The room is grey, as it always was.
When he once controlled the eyes through which he peers now, a mere, desperate spectator, he recalls a vague, faint sense of disgust that accompanied the emptiness. It was only the shadow of an emotion; probably the most he'd been able to muster at that time, but it was there.
Now, of course, he can feel any emotion he wants, although it does him no good, locked in here as he is. Sometimes, he can't even see what's going on outside; when the monster's control is too strong, he's consigned to this blank, cloudy expanse that he guesses must pass for what's left of his 'heart.'
He's still 'dressed,' though he's not sure how that really works in here, in the same clothes he was in when he 'died' the first time; white pants, black shoes, blue jumper with the moon emblazoned on its chest. He doesn't think he's aged, either; not internally, at least. His body has aged, but inside remains the quivering, scared heart of a sixteen-year-old introvert whose best friends numbered one in total.
Lea…
He remembers, and weeps. Why not? There's not really anyone here to see him, is there? Except for him, but he doesn't really count. Isa isn't even really sure what he is, but he scares Isa to death. Every time he's near, the young man can feel the darkness and bloodlust rolling off him in waves, and he knows that anyone who comes into contact with the thing that is Saïx will feel the same.
The tears are few, though; even grieving, Isa was never one for crying fits. He scrubs his cheeks roughly and directs his focus back through the eyes that belong to the body that was once his. The monster is consumed with controlling it now; with doing Xehanort's will, so Isa will be able to look without fear of being attacked.
There are thirteen of them sitting on the chairs in that round, grey room. Eleven of them are, as Saïx is, clothed in the black coats characteristic of the Organization, with deep, face-shrouding hoods.
One of them is a young boy, only about fifteen or sixteen years old, clad in red clothing with a sigil 'X' across his chest; the Organization's mark. He sits in the shortest chair, the same one his Nobody once occupied, and his eyes are dull and clouded with darkness.
Trapped within his own shell, Isa feels sorry for Sora. He never asked for this, just as Lea and Isa had never asked for any of this.
The final figure is a bent old man, the madness clear in his gleaming yellow eyes as he reclines comfortably in the chair. His gaunt, lined face is twisted into a broad grin, and he leans his chin on his hand, satisfaction in every angle of his posture.
Isa feels a surge of hatred as he stares out of the monster's eyes at Master Xehanort. That man was the one responsible for everything that had happened to the once-peaceful Radiant Garden; his only business was stirring up conflict between light and darkness to recreate some kind of Keyblade War and unlock the ultimate power that he believed lay in something called 'Kingdom Hearts.'
Isa doubts that any Kingdom Hearts can help this depraved old man. Isa believed in a Kingdom Hearts, once; believed it would fill the empty hole inside his chest after the Heartless stole what belonged to him. It was not to be, though; Xemnas's Kingdom Hearts had been a lie, and the only thing Isa had received was an expulsion from his own consciousness.
Watching, now, Isa beholds the scene that unfolds before him; the old man is delivering some sort of nauseating sermon to the two figures who stand on the Round Room's circular floor. One is a young man with silver hair; the other is a mouse, his round ears drooping slightly and then rising again, moving with his emotions. Both of the figures tightly grip the handles of shining Keyblades, knuckles white with the force of their grasps. The silver-haired young man's gaze darts back and forth between Master Xehanort and Sora, but the mouse, Mickey, is attentive solely to the specter of darkness that lounges on the highest chair.
"What are you doing, boy?!"
The voice barks through the gloom behind Isa, a growl following it; low, deep and menacing. Isa jumps nearly three feet, shivering at the echoes that reverberate through the empty space behind it.
"Leave me alone, Saïx." The command is not at all intimidating or forceful; somehow, Isa can never manage that when he is speaking to the beast. "I'm not hurting anything. I'm just watching."
Saïx growls again; a feral, wild sound that comes from somewhere deep within his throat and chest. Isa doesn't turn around, not wanting to see the insanity imprinted within his double's golden eyes.
"Turn around," Saïx commands.
"No," Isa replies shakily. His fingers are pale and trembling, and he shoves them up under his armpits to hide it, feeling the cold that streams insidiously throughout his ethereal body.
"Defiance will get you nowhere, child," Saïx hisses. "Now turn around and face me."
Isa shivers again, remaining silent. This is the longest he's ever disobeyed one of the beast's orders before.
"I will force you," Saïx says. "And I promise that it will hurt."
Isa swallows. "This isn't your body. You can't tell me what to do."
His duplicate chuckles darkly, and the sound chills Isa to his very bones.
"Ah, but you forget," Saïx purrs. "It may not be my body, but for the time being, it is under my dominion. I am part of Xehanort, and whatever he says will be done, will be done. And I am very much capable of telling you what to do, little boy. So turn and face me, or you will suffer."
Isa wishes he could make himself remain still. He wishes that he, like Lea, could force himself to endure suffering for a noble cause.
Hating himself, he turns around.
Saïx's arms are crossed, and a victorious smirk pulls at the corners of his mouth, exposing his glinting, sharp fangs. The X-shaped scar across his face is livid red and seems to stand out like stage makeup in the gloom, and his golden eyes gleam hungrily as he considers the young man before him, like a hunter appraising his next meal.
"I turned around," Isa says dully, his only remaining concession to defiance. "What do you want?"
"To make sure you are paying attention." Saïx's fanged grin is cruel and vicious. "All you know is about to crumble at the feet of the Master of Darkness."
"Thanks for the reminder." Somehow, Isa still manages to find a trace of his characteristic sarcasm. "Any other little snippets of joyful news for me?"
Saïx chuckles again. "I fail to understand your repeated denials that I am you as much as I am Xehanort. You continue to prove our similarities again and again."
Isa's eyes narrow to slits, emerald irises shining out with the full force of his hatred.
"I'm nothing like you!" he spits.
Saïx shrugs, amusement tingeing the gesture. "Suit yourself," he replies lazily, the constant growl infusing his speech. "I just came to ensure you were watching."
"Usually you hate it when I watch." Isa is confused by this.
"This time is different," the beast says, almost confidentially. "This time, I want you to have the privilege of watching all of known existence collapse into chaos, and of knowing that you had such a vital role in its destruction."
"That was you, not me," Isa says bitterly, though guilt still stabs him in the chest like a blade.
"I would not be here if not for you." Saïx grins madly at him. "So watch, Isa Rain. Watch, and feel the weight of what you have helped to create."
Gritting his teeth, ignoring Saïx's laughter and his own growing nausea, Isa turns his focus back to the outside room.
"The union of light and darkness will be achieved," Master Xehanort is saying, the manic grin still twisting his features. "And now, the thirteenth vessel shall bear my heart like the rest!"
Horrified, Isa watches the shortest chair begin to rise, bearing Sora's limp form up with it. He knows exactly what the old man plans to do to the boy; the same thing he did to Isa so long ago.
Apparently, Mickey and the other young man, Riku, are having the same feelings as Isa.
"No!" Mickey cries, his voice filled with panic.
"Sora!" Riku shouts, eyes widening.
Both of them sprint for the rising throne, but from the already-risen circle, two figures descend in shards of nothingness. Xemnas's hands close tightly around Mickey's wrists, trapping the young mouse king, while Ansem drops to the floor, pinning Riku beneath his knees.
"No!" Isa cries, his own desperation showing through, though no one else can hear him except the nearly-berserk Saïx, roaring with sinister laughter behind him. "It's not allowed to end like—huh?!"
The final exclamation tears itself from his lips in a gasp of surprised breath. On the highest throne, Xehanort has already stood, drawn his Keyblade, and released a bolt of crackling energy, which was in the process of flying toward Sora when suddenly, it seemed to simply explode in midair over the boy's body, leaving nothing but a cloud of smoke and what sounds, to Isa, like crackling flames.
"He made it!" Mickey cries in relief, leaving Isa even more confused than before. Behind him, Saïx has stopped laughing, the sounds gurgling away to a snarl of bewilderment.
"You!" Xemnas thunders wrathfully, amber eyes fixed on a figure Isa cannot see, hidden in the cloud of smoke, which is only just beginning to clear away.
"What the…?" Isa mumbles, staring through the puppet body's watchful eyes as the grey cloud slowly dissipates. The figure is only just coming into view when Xigbar speaks, and the word he shouts makes Isa's blood go cold and hot at the same time.
"Axel!" the one-eyed man yells.
Axel?!
The smoke is gone, and in its place stands a tall, smirking man with hair the color of fire and turquoise eyes that seem to spark with a confident blaze all their own. The cocky expression on his angular face is one that Isa has seen many times before, and the twin violet teardrops beneath his eyes…
…are missing.
They're gone.
His face is unmarked and clear and blank and—
Isa inhales a deep, shuddering breath, feeling tears pricking at his eyes.
"Axel?" The man laughs, shaking his head. "Please. The name's Lea. Got it memorized?"
Lea.
The name, along with the familiar, ridiculous catchphrase, send a shockwave rolling through Isa like thunder. He collapses to his knees, face buried in his shaking hands, although no tears actually come. He will not let them; not in front of Saïx. Suddenly, it's important for the monster not to see him cry. He forces his eyes to turn back to the scene in the Round Room, watching now with almost hyper concentration.
Below the thrones, both Mickey and Riku have reversed their grips on their Keyblades, slicing backwards at Ansem and Xemnas, although both men quickly phase away from the slashing blades, reappearing atop their thrones. Lea is speaking up on Sora's chair, the boy's body clutched under one arm.
"Promises to keep," he says, the smirk never leaving his face. "I'll always be there to bring my friends back!"
Isa feels a shock of pain at that, but he keeps watching, his eyes glued to the man who was—and who he still considers, at least inside—his best friend.
"What, bad timing?" the redhead drawls, grinning at Xehanort. "You had your perfect little script, but I guess you forgot to write the sequel." He swings one of his twin chakrams into a steady grip in his hand, pointing it at Xehanort. "Now, let's see what happens!"
"What now, you old coot?!" Xigbar shouts at Xehanort in accusation, slamming one of his black-gloved hands down onto the arm of his chair.
Xehanort only gives Xigbar a single glance, still wearing that manic expression, before he gestures solidly at Isa.
A rush of cold shoots through the young man's chest, and he turns quickly to Saïx, somehow seeing both the beast standing before him and the scene outside all at once, and in a strange, clear slow motion.
"No," Isa says, and this time it's forceful. "I won't let you hurt—!"
That's as far as he can get before a blast of pain sends him to his knees, crying out despite himself.
Saïx forces himself into control, golden eyes blazing with wild insanity as he manipulates the body's limbs with expert grace. Isa is forced to watch, frozen with agony, as the body—his body—leaps off of its chair in one single motion, rearing back and drawing the claymore Lunatic as it does so.
Lea reacts fast, and for that, Isa is grateful; the redhead's chakram comes up instantly to block the descending claymore with a ring of metal on metal. The shockwave, however, sends a blast of air back up toward the body's face; Isa can almost feel it, but the pain and the action are too distracting.
The hood of the black coat falls back, exposing the face beneath it, and the expression of shock and betrayal on Lea's face, and written deep into his eyes, is enough to draw out a single tear from Isa's paralyzed eyes.
"Isa?!" The word is a gasp and an inquiry and a realization and an accusation all at once. Lea keeps the claymore at bay with surprising ease, but all the color has drained from his face, and his eyes burn their questions into Isa's consciousness like the flames he commands.
How could you do this to me?! I thought we were friends, Isa! What are you doing?! Why are you attacking me?! WHAT IS GOING ON?!
"No!" His mouth is free, but it doesn't matter; no one who could hear would be able to understand, anyway, through his sobbing and coughing. "It's not me, Lea! It's not me, I promise! Please!"
"Shut up!" Saïx snarls, his arm forcing Lea to the side and off the chair. The redhead does a midair somersault and lands gracefully on the floor, still staring up at the shell of his best friend in utter desolation.
"No!" Isa shouts back, trying to push himself to his feet, grief and rage and tears clouding his vision. "I won't let you hurt him!"
I won't let myself hurt him. Not my best friend. Please.
Another blast of pain forces him back to his knees, almost heaving with the force of an invisible blow. Saïx growls in concentration, caught between trying to keep Isa down and trying to control the body.
Suddenly, it's too late, though; Isa wasn't really paying attention after the shock of seeing Lea so close, but the body is dissolving into black shimmers of nothingness. Neither of the unions has been achieved.
Saïx curses and slams a fist into Isa's chest, knocking him onto his back and driving the breath from his lungs. The beast stalks off into the gloom with a single backwards glare as they dissipate.
Isa can only lie there, gasping, letting the pain slowly fade and the tears come instead, wetting his cheeks and pooling in his eyes; sliding back into his hair.
Lea… I'm so sorry, my friend. I'm so sorry…