Disclaimer: Oh, boy, it's been a while since I last did one of these. I make no money off of the fruits of others' labours. If I could, I would be in heaven.

A/N: This is a fic to offset the slow progress of events in MaH. MaH remains, of course, the utmost priority, but it takes soooo long to get things moving, I need something to take the edge off when I get antsy and impatient. So I hope you guys will like it :)

.o.O.o.

CHAPTER ONE

In a white, white room, at a white, white table, in a white, white dress, sat a girl. Her knees primly together, her blonde hair swept over one shoulder, surrounded by sheets of paper, pencils and crayons, she drew a picture.

Natural light poured through the broad window to her right, glinting off of every gleaming, pearlescent surface. In the centre of the long, white table at which the girl sat, a transparent vase held a clutch of lilies. The room was an homage to light itself. Or perhaps, rather than light… it was emptiness. In this pristine space, nothing really existed. This sort of purity, this homogeneity, this outright refusal to acknowledge that the opposite of white was not sullied, led to a stifling atmosphere – an airlessness.

Marluxia, leaning against the white wall beside the white, was grossly out of place in this environment, like a stain upon cleanliness. His hair was pink, his slacks tan, his shirt, rolled up to the elbows of his crossed arms, was, God forbid, black. He was like a stalking shadow of some kind, or at least felt like it. He was uncomfortable, both in his jarring difference to the room, and from the room itself. There was light, but no life within these walls.

Or, almost no life.

His gaze travelled along the array of pictures that had been stuck to the walls, the only colour to speak of, more drawings that Naminé had done with her pencils and crayons. They were childishly wrought, but surprisingly detailed at times. Concentration and effort were devoted to each one, and when they were done, Naminé was allowed to keep them. They were the only decoration she had. Sometimes Marluxia idly wondered if this was the girl's concession that she did not, in fact, covet such bland surroundings – but, in the end, she made no protest about the all-white colour scheme. If only she'd speak up, take a stand against Xemnas, or hell, even just express an interest in something different… but no. She was the girl without desires.

The pale, empty, childlike creature that everyone called a witch.

Marluxia watched her, the scratch of her yellow pencil filling the silent room, her placid face creased slightly with attentiveness. She made no attempt to speak with him, or even acknowledge that he was present, despite his having been standing here for around twenty minutes now. Why it was that he was always left to keep an eye on her, he didn't particularly know. It was a dull task, that was for certain; there was nothing so boring as babysitting someone who didn't even misbehave. She could have taken some lessons from Larxe-

Or, no. Perhaps not. One Larxene was more than enough.

Eventually, Naminé switched pencils, picking up a pale blue. With a small sigh, his feet growing tired of being in one place for so long, Marluxia bumped his shoulders away from the wall and approached her, passing slowly down the length of the table, each faintly clapping step breaking apart the hush. When he arrived beside her, he tilted his head at an angle to see what she was working on.

It was the usual basic picture of a person, with just enough personality to prevent it from being a stick figure. Naminé regularly drew people, and occasionally landscapes from pictures she had seen in books. The people tended to be those that she knew – Marluxia's scribbled likeness graced her walls, recognisable by the shock of pink hair she coloured over his head each time. Similarly, the others were easily identifiable by their most distinctive features: Axel's appearances were marked by fiery red hair and two black marks under bright green circles for eyes; Larxene was noticeable for her slicked-back blonde 'do and a mean smirk; Luxord and Xaldin were notable for their facial hair, Lexaeus for his hulking build. Zexion and Demyx were frequently drawn together, each with their characteristic hairstyles, and sitar and book in hand, respectively. Xigbar was easy to pick by his eye-patch and ponytail. Saix's hair was long and blue, Vexen's long and blond, and Xemnas, though drawn less frequently than the rest, had grey hair, the closest Naminé could get with her pencils and crayons to the man's silvery hue. Over and over again, in different poses and combinations, Naminé drew the Organisation, and stuck them to the white walls of her white room, for reasons known only to herself.

That was why Marluxia was somewhat puzzled at the realisation that he didn't recognise who she was drawing right now. He squinted slightly at the picture. When he had seen her using the bright, sunny yellow, he had assumed she must be drawing Larxene, whose blondeness was more vivid than the pencil Naminé generally reserved for Vexen's locks. He shifted around to stand behind her, peering over her shoulder as, with the blue pencil, she coloured in small eyes above a smile.

"Naminé," he asked at length, uncertainly, "who are you drawing?"

She didn't pause, the pencil continuing its scratching motion, but answered, calmly, "A new recruit."

Marluxia started, blinked, then stared down at the picture blankly. The figure in the picture appeared to be male, with spiky blond hair, blue eyes, and black-and-white clothes. He held something in one hand, what precisely, Marluxia couldn't tell – it looked like a club of some kind.

Feeling something of a chill, he inquired, "…You're sure?"

Naminé finally paused, tilting her head back to look at him with her gentle yet eerily piercing gaze. "Of course," she replied, simply. "I'm a witch, remember?"

With that, she resumed her drawing, placing down the blue pencil and hovering her delicate hand over the selection for a moment before plucking up a red crayon to colour the lapels of the boy's jacket.

Marluxia stared at her for a long moment, then stepped back, retreating back to his end of the room. He felt unnerved. When Naminé predicted a new recruit… a new recruit was swift to follow. This meant that somewhere out there most likely was a blond boy with blue eyes and black-and-white clothes… and his entire life was about to be turned on its head, whether he wanted it or not. And nobody, ever, wanted it – wanted this. Marluxia's hand went briefly to his stomach, as if reaching for… something. Something which was no longer there. It stopped as it touched against the fabric of his shirt, hung there for a moment, then lowered slowly to his side.

…Well. It was no concern of his. It wasn't like he could make a difference for whoever this boy was; nor was it his responsibility to. His task was this: watching over Naminé. That was all he could do. Others… would have to fend for themselves.

Marluxia leaned once again against the white, white wall in the white, white room, his arms returning to their crossed position over his chest while Naminé's pencils continued to scratch, scratch, scratch colour into the image of the 'new recruit'.

.o.O.o.

"Oh, man. Oh, man. I am so screwed."

Hayner's dread-filled voice had to rise to be heard above the cacophony of cheers and yells that made up the crowd surrounding the Struggle ring. Beside him, Roxas kind of had to agree, not that he was about to voice that opinion. Hayner didn't need confirmation; he just needed to mention the fact and let it speak for itself.

The day was hot, the sun dazzlingly bright, the smell of human sweat and vendor fries creating a humid melange that assaulted the senses. It was the advent of the Struggle Championship Tournament, Twilight Town's biggest affair of the year, drawing competitors and spectators from all over. The surrounding streets had been blocked off and set up with stalls selling trinkets and Twilight Town souvenirs, vendors offering a variety of deep-fried, artery-clogging foods and candy floss, and carnival games to keep younger kids occupied, like ball tossing and creepy revolving clown heads with dinky little prizes to be won.

At the centre of it all was the Struggle arena. This was where the focus of the festival-like atmosphere converged, forgoing some of its happy-go-lucky attitude for the aggression and tenacity of the fight. Competitors donned minimal protective gear and carried padded bats into the ring, but if anyone were to mistakenly think that the padding made it a safe sport, they'd know better as soon as they picked their teeth up off the floor after being slammed in the face by one. That was where the protective gear came in – it was little more than a buffer area around the face to prevent just that. The second blood touched the ground, the match was halted and forfeited. That just meant that instead you came away with a body covered in bruises and swollen knots all over the place. Struggle could be brutal, depending on who you fought. And right now, with Hayner next up in the fight schedule, the one dominating the ring was the most brutal of all.

Seifer Almasy had been slamming down opponent after opponent, crowing all the while. The guy was big to start with, but since his defeat to Setzer last year he'd been training at every opportunity, or so the rumour went. Pence's contribution to the discussion had been, "Steroids," with a sage and knowing nod. Hayner and Roxas, sitting on a bench beside the ring, near the scoreboard, weren't so sure about that. Seifer was stronger than last year, sure, but he was also dirtier than ever before. He'd obviously been memorising the weak points of the Struggle fighters he'd clashed with in past tournaments, which he targeted mercilessly, and none of the new fighters had been able to withstand the sheer, brute force of his swings. Seifer was tough with just his fists; put a bat in his hands, and he was damn near lethal.

"This is crazy!" Hayner exclaimed, dismay written all over his face, along with maybe a splinter of panic. "He hasn't lost to anyone yet – he even beat Setzer!" Turning to Roxas, he demanded, "What the hell am I supposed to do? That asshole is going to pound me into the dirt!"

Ah, crap. He wanted reassurance. Roxas opened his mouth, unsure for a moment of what to say. After all, he was scheduled to fight right after Hayner, and he had no illusions about who his opponent was going to be when he stepped up there. He'd thought his best friend would remain content just with fretting over his imminent doom, but no – he wanted Roxas to bolster his confidence. Seeing as how Roxas had zero confidence himself, it took a few seconds of soul-searching to come up with anything.

As Hayner's expression started to dim, Roxas took a breath, the other blond brightening slightly, expectantly awaiting his answer. "…Maybe Vivi will surprise us."

Hayner's disappointment was immense. His face actually sagged with the weight of his decaying hope. "Vivi," he echoed, tone withering. Roxas understood: he didn't believe it, either. He might as well have suggested that Seifer would go easy on them. Vivi was practically afraid of his own shadow, never mind that he followed Seifer around like an eager puppy and wouldn't have dared to try and defeat him, even if he was capable of it – which he most decidedly was not. The only way Vivi would surprise anyone would be by lasting beyond the first strike.

Scratching his head agitatedly, Hayner again muttered, "Oh, man."

"Look – look, Hayner. Listen." Roxas made a second attempt, turning to his best friend, feeling the sun beating against his neck and the perspiration trickle through his hair. He couldn't leave it like this, couldn't let Hayner go into the fight expecting to lose. They probably were both going to lose, and this time tomorrow would be lounging at Pence's place with ice packs on their injuries while nursing even more badly wounded pride, being mothered by Olette. But they could at least go down punching. Hayner sent a disgruntled glance his way. "Look, someone has to beat him, right? Don't give up before you've even stepped into the ring, man – you have to give this your all, and you know why?" When Hayner hesitantly shook his head, Roxas leaned in, lowered his voice, and said, with wide, blue eyes, "We can tag team him."

Hayner raised an eyebrow. "We can what now?"

"Tag team!" Roxas repeated, and despite himself, actually started warming to the idea, dubious though it probably was. "Seifer is killing it out there this year, right? He's on fire. But," he added quickly, lifting a finger before Hayner could give voice to whatever sour remark was rising up to Roxas' less than inspirational speech, "but he's been fighting for a while now, and he used up a lot of his energy on Setzer."

"He got a break after Setzer, though," Hayner pointed out.

"Doesn't matter." Roxas waved a hand, preferred to ignore such obstacles to his budding plan. "He's still gotta be tired, right? It's hot, he's been in the ring most of the day, barring breaks. The fact is, he's worn out. He has to be. He's still fighting well, but he can't be as quick on his feet, or as hard with his swings."

"So you think I have a chance?" Hayner again started to brighten, though it was muted by doubt. They both glanced over at the ring, where the fight between Seifer and Vivi was about to begin. Seifer looked… pretty good for someone who Roxas was trying to convince them both was running out of steam. His lackeys, Fuu and Rai, had been keeping him well hydrated in the heat. Add to that the fact that the guy was on a natural high from his many victories, and he was doing a lot to hurt Roxas' constructed image of him.

"Well… maybe…" He wasn't sounding too convinced about that one. Before Hayner could droop again, however, he forged on with, "But my idea is that together we can beat him – you and me both!"

Hayner squinted a sceptical eye. "Come again?"

Roxas leaned a little closer, beginning to get excited. "Think about it! If you go in and throw everything you've got at him, tire him out further, and then I step in and throw everything I've got at him, if we really wear him down, we could beat him!"

Hayner considered this for a moment. "…But I'd still lose," he eventually said. Roxas shook his head impatiently.

"No, you wouldn't – because it'd be a joint effort. You tire him out, I'll slam him down! And I wouldn't just go to collect the Struggle belt on my own, it'd be you and me both up there, holding it together, and Seifer would have to suck it."

At the last two words, Hayner snorted in amusement. "Well, I do like the idea of that ass having to watch us take the Struggle belt from him…" Roxas grinned, holding out his fist. Hayner eyed it for a moment, then balled up his own and bumped the two together. "Okay. Let's do this."

"Official partners in Operation 'Take Down Seifer'," Roxas declared.

The fight announcer called through his megaphone, "Readyyyyyy – aaaaannnnnnd – Struggle!"

They turned towards the ring with new confidence, to watch what was doubtless going to be a short and unpleasant match between Seifer and Vivi. And indeed, it was: in the span of ten seconds…

Vivi smashed Seifer to his knees.

With mouths hanging open, Roxas and Hayner watched in disbelief as Seifer swayed, arms visibly shaking… then, without a sound, flopped forward onto his stomach and stopped moving. A stunned silence swept over the crowd, which stretched for several long heartbeats as the spectators and announcer alike tried to process the speed and ferocity of what had just happened.

Gradually, an unsettled murmuring filled the air, the crowd shifting uneasily, while the announcer hurried up onto the ring. He bent at Seifer's side, Roxas and Hayner jumping to their feet, craning to see, along with everyone else, what his condition was.

After a minute, the announcer stood up, raising the megaphone to his mouth. "Uh, ladies and gentlemen, forgive the delay. Struggle contestant Seifer Almasy is unconscious, but not bleeding – therefore, his domination of the ring is over, and the Struggle goes on!"

The audience was confused for only a moment – then, all of a sudden, they were cheering. Nearly roaring. Seifer had been their darling for a while, but the mob was fickle, and Vivi was their champion now. He had defied all odds and defeated the undefeatable fighter. It was damn near a miracle.

"Holy fucking shit," Hayner said, his hollow exclamation representative of exactly how Roxas was feeling. Neither of them could quite believe what had just happened, even though they'd each seen it with their own two eyes. Vivi had… obliterated Seifer, without so much as a second's hesitation. Not only that, but he met his astounding victory with something weirdly like… impassiveness. It could be hard, at the best of times, to figure out what Vivi was thinking, what with his big, floppy hat and high collar obscuring most of his face – but anyone would think he was made of stone, the way he'd just stood back and silently watched the announcer check on Seifer and then announce his win. Vivi just… didn't seem to care.

"This is… weird," Roxas said, a thread of unease running through him.

Grimly, Hayner replied, "No, this is bad. We were worried about beating Seifer, and he'd been fighting all day. Vivi is fresh in the ring and didn't even break a sweat with Seifer. There's no way the tag team plan will work on him." They stared at each other for a long moment, the reality of his words sinking in. Then, Hayner started looking worried. He gazed over at the ring, to where the announcer and a few other organisers were carefully lifting Seifer up. His large, athletic body hung limp in their grasp – he was out cold. "Um." Hayner's anxiety was strong. "Is that – is that going to be me?"

Roxas hesitantly shook his head. "…No way. That – that had to be, like, repressed rage towards Seifer or something. Vivi must've snapped. Seifer's always been a dick to him."

"Yeah…" Hayner didn't seem convinced, but short of withdrawing from the competition, there wasn't much he could do. "Yeah, you're probably right. I've never done anything to him, so…"

They exchanged apprehensive looks, then glanced away. No point in thinking too hard about it. They'd find out for sure soon enough.

Entirely too quickly, after just a short break to take care of Seifer and let the crowd calm down, the Struggle announcer was back. He came over to Roxas and Seifer, asking, "Which one of you kids is next?" Cringing a little, Hayner lifted a hand. The man jerked his head towards the ring. "Okay, let's get this over with, huh? Try not to pass out like the last kid. Must'a got a touch of heatstroke or somethin'."

With a renewed spark of hope, Hayner turned towards Roxas. "Heatstroke! We didn't consider that!"

Roxas wasn't so sure. Seifer hadn't just 'passed out' – Vivi had moved almost too fast to see, the sound that his bat had made when it connected with Seifer, three times in those ten seconds, still seeming to echo in his head. But he smiled and nodded, hoping it was convincing, and answered, "Yeah!"

Who knew? Maybe the announcer was right; maybe Seifer had been ready to topple for a while, and Vivi had just got him at the right time. Maybe it had looked worse than it was because of the result – maybe Roxas was misremembering.

He hoped so.

He sat back down on the bench next to the scoreboard, and after the announcer adjusted the figures to reflect the most recent events, he turned towards the crowd and clicked his megaphone back on. "With our reigning champion, Seifer, unconscious and out of the fight, the Struggle now takes place between surprising up-and-comer Vivi, and the new challenger, Hayner! How will this unlikely turn of events end up? Find out now, folks! Combatants, take your places!"

Hayner entered the ring and said something to Vivi, who didn't react except to take his position in the winning fighter's position. Roxas saw his best friend frown, then Hayner, too, found his marked spot and crouched into a fighting stance. He looked a little nervous, with good reason. Vivi still didn't… seem right.

"Readyyyyy – aaaannnnnd – Struggle!"

Hayner threw himself across the ring at Vivi, who remained in place as he approached, not even bothering to try and defend himself. Hayner collected all his strength and went in for a stunning strike at Vivi's bat-wielding shoulder. Roxas found himself energetically nodding his approval – Hayner was being smart, he had assessed the situation and evidently hadn't been as willing to believe in the heatstroke theory as Roxas had thought: he was trying to weaken Vivi's swinging power. He cheered Hayner on, voice nearly tearing at his throat as the blow connected with enough force to probably numb Vivi's arm from the shoulder down to his fingertips. The crowd roared – then, almost immediately afterwards, it groaned deeply, like a wounded beast.

Roxas was on his feet in an instant, crying out as, without missing a beat, Vivi had tossed his Struggle bat almost casually to his left hand a split-second before Hayner's swing hit him, and with almost unbelievable power he struck back. He copied Hayner's move, smashing his right shoulder, so that, with suddenly spasming fingers, the blond dropped his bat. Vivi took one step backwards, and as Hayner bent to try and quickly snatch his bat back up – he slammed his own down, hard, onto Hayner's exposed head.

Hayner dropped like a sack of rocks, his long limbs splayed, his body falling on top of his Struggle bat.

He didn't get back up.

Roxas couldn't make a sound. Couldn't move, couldn't breathe. His eyes were fixed on Hayner's motionless form, sprawled out in the middle of the Struggle ring. He was aware of noise around him, but none of it filtered through – it might as well have been silent for all the attention he paid it. All he could see was Hayner. All he could hear was the thunder of his own heartbeat.

A flash of motion caught his eye – Pence and Olette, pushing through the crowd and rushing up into the ring. Galvanised by the sight of them, Roxas followed suit, breaking into a run, hurrying up the short steps onto the Struggle platform. He slowed as he reached his friends, Pence and Olette on their knees at Hayner's side, Olette with tears rolling down her face, Pence looking pale. Roxas, breathing hard, approached carefully, slow horror filling him as Hayner's slack face came into view. If Pence had looked pale, Hayner looked positively bloodless.

"Hayner…" Roxas' voice shook. As the announcer rushed alongside them and started checking for blood, Roxas' gaze lifted to Vivi. Again, Vivi stood back from the activity, staring but saying nothing, looking for all the world like he didn't even give a damn that he'd just knocked two people unconscious. Feeling his anger rising, Roxas took a step towards him. He demanded, "What's – what's wrong with you? What the hell is your problem, Vivi? Hayner never did anything to you! Does winning matter this much!?"

"Settle down, settle down." It was the announcer who answered him. Vivi didn't utter a word – just kept standing there like a freaking statue, giving no indication that he'd so much as heard Roxas' outburst, let alone cared. The Struggle announcer was pushing to his feet, signalling for the same people who helped him before with Seifer to come back up onto the platform. "There's no blood, so –"

"Who cares about the fight?" Roxas shouted. "Vivi can't be allowed to continue, he's knocked two guys out – this is beyond brutal!"

"So was that Seifer kid," the announcer pointedly replied, "and if I recall rightly, he knocked someone out, too."

"Only once! And after a hell of a fight!"

"Listen, kid." The announcer took hold of his elbow and drew him to one side, so they were facing away from the spectators. "You scared? Is that what this is? If you don't wanna fight this kid, I'll understand, we can call a forfeit and no one'd blame you."

Anger nearly bubbling over, Roxas wrenched his arm from the man's soft grip. "You think that I'm scared of Vivi? He just knocked out my best friend, I'm pissed off, and I don't see how his tactics are okay."

The man shrugged. "Nobody's bled yet – that's practically the only rule there is. Your friend entered the arena with his gear on and had a good try, but ultimately the other kid was the one who knew where to hit to get the fastest results. It's rough, sure, but that's the Struggle. If you don't like it…" He trailed off, leaving it up to Roxas.

"I'm not forfeiting," the blond growled.

"Okay, then." The man nodded once, then turned away, and as the other organisers carrying Hayner away, lifted his megaphone. Roxas winced as, too close to his ears, he called, "All righty, folks, that's two down for the count! Vivi, the new up-and-comer, looks like he might be the up-and-coming champ! Can our new contender, who also happens to be our final contender for today, teach Vivi his place – or will Roxas join the other two in the medical tent? Find out soon, right here!"

As he clicked the megaphone back off, Roxas muttered, "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"Prove me wrong, kid!" the guy cheerfully replied. He turned and left the platform, to be replaced by Pence and Olette.

"You're not fighting him, are you?" Olette asked with alarm. "You can't! He's already – already hurt Hayner!" The tears shimmered in her eyes, both from Hayner's fate and the prospect of Roxas going the same way.

Pence added, "Roxas, it's probably not a good idea – Vivi's obviously lost it. He's dangerous right now."

Glaring over at the figure of Vivi, standing calmly in the exact same position, Roxas said, "I know. But it's because of Hayner that I have to fight." His gaze softened as he turned to Olette. "It'll be okay – really. Hayner wasn't sure how Vivi was going to be, but… I know." His voice turned hard. "I know to watch out. And when Hayner wakes up, he'll at least know that whatever happens next, I tried to avenge him."

"This isn't a TV show, Roxas!" Olette protested, wiping her cheeks. "You can't 'avenge' Hayner. You can only get hurt."

Roxas grimaced. "…Sorry, Olette." He clapped her on the shoulder, gave Pence a nod, and went to pick up Hayner's bat, still lying in the middle of the ring. It was fitting that he should use it to try and put a stop to Vivi. This way, Hayner was still in the fight to some degree – their victory would be a joint one, just like they'd planned.

He levelled the bat at the emotionless Vivi. "I don't know what your problem is," he hotly stated, "but I'm not going to let you do it a third time. This fight is for Hayner."

When Vivi didn't respond, he looked over his shoulder to see Pence leading Olette off the platform. Good. She was crying again, and yeah, he felt a spike a guilt over it – but Roxas didn't really feel like he had a choice here. Vivi was out of control… or something like that. Kinda hard to envision when he was acting so cold the rest of the time. But the thought of Hayner lying unconscious in the medical tent next to Seifer was too much to bear: Roxas had to fight Vivi, if only to say he'd tried. It was only as much as Hayner would have done for him.

He took a breath, and found the X marked with duct tape which indicated the challenger's position. The announcer waited until Hayner had disappeared from the arena, then on came the megaphone, and, after some preamble chatter, the inevitable call of, "Readyyyyy – aaannnnd – Struggle!"

Both Seifer and Hayner had made the first move on Vivi, Seifer out of cockiness, Hayner out of an attempt to disarm him – so instead, Roxas hung back, gripping Hayner's Struggle bat tightly. He drew a deep breath, gazing hard across the ring at Vivi, who seemed to be waiting for him to make a move. Several seconds passed, with neither contender shifting from their starting position. Soon, the crowd began to murmur, all of them waiting for someone to make the first attack.

Teeth briefly gritting, Roxas opened his mouth and barked, "What are you waiting for? Come and get me!"

At long last, Vivi spoke – but his voice sounded strange, thin and mocking, nothing like his usually soft-spoken self. "What are you waiting for? Loser."

Roxas gaped. The audience was growing restless – someone yelled out, "Move already!" He looked around, frustrated by all the staring eyes. Didn't they know this was more serious than some regular Struggle match?

Then again,maybe Olette was right – maybe he was being too dramatic about all this. After all, it was only Vivi; maybe he'd been secretly training all year, too. Or… really was on steroids. It would explain the meanness. But ultimately, what it meant was that Roxas could still beat him. Struggle was Struggle. And Roxas was prepared for a hard fight.

"All right, then," he muttered. His mouth set in a determined line, he lowered himself, gathered his strength, and launched himself towards Vivi with a resolve to win. He was fast, which he used to his advantage as much as he could against this supercharged version of Vivi. The second he was within reach of his opponent, he suddenly changed direction, planting a hand on the ground and sliding his body low – passing just beneath a sharp swing aimed at where his knee had been. He felt the breeze from it passing through his hair.

When he jumped back up, he was a little behind Vivi, and attacked without hesitation. Vivi leapt away, not before the tip of Roxas' Struggle bat managed to scrape him. It wasn't much, but it was better than anyone else had managed, and gave Roxas a rush of confidence. He pursued, swinging again, meeting Vivi's bat mid-flight, the two crashing together with enough force to jar Roxas' wrists. He determinedly clung to the handle of Hayner's bat, rapidly hopping out of range as Vivi aggressively tried to press the advantage. Somewhere distantly, Roxas thought he heard the crowd cheering. Right now, however, all his focus was poured into keeping out of range of Vivi's savage swings. There was a lot of power in each arc that Roxas wouldn't have expected from Seifer's diminutive follower. That whole 'steroids' theory was becoming more realistic by the second.

Once his hands had recovered enough, Roxas went for another low slide, on Vivi's other side this time, twisting up to his feet with his right arm tensed to strike – but somehow, Vivi was already facing him, swinging his bat hard right into Roxas' stomach.

The air left him in a grunting rush, the blond staggering back. The next thing he felt was an immense impact on his bat-wielding shoulder, and, just like Hayner before him, the bat clattered from his hand the Struggle ring platform. The crowd roared. Vivi slammed his bat against the backs of Roxas' legs while he was still reeling from the shoulder hit, and all at once he was on his knees, looking up at Vivi, dazed by the speed and strength with which he'd completely overwhelmed him.

Vivi spoke again, and the cold sneering of it almost made Roxas shiver despite the day's heat and his own exertions. There was malice in Vivi.

"Did you seriously expect me to fall for the same trick twice?"

He wound up with his Struggle bat for the finishing blow, Roxas able only to close his eyes and wait to wake up in the medical tent beside Hayner. He felt the force as it hit him – square in the solar plexus. His eyes popped open, cheeks bulging out with forcibly exhaled air. He choked and groaned as he slammed onto his back. Dizzily, it took him a few seconds to realise that he was still conscious. Was that… was that a good thing? Was that a victory, small and pitiful?

It didn't – feel like a victory. In fact… out of the blue, something felt incredibly wrong. A wave of cold spread through Roxas from the point of impact of Vivi's bat, which had been stabbed into him like a fencing epée. As he struggled to regain his breath from the lung-punching impact, Roxas couldn't shake the sensation that – that maybe he'd been badly damaged by Vivi's final lunge. Internal bleeding? Cracked ribs? But it felt like more than that – like maybe he'd lost… lost something. Like some part of him had been amputated, and a gaping hole was exposed.

When he didn't – couldn't – immediately get back up, the match was halted. Roxas didn't know if this meant he'd lost or not, but also didn't really care. Something was wrong, damn it. He needed… help.

Soon, heads started crowding his vision as he lay panting on his back, blocking out the bright blue sky with its few scudding clouds. He recognised the match announcer, then Olette and Pence, their faces fearful. Then, as if they all noticed the same thing at once… their expressions changed. While previously the fear in their features had been dedicated to Roxas' well-being, hoping he was okay, concerned that he might have been hurt – now it twisted, becoming deeper, with an element of blank shock. Olette suddenly burst into tears and turned away, Pence grabbing hold of her, not so much to comfort her but… as if to keep himself upright. The announcer's face went dark, then pale, eyes wide, mouth trembling.

Alarmed by their reactions, dread growing, Roxas struggled to speak. It took a minute of trying to get enough breath, and form the right words: "Wh… what? What is it? What's… happened to me?"

Pence reached almost unconsciously for the crystal pendant hanging from his neck. Olette, Roxas noticed, was clutching her own. So was the Struggle announcer. They were all… clinging to their pendants, where within each gently glowing crystal their souls were contained. Everyone had one, from birth. Everyone… had a soul, and all souls had a crystal in which they resided, the pendant acting as keeper and protector, container of – being, of identity, of light.

Roxas' fingers crept up his body, reaching for his own. The crystal that had been part of him since forever, literally forever, through one life, and the next, and the next, each time being brought back, given to a new body, a new host, because the body was just a vessel, a carrier of the soul, it was the soul that contained everything that made a person, that defined them…

But… Roxas' was gone. His fingers met with… fragments.

His crystal was broken. But that was impossible. The crystals – were unbreakable. They, they couldn't just smash, and there was no way in hell that a Struggle bat could do that sort of damage anyway, and… and… Oh, God. If his crystal was gone, then didn't that mean…?

Roxas had no… soul.

The cry that lifted from his lips started off deep and guttural, before rising to an agonised wail. Olette sobbed. Roxas stared up at nothing, chest heaving, voice withering away. His eyes were wide and blank, his heart all but frozen. All around them, the crowd's murmuring started to gain volume, confusion spreading, and soon maybe panic would ensue. There was now officially a monster in their midst, after all – an empty, soulless being, a shell of a human who shouldn't even still be alive. How could anyone live without a soul? How could Roxas be allowed to continue to live?

He couldn't move. Couldn't think. Could only lie there and stare upward, and it occurred to Roxas, somewhere inside the hollowness that was his existence now, when just half an hour ago he and Hayner had been aiming for the championship belt… that the sky had never looked so blue, nor the clouds so blindingly white.

It just didn't seem fair for something to look so lovely, when his whole world was at an end.