A/N: I've been reading some more of the novels recently. Kanemaki's style is really getting to me.
The Fighting Grounds are Stained Again
Memory's Skyscraper
It was hard to find, and hard to forget. Or at least, it was to the silver-haired boy standing rigid in the falling rain. Memories made here would never be forgotten, just as the jagged scores left in the ground from twin keyblades would never be covered up. The boy raised his arm, summoning his own devilwinged blade in a cloud of black. Any onlooker would wonder how the boy could see through the cloth across his eyes. And to tell the truth, he couldn't. It was almost total darkness through the boy's eyes, because only the brightest of lights would shine through that dark cloth.
Beside the rain-drenched boy was the very place he'd be thinking so hard about. The base of the building was wide, blue lights winding up to the very tip. They stood out vividly in the dark, foreboding air that surrounded it. There were other buildings, colored just as vividly in highlights of white and blue, but this tower stood higher than the rest. There was a silence in this place, still and cold, with only the beating of the rain to interrupt it. It felt like something tragic had taken place. The boy swung his arm to his side.
Out there in the rainslick cityscape, a lone figure stood, back to the tower, hood hiding his face. Blade in hand, the boy's bangs clung stubbornly to his forehead as he pursued this figure. The shadow seemed to hover as he ran, evading blasts of dark fire shot from the boy's palms with practiced ease. Black leather billowed around his feet.
"Stop!" The boy's voice was harsh. He sounded young, yet the tone he took was one a person his age shouldn't be able to use with such fluency. Cold, experienced. Broken, even. The figure didn't waver.
"Don't run from me, coward. Are you afraid?" The figure scowled from under his hood, betraying a boyish nature that one wouldn't have guessed from the way he moved so skillfully.
"I'm not running." The figure's voice was young, too. But he spoke calmly, as if afraid to break the image he was hiding behind.
"So you spoke. You're not like they said, huh? You've still got some of him in you." The figure froze. The boy went on. "The way you walk. The way you fight. So similar. It's nostalgic, really." The boy had lightened his tone. The figure growled, turning toward the boy and drawing duel keys.
"Would you shut up?!" The figure was shaking, and it was impossible to tell if it was from anger or sadness. He rushed the silver-haired boy violently, holding back nothing, striking hastily with anger to fuel his strength. The boy simply dodged, blocking against the figure's attacks when they came too close for comfort.
Stop him!
The silver-haired boy frozen, after narrowly dodging a slash of the figure's keyblades.
You can't let him free Kingdom Hearts!
The voice in the silver-haired boy's mind grew more urgent. He nodded to no one, and fought back.
It took all that was in him, all the strength he could muster, to defeat the figure. The dark powers he'd been forced to unleash had changed him. The figure lay vanquished on the rain soaked cement.
Thank… you…
The voice faded to nothing, satisfied…
Sora woke with a start.
"It was… a dream?"