Fatal Fantasy

By Rhino7

Disclaimer: I don't own Kingdom Hearts, its characters or storyline. This storyline is mine. This is my own Kingdom Hearts version of I am Legend. It is not a direct copy of the movie; I was just inspired by the movie to write this. I don't own I am Legend either. For those of you who've read my fic Summer of Snow, this fic takes place four years after those events and five years after the end of Kingdom Hearts II. For those of you who haven't, it's not required to read Summer before this, just a little tidbit of information. Anyway, that's all my rambling for now. Kind reviews are always appreciated!

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Chapter One: Three Years Gone

Silence. The lack of sound. The stilling of all movement and the slipping into total quiet. In the beginning there was silence, and silence will return in the end. Silence was crucial. Silence was agonizing. Silence was survival. Silence was golden…That's what all those old geezers always said.

It was completely silent now. Sora hated that. He'd never been comfortable with quiet. If he was ever somewhere that was quiet, he'd always make some sort of commotion to get the sound going again, to bring the life back to the situation.

He couldn't break this silence. There was no life to bring back. That was the whole point of the silence, wasn't it?

Sora rolled his neck, kicking those thoughts out of his head. Now was not the time to get philosophical. He'd never been good with that either. Silence and philosophy, not his cups of tea.

A tremor of movement bristled through the underbrush to his right.

Sora's fingers flexed and relaxed unceasingly around the knife at his belt. Here was something he was good at. Something he could do with relative ease.

The movement in the bushes persisted and Sora remained perfectly still. The sun was nestled high in the sky above, signaling midday. There were about eight hours of good sunlight left. Sora scanned the foliage around him, trying to find the source of the noise again.

It was hot. It was always hot on Destiny Islands, but today was exceptionally hot. It was humid too. That meant sweating brought no relief from the heat. He was sweating anyway, and it was stinging his eyes as it trickled down his face, drenching his clothes. Crouching in the thick dirt and leaves while waiting for a trap to spring hadn't helped matters of appearance either. Not that there was really any reason to keep up appearances anymore.

Something suddenly burst out of the bushes, tearing across the underbrush. Sora leaned sideways. In one motion, he unlatched the knife from his belt, flung it open, and slung it across the clearing. There was a squeal of pain and Sora knew he'd hit his mark.

Breaking his motionless stance, Sora strode over the dirt to where his prey lay, snorting and writhing on the ground. It was a warthog. The knife's blade had dug itself deep into the animal's shoulder, rendering one of its forelegs useless. It was rolling around on the ground, trying to stand and flee its predator. Three years ago Sora would have felt bad for it and been horrified by the agony the animal was being put through.

Now, however, he saw it only as an animal. He reached down and gripped his knife, tearing it free from the warthog's flesh before immediately slicing the blade across the animal's throat, silencing it.

And we're back to the silence.

Sora wiped the knife off on his pant leg, sliding it back into his belt. The smell of blood was strong and stagnant around this part of the jungle. Sora wiped his forearm across his forehead in an attempt to clear the sweat. He only managed to smear it around, seeing as his arm was just as slick as his face.

There was no relief from this heat. Even the dim light escaping through the clouds did nothing to quell the sweltering air around him. Clouds?

Sora's head jerked up so fast his neck cracked. The sun was gone, completely masked by the thick, gray clouds hovering in the overcast sky. Darkness was never good. Never, ever, ever. He scanned the trees around him, straining his ears and hoping the smell of fresh blood didn't attract anything.

He tied the warthog's forelegs together and its backlegs together, stuffing the neck wound with leaves to stem the bleeding. That was the last thing he needed on a cloudy day: to be wandering around covered in fresh blood. He might as well have just jumped in a vat of barbecue sauce and spitted himself on a fire. Okay, maybe that was a little exaggerated…but it was still not good.

Keeping a wary eye on the trees, Sora rolled the warthog onto its back and maneuvered it up over his shoulders. The fur was hot and gave off a rancid odor, but Sora just crinkled his nose and straightened, pointing home…well…as much of a home as he had anymore.

He hadn't taken three strides when another sound punctured the silence of the jungle. Sora's foot froze an inch above the leave-strewn ground, a fresh round of sweat beading his neck at the same time a shudder passed through his body. Not now, not now, it's the middle of the day, it's impossible, not now, not now, he prayed silently, turning his head towards the noise.

The rustling grew closer and his pulse spiked. It had been almost a week since his last sighting of them. He was overdue for panic and terror. That didn't help steady his breathing any.

The clouds shifted overhead, allowing a column of sunlight to cascade through the dense canopies, pooling in a jagged five meter area to Sora's left. He quickly side stepped into the sunlight, the sudden prickling heat on his bare skin like a mother's kiss. His mind flitted to the loaded rifle he'd left propped by the door. Sure, he had no idea how to use it, but it felt like a lot of a better weapon than the little dagger at his hip did. Especially against—

A little ball of fur tumbled out of the rustling bushes. Sora went rigid, but immediately shrugged as his muscles loosened in irritation. It was just a little black badger. It sniffed around at the ground, pawing at a few crunchy leaves and looking over at Sora with disinterest.

Sora clucked his tongue, feeling stupid. Now you're imagining things. Three years just surviving like this has finally kicked you over the edge, Sora berated himself. Sighing, he turned and started through the jungle, back the way he'd come, back home.

The leaves didn't hold very well and soon blood was leaking out of his fresh prey, staining through his shoulder and dribbling down his back. It didn't bother him as much as he knew it should have. At least the sun was out now. Blazing overhead, increasing the temperature and taking every opportunity to scorch Sora.

Sora took advantage of trekking through a little brook, clomping the water noisily with his thighs, forcing the water to slap against his legs and torso. The water was cool and offered some, however slim, relief from the heat.

He had to make a point to learn how to handle that rifle. He'd seen the guns used by Leon and a variation of one by Xigbar of Organization XIII. It didn't look all that difficult, but if he screwed up and shot himself in the foot or worse. It wasn't like he had a lot of people around to help him out. All he had was Even, and he was no help when it came to bloody messes…like a shot up foot.

Sora shook his head. The heat was messing with him. Wonderful.

The jungle finally opened up into a large clearing. It was an expanse easily covering a thousand square meters. The pond that fed the brook lay calmly nestled between a cropping of boulders. The clear, crystalline surface was calling out to him, and he resisted, promising himself to take a swim in it later.

He stepped out from under the cover of the trees, offering himself entirely to the merciless sun bearing down overhead. The clouds seemed to have surrendered, shying away from the heat-emanating ball of light in the sky.

Midday? Why do you always decide to go hunting at the hottest part of the day? Sora scolded himself, crossing the clearing and blinking sweat repeatedly from his eyes.

The house was almost perfectly placed on the foundation of boulders cropped around the pond. It was a little rural cottage, with two levels, three if you counted the basement. The fading yellow vinyl siding stood distinct against the otherwise dark jungle foliage. It was Even's house, technically, but there was no sense in Sora staying at his own house, not anymore.

As squeamish as Even was around blood, Sora decided it wasn't a good idea to lug the pig carcass inside the house to the basement, so he started around the back towards the basement entrance.

He spotted the little door behind the veil of moss on the other side of the boulder cropping and picked up his pace. Now that he was close to home, the slab of meat on his back was really starting to feel heavy.

Upon reaching the door, Sora leaned his right shoulder against the boulders, propping the pig against it so his right arm was free to open the door. This done, he re-adjusted his grip on the animal and shuffled into the shadowed interior of the construct, knocking the door closed behind him with his knee.

"Sora?" Even called down the hall.

"No, it's Luke Skywalker. Who else would I be?" Sora grunted in response.

"Someone's in a bad mood."

Sora could hear the smile in Even's voice and grimaced, "I come bearing meat. It was a little…messier than I was expecting, so I'll take it straight to the treating room."

"You do that."

Sora trudged into the first left in the dimly lit hallway. They'd converted Even's old study room into a meat treating room, mostly Sora's job. For a guy who claimed to be a top scientist, he certainly turned green around blood.

After depositing the bleeding mass on the treating table, Sora wiped his forearm over his eyes again. Something hot and sticky clung to his hair and Sora made a disgusted noise. He turned to the tall glass cabinet against the right wall.

There was no function for mirrors in this house besides for peeking around corners and confusing prey with their own reflection. Not that that had ever really worked. Back when Sora had had an innocent sense of humor, he'd thought confusing with mirrors was funny. But that was three years ago, before the outbreak.

Sora squinted, trying to catch his reflection now. It was vague through the glass, but he could see well enough that he'd just swathed warthog blood all over his forehead. He frowned. It had been a while since he'd taken a decent look at himself.

His large, bright blue eyes were darker now, older, set in a perpetual apathetic expression. His skin was much tanner now, thanks to the repeated overexposure to the sunlight. His hair was still spiky, beyond his control, but not so much at the moment. Sweat and blood had matted most of hair down at this point. He'd left the awkward teenaged years and wasn't as much of a bean pole nowadays. His shoulders were broader, connecting to smoothly muscled arms and calloused hands, the veins of which were more pronounced now.

Spending so much time either running or crouching had given him long, lanky legs, with muscles coiled like rope around his calves. No more skinny, no more baby fat. He'd aged ten years mentally in the three years his body had aged and grown. His mouth didn't hold the default crooked smile. He'd lost that after the outbreak too. Now, his lips just made a straight, flat line under his nose.

Sora started to wipe the blood from his face, but stopped. He was already covered in blood, sweat, mud, and who knew what else. Coughing slightly, his gaze flitted to his reflection's scar, three jagged trails ran from under his left ear down his neck and to his collar. The discolored scars were spaced far apart enough to belong to fingers.

Slowly, in a different world in his head, Sora lifted his right hand and placed his index, middle, and ring fingers on the top of the three scars. He let his fingertips play down the skin, grimacing. It may have been three years ago, the wound was completely healed, but its receiving still pained him.

Sora bit his lip, fighting the memories he'd suppressed for three years. It was over now. It had happened. It was all over now. The sooner he accepted that, the better. He dropped his hand.

"Damn it." He hissed.

His voice echoed in the silence of the cellar.