A/N: This little bunny bit me on the ass a few nights ago as I was perusing the KH crossovers. I don't know if this is really what a crossover between Kingdom Hearts and Hellraiser would be like, but this is my little offering. If anyone comes across any others, let me know, I'd like to read them. KH1!Ansem is my absolute favourite character of anything, video game or manga or what have you. So the opportunity to write about him and my favourite horror movie icon was just too tempting; it had to be done. And do bear in mind that this is not Ansem the Wise, but the original Ansem, Xehanort's Heartless, who will always be the only true Ansem to me. In Hellraiser terms, this is kind of canon with the first movie and the novella, and even some elements of the comics. ...Maybe? I dunno, I'm playing fast and loose with such things to start with, just accept it and move on. Besides, anyone that plays around with Hellraiser starts putting their own spin on it; look at the movies themselves. Timing this was difficult, because of the second movie; the Cenobites kind of die at the end, after all, and I don't know how much time there was between that and the end of the first movie, after Kirsty throws the box into the fire. I figured there was at least a few days, so... yeah. I tried to keep everyone IC... did I succeed?
I might write another Hellraiser/Kingdom Hearts crossover; I dunno yet. This didn't strike me as being quite enough for a Hellraiser fic. Needs more blood and temptation. And I've got some original Cenobite characters I just love playing around with, so I'd like to let them out of the Labyrinth to play. Oh well, it was a first attempt. Let me know how it went. Oh, and if anyone remembers what colour the derelict's eyes really were, please tell me; I couldn't remember, or find any pics of him on the interbutt, and I didn't have my DVD of the first movie handy. Derp.
I do not own anything except the concept and writing of this fic. Kingdom Hearts and Ansem belong, sadly, to Squeenix (if I owned it, Ansem would have had way more screen time and would have been a boss to be reckoned with); Hellraiser and the Cenobites belong to Mr Clive Barker, the patron saint of Weird Shit.
Those eyes, pale and empty of anything, thought or emotion or sanity or being. He could tell that they bothered the humans walking by; their paces quickened, gazes averted, doing their best to ignore the disconcerting figure on the sidewalk. This derelict was different from the other beggars he'd encountered; this one held no sign imploring passerby to spare some change, or warning of the coming end of the world, held no cup with a few coins rattling in the bottom. Madness, in its purest form, rolled off of him in waves.
And yet there was something, beneath the grime coating him like a second skin, that implied some kind of order, some governing force outside his mind. Something controlled him, though it wasn't perhaps his mind. So too was there some sort of darkness about him that was completely different from his own; it was older, somehow, and more dangerous, more seductive. He wondered what the derelict was; clearly not human, at least not entirely. The derelict was easily the most... unusual? peculiar? thing he'd seen so far; he wondered what it was about him. He seemed entirely at home in the shadows, much to the chagrin and horror -yes, horror, how odd- of the Heartless already calling them home.
Suddenly, he was aware of the derelict's eyes on him. He frowned. No one should have been able to sense him, let alone see him, hidden as he was deep within the shadows of the alley. The derelict was obviously different from the rest of these humans, yes, but still... and then those blue eyes moved away, and he realized he hadn't been seen at all, that the derelict's gaze was merely sweeping the street like the beam of a lighthouse. He was clearly searching for something, but just what remained a mystery.
The derelict moved away, perhaps to find another street corner to haunt, and Ansem deemed it safe to step out of the shadows. He did so gradually, not wishing to draw attention to himself before he had to. His senses returned, hearing coming first; the sounds of cars and horns and passing humans and city hubbub abruptly shattered in his ears like cannon fire, dimming as his ears adjusted from the soundless world of the shadows. Next came scent, and he wished it had taken its time, for the city reeked of refuse and oil and steel, all the stink of any urban area. Finally came touch. The stifling heat and humidity of the city pressed on him like leather, nearly instantly bringing sweat to his face and neck. He cursed his long silver hair, amber eyes narrowing in disgust.
Almost as quickly came the local Heartless. They were pitiful, weak-looking things, which made sense in a perverse way; the population of Heartless was probably too great for the city to sustain. Their little paws scrabbled at his coat and trousers, begging for his attention. He stooped to their level and let them cling to him. Their rubbery flesh was cool and smooth, like plastic bags full of snow. He did not mind their pressing against him, even in the city's heat. He listened intently to their sibilant whispers, as they told him of a great power that had recently come to the city. There had been a house in the suburbs they refused to go near, saying it was cursed even to them. There had been a man there, a man with a terrible darkness in his heart, one which even the Heartless had been unable to bear. It was too bestial, too untamed.
But he had died, how the Heartless couldn't say, and for a little while there had been peace at the house. But then the man's brother and his treacherous wife had moved in, and something had happened and the darkness had come back, thicker and more brutish than before. They did not know what had ultimately happened, for they still refused to go near it. He wondered what it was that disturbed the Heartless so.
He allowed them his company for a few more moments, and then rose, shedding black paws like a cloak. The tale told by the local Heartless held no terror for him, for why should it? He was the most powerful Heartless of all. There was precious little in the worlds that could terrify him. He regretted not bringing any other Heartless with him; he wondered how they would react to the darkness in this house. Only his ever-present Guardian had come, and it was dormant outside of battle.
"I will visit this house," he mused aloud. "Perhaps there is something there that I might make use of." Ignoring the protests of the other Heartless, he stepped back into the shadows, following a peculiar thread of darkness he'd sensed on arrival but had dismissed.
The thread strengthened and thickened the further he followed it. It led straight out of the city, to a rather well-to-do estate of large houses with bricked-in yards. He stepped out into the shadows of one of these, looking up at the house. There was nothing immediately apparent that should cause any alarm. He knew, though, that appearances could be deceiving; whatever scared the Heartless was within, not without. He stepped boldly to the door and shoved it open.
The house was damaged inside, plaster fallen from the ceiling and the wallpaper scratched along the staircase. Now he could sense the darkness, and it reminded him of the derelict in the street. It was raw power, thrumming with an energy he hesitated only slightly to identify as sexual. He could see why the other Heartless were afraid; this kind of darkness was unique. He had never sensed it on any other world. But he realized it was starting to fade, that a certain emptiness only found in abandoned houses was beginning to replace it.
He wandered aimlessly through the first floor, noting how un-lived-in the house felt. Others had lived here, according to the Heartless, but they had not lived there long. He did find, however, photographs. Many depicted a man with an open, smiling face and a woman with heavily-lidded eyes and a slightly sardonic twist to her smile. Others showed a young woman, beautiful and dark-haired. He spotted, at the back of the cluster of captured moments, a photo of the open-faced man and another, presumably his brother. The other man was dark-haired, with a jaded air evident even in the picture, as if he'd seen everything and done everything and had nothing left to interest him.
The back of his neck prickled, and he spun about, hair and coat swirling behind him. Nothing was there, but he thought he'd felt something pass by, something... disturbing. He set the photo back on the table and headed upstairs. The darkness grew as he reached the second floor. Here the wallpaper was the most damaged, ripped and torn and stained with something deeply unpleasant. One room in particular gave off a certain evil aura, and he glanced in but briefly at the bloodstained mattress. There seemed to be nothing else about that floor, so he continued to the third.
He knew he'd reached the center of the house's darkness then. One door stood ajar, and it opened to a dark, musty room, the windows covered with paper and yellowed tape, the air thick with a disgusting reek of dead meat. In the corner was a cluster of candles, melted down to wax stumps. Something was gathering in that room, he realized, whatever was causing this darkness. A grin curved his lips as he braced himself for its arrival.
Within moments, the unnatural darkness coalesced in the opposite corner before it thickened into a man. Or what had once been a man; only his shape showed any sign of his previous life. He was tall and broad, clearly powerful, clad in some dark material that resembled leather but for its rotten smell, which faintly underlay a heavy scent of vanilla. His entire head and face were covered in an intricate, perfect grid, pins driven into every intersection. Bone saws, knives, and scalpels hung from his garment, crusted with old blood. His eyes were deep black, like oil pits. Like the derelict, he was dark and ordered, though the darkness was far thicker about him. The sexual aspect was more pronounced, likely a result of the being's terrible, repulsive glamour.
"Who are you?" Ansem asked, all too ready to summon his Guardian should this visitor wish to fight. "Or, more precisely, what are you?"
The newcomer cocked his pin-covered head. "I could ask you the same," he said. His voice was lower even than Ansem's, and infinitely more dangerous. Ansem realized the other Heartless were right to fear this place, if creatures like this were to be found here. There was something about him that went even deeper than the darkness of the heart; this fellow did not seem to have a heart or even the empty hollowness of a Nobody. It was as though he'd never had a heart to begin with. "Your presence is a disruption. I should not be here again."
Ansem cocked an eyebrow. "I get the feeling neither of us should," he said. "Your darkness is as much a disruption as my presence. You are unnatural. My darkness has been here as long as humans have ever borne ill thoughts against one another. But yours... it is frightening even to my Heartless."
"And mine as long as humans have wished to taste the fruit of forbidden pleasures," the other countered, a slight grin coming to his eyes. "I am not the only one. We have always been here, and we always will be. We are the snake in the Garden of Paradise. Whatever your Heartless might be is irrelevant. So long as someone wants us, we will be here, offering pain and pleasure and whatever can be found in between."
Ansem frowned contemplatively. "I have never heard of creatures like you," he said. "To what is your purpose? What are you? You are not a Nobody, nor a Heartless; I might even go so far as to say that you never had a heart to lose."
"We are the Cenobites," the other answered. "We are unique to this world. We can only come here through a schism, an opening in the world created by a certain item."
"So how are you here now? You were here, you said as much yourself, and I can sense it. I have used no special item. What let you in?"
"Likely you," the pin-headed one said. "You are not meant to be here. Your presence disrupts the order of things. It opens doors that should stay closed. I know what you are, Heartless; your kind is known to us in Hell. This world was never meant to know of you; it is not capable of knowing you. Your Heartless are not weak because there are too many; they are weak because, while they represent the opposite of the light, they were not intended for this world." He flicked his wrist, and a chain ending in a barbed hook shot from the shadows and buried itself in the loose cloth of Ansem's sleeve. "I warn you, Heartless; we are the only darkness this world needs."
Ansem glanced at the chain. "I have no wish to fight," he remarked. "I shall move on; there is nothing for me here. But likewise, Cenobite, I warn you:" A shadow coiled up from the corner and sliced the chain in half. It clattered to the floor. "I am not as weak as the Heartless here. Do not trifle with me."
The two eyed each other for a moment, like two dogs trying to decide if the other was worth it. The Cenobite broke the stalemate first; he turned away from Ansem.
"Tell those other creatures of yours to keep away from this house, even after my darkness fades," he said. "Should they come here, they might weaken the boundaries between this world and Hell. We are not the worst that Hell has to offer."
Ansem wondered for the first time about the other's use of the multiple pronoun. Then he heard, or thought he heard, a faint chattering, like the clicking of teeth, coming from one of the darker corners. He inclined his head to the Cenobite. "Should you find your way to one of my worlds, I would be... grateful... for any assistance you might offer. Given the opportunity, I shouldn't mind learning of your world from you."
Ansem turned to leave. He got as far as the door, when the Cenobite said, "Take care you do not learn of it firsthand." Ansem glanced at him, then at the hook and several inches of chain still hanging from his sleeve. He opened his mouth to reply, and thought better of it. He left the room without another word.
Pinhead watched him leave, standing in the middle of the room. From the shadows, Female, Butterball, and Chatterer looked to their leader.
"Should we pursue him?" Female asked.
"I think not," Pinhead replied. "He did not summon us. I do not think we would even come if he did; we are bound to human desires, after all." He looked to the other three. "Come, let us away back to Hell. Doubtless we've work to do."
And with a lingering scent of vanilla and rot, the four demons vanished.