It hurts when Goofy desperately flips a Blue Rhapsody into the retaining wall, in the Third District one day. The wizard hits the stone with a crunching thud next to Sora's head and flutters to the ground like a leaf. He watches warily- will it cast?- and sees the lamplight eyes fade out, and the tattered body melt away with a sigh.
It hurts when he sees the scorch marks on the air soldiers, wings burnt to a crisp, clumsy and breakable on the ground. Donald tends to use ice on flying opponents- the extra weight makes it harder for them to keep afloat- and the fliers sound like glass when they crash-land. Sometimes, however, Blizzard (or Blizzara, or Blizzaga) will not do, and the mage summons fire, or thunder, and the aerials come down with charred shoulders and twitching limbs. Sora and Donald finish them as fast as they can, before any can complete their stumbling attempts to regain the air.
It hurts when a Defender is laid out on the ground, shield broken, armor cracked, and Sora has a moment to pause before driving the Keyblade through its chest.
It does not hurt when Maleficient rears up one last time and collapses, dragon's wings slapping against the ground. Sora and Goofy and Donald stumble towards the wheezing head. They bring their weapons down on the neck, one last time, and again, and again until it dissolves into spiritflesh beneath their blows, and Donald throws an Elixir on Sora just before he passes out.
It hurts when they have to fight their way out of an ambush, Sora leading the way, and he can feel shadowflesh and shadowbone cracking beneath the blunt edge of his blade. (He had seen Leon, once, after a match in the Coliseum, bruises swallowing his back, Aerith healing three pulverized ribs- but Sora carries the lancing scars of his opponent's Gunblade under his shirt, and the bruising marks of Cloud's blade, and a series of parallel lines up one leg where Yuffie had winged him with her Conformer.) For whatever reason, the Keyblade has no edge, and Sora has to hit until something breaks beneath his hands.
It hurts, most of all, after they have left the Bastion, Kairi by his side, and he can still remember how the world looked through the shine of those insect eyes. There's Shadows infesting the Synth Shop when they get back, and Sora automatically goes for the Keyblade, and automatically swipes the blunt edge through the field of darkness surrounding him, and they fall, of course, and then he goes for one across the back.
It had been watching Goofy warily, circling, and was not expecting an attack from the rear. The Keyblade catches it, thrusting it backwards, and its head snaps back and there is a noise, thin and keening, high in his ears, and Kairi grabs him and shakes him, and Sora stops screaming. There are tears on his face. He drops his weapon and the shadow sinks to the floor and disintegrates.
I don't want to. He is folded into a corner in the Small House, arms around his knees, the Keyblade laid in front of him. I don't want to do this. I have to. I know I have to, and I will. But- he does not know what he is doing, exactly, praying or begging or simply wishing desperately-but make me merciful, please, a clean death, a quick death, a good death, a merciful one, fast and clean, I don't know what these shadows are, humans, friends, souls, what they see. I know. I don't know. I know, please, please, please, I know it is for the common good, but if I have to bring any kind of death, make it a good one, please, that's the only way I can do this...
Sora falls asleep, finally, in exhaustion, curled on his side, one hand resting on his weapon's hilt.
The next morning, there is an edge on the Keyblade, scythe-sharp, diamond-fine, shining in the light of sunrise. Sora looks at it in silence, almost reverent, then raises a thumb and runs it gently down the edge. The blade drags at his skin. He lifts his palm away.
"Aren't you afraid of cutting yourself?" Kairi asked, when she saw the new Keyblade.
Sora considered this. "A little. I guess."
"Are you going to keep it like this?" She reached a hand toward the gleaming edge, then drew it away.
He shrugged and grinned, a genuine bright smile, then held his weapon aloft in the clean sun.