A Different View

It feels the tinkering scrabble of claws of the ground. It feels the thudding footsteps of the young Keyblade Master. It feels the vibration through the ground and watches, swaying, with luminous yellow eyes. But it doesn't feel emotions. Does it even want to? We need a heart to feel. Without a heart, the blessed feelings are immune to their cries. Their thoughtless minds are bent on obeying their Mistress. The one that reigns terror over them all. The one that created them in the first place. Damned they were from the start. Doomed to Hell, or were they? But all they wanted was a heart. A heart to claim for its own. Not a stolen one. But one that was theirs from the start. The hungry craving, the empty sensation, it's overwhelming. The longing for a heart. Yearning to feel, to fill that space in their black chests. It sways and bounds towards the boy who holds the Keyblade. Bound by an irreversible vow, to obey the Mistress. Their target, the boy who was part of the Light. The irregularly shaped weapon swings up, down, up, down, a deadly and hypnotic rhythm. Each of its kind leapt forwards, and attacked. And the Keyblade came down, and down and down. At last, when it was it's own turn, it took a chance, leaping for an opening. The boy reacted, and swung the blade. It missed. It grabbed at the chance. It plowed forwards, no regards to its own safety, its own mind bound by another, free will torm away. The Keyblade came down again. This time, striking a fatal blow. Its mind briefly registered the weapon. Its head twisted around as the blade came down between its eyes. For a second, its mind was free of the Mistress's orders, and its mind was under its control. That one second was enough for it. The memory of what it was like to have a heart. Pain, love, happiness. But was it fake?
The second ended, and the Keyblade came down, and down and down.