He was wounded. Badly, perhaps mortally. He was bleeding wickedly on the gleaming black floor, no longer alive enough to pretend, to resist the encroaching darkness, scarcely able to

breathe. He was dragging himself, one-armed, across the polished surface of the little platform, towards the stairs where lay a girl, and she was crying and could not see him as he

struggled towards her, dying foot by agonizing foot. She looked up, and her face was familiar, and he spoke, saying--

He awoke with a start again in his own bed, again, but this time in the dark. He stared upward, at the shadows which coated his ceiling in thick, velvet sheets.

"Another dream about him," he mused. Unconsciously, he pressed a shaking hand to the warmth of his chest, wherein he could feel--

Blinking, Roxas sat up slowly, shading his eyes from the morning sun streaming rambunctiously in through his window. He put a hand to his heart--a beat, too quick, but there. Strange.

He could have been sure. But a dream. It had to have been a dream. His heart was beating now, and if, for a moment, he had felt something of reality twist sharply, like a neck breaking,

then . . . well, that was part of awakening from a dream, wasn't it?

That boy, from his dream--he was so familiar that Roxas felt as though the boy might be his brother--had been trying to say something, trying to tell him something, and just for a

moment, Roxas had seen his own face, streaked with blood and tears and sweat and grime, his own hand clawing across the marble floor as he struggled to Kairi's side.

"Kairi?" Roxas said. "Who's Kairi?"

No one answered.

Shrugging, he stood and stretched, clicking his teeth at the memory that the Struggle was that day, and that he would probably have to fight Hayner, who still hadn't forgiven him.

Roxas could picture the contest as clearly as though it had already happened; he would fight to the semifinals, go up against Hayner, remain unforgiven and lose... but of course, he

would just have to see. Rubbing his sore shoulder and wondering where the bruise on his shin had come from, Roxas got dressed and headed for the Sandlot.

As he walked down the deserted, gold-lit streets, he began to get the distinct feeling that something was amiss. His pace slowed, he stopped, looked around. There was no one there.

He could have sworn that someone was watching him, that he'd heard footsteps that were not his echoing behind him. He shook his head and convinced himself that he hadn't slept

enough.

There it was again--! Roxas spun on his heel, eyes narrowed, nearly losing his balance.

"Chill out, Roxas." he said to himself softly. "You're jumping at shadows."

He continued on his way, still hearing the odd echo, still wondering where everyone was. Probably at the Struggle arena already. It was only the biggest event in Twilight Town. Roxas

could remember last year's as though it were yesterday; he'd lost, but not by much, to Seifer. He'd never quite recovered from the embarrassment. Roxas rolled his shoulder and winced.

He was probably late. That was the way this day was going.

And yet, as he approached the sandlot, he couldn't hear anything but his own breathing, footsteps, and the strange echo they each had. A light wind tousled his hair. Not even a

murmur from the Struggle arena... odd, it should have been teeming with spectators by that time. Roxas turned the corner.

They were all milling about, talking excitedly, gesturing, pointing, warming up, stretching. The noise hit Roxas like a tsunami, and he had to stop for a moment and catch his balance

against a wall. It was as though none of it had existed until the moment he'd turned the corner.

"Hey, Roxas, wimping out already?" Seifer asked, stopping to stand across from Roxas, arms akimbo, smirking.

"You wish." Roxas retorted, pushing himself from the wall to stare Seifer down from his full height--which was difficult, because Seifer was a good two inches taller than him.

"Tough talk, from a loser." Seifer said, and laughed. Roxas' fist clenched.

"You just wait." he replied.

"Seifer's not scared of anybody, y'know?"

Roxas rolled his eyes; just what he needed, Rai the Flunky coming along to add to his embarrassment. "Leave me alone." he said.

"See you on the stage, loser." Seifer said, laughed, punched Roxas in the shoulder, and left with his groupies. Roxas watched him go with murder in his eyes.

"Roxas! Hey!"

Roxas turned, startled out of his grim reflections by Olette's cheery call. "Hey." he said.

"Seifer giving you trouble again? Oh well, don't worry about it, the tournament's about to start. C'mon, you still have to register!"

Roxas allowed himself to be dragged off to the judge, swimming in a sea of deja vu. He could swear this exact same conversation had happened before, in the exact same place, at the

exact same time.

He registered with the referee, got his official Struggle bat and ticket and his first match assignment. Great. Fujin, another one of Seifer's flunkies. And a girl. It wasn't fair, how he had to

fight girls in the Struggle. He felt as though he ought to feel a little bad about winning. But he never did.

The day passed in a blur. Next thing he knew, he was facing off against Hayner after having beaten Fujin and a few others. It was strange, how he'd known them all his life, but he

couldn't pull their names to mind.

"Hey Roxas." Hayner said. Roxas looked up across the arena at him, startled. "I'm gonna win that trophy for us."

Roxas blinked.

"I'm serious. And if you beat me--which you won't--you better beat everyone else, too. We're getting that trophy."

Roxas nodded; all was, evidently, forgiven.

The whistle blew. He and Hayner went for each other. Roxas got in the first hit, Hayner the second--it landed squarely on Roxas's shin and threw him off-balance, causing him to land

heavily on his shoulder. He was on his feet again in an instant, a red haze filling his vision. A few more blows exchanged, parried, countered, blocked. The bat was swinging, Hayner was

not going to dodge in time. It caught him squarely on the jaw; Roxas saw his eyes roll back in his head as he fell. The whistle blew again. Roxas stood panting over his fallen friend.

There was cheering, but Roxas heard it as though from underwater. He was staring at Hayner's face; blank, the mouth a little open, eyes closed tightly, brow wrinkled with pain. Slowly

the hot mist cleared from Roxas's vision and he could see again. Dimly, he realized that he'd just clocked his best friend. As the referee held up his hand as the victor, all Roxas felt was

empty.

Next thing he knew, he was up for the next battle. This time his opponent was Vivi, a meek little... well, Roxas wasn't quite sure what Vivi was. A little black thing in clothes and a hat.

Vivi looked at Roxas and giggled. Then laughed. Roxas felt the skin on the back of his neck and arms prickle and crawl.

"Roxas." someone whispered. Roxas looked behind himself. Seifer was standing there, with an icepack against his head, his skullcap removed for once. Roxas could see blood caked in

the older teenager's blonde hair. "That's not Vivi."

"What?" said Roxas. Then the whistle blew. Something hit Roxas, hard. He had perceived no movement. He fell, hit the ground, bounced, tumbled to a stop. The official blue Struggle bat

slipped from his hand and rolled across the stage. Get up. he thought, but he couldn't move. His head was throbbing, his limbs weak and impotent. Get up, you idiot.

Something hit him again, in the side. Roxas cried out in pain. Again, the stinging pain, across his shoulders, now. Why wasn't the referee calling off the match? He was hit in the head

again, saw stars. The world spun, he squeezed his eyes shut, feeling nauseous. Suddenly all the pain dulled to a slow ache, as of soreness or dehydration. Roxas shook his head and

opened his eyes.

Vivi looked at Roxas and giggled. Then laughed. Roxas felt the skin on the back of his neck and arms prickle and crawl, and his head throbbed painfully.

"Roxas." someone called. Roxas looked behind himself. Seifer was standing there, with an icepack on his head, pressed close against his skullcap. "That's not Vivi."

"What?" said Roxas.

"Thrash 'im." said Seifer, and stalked away.

The whistle blew. Vivi rushed at Roxas, who just barely managed to dodge, leaping to the side and rolling, coming back up on one knee, struggle bat gripped tightly in one hand. Vivi

was already coming for him again, still laughing. Roxas dodged again, swung at the blur which was his opponent, missed. Something struck him across the back, once, twice, three times.

Roxas's feet hit the ground and he ran a few steps before turning. There was Vivi once again, speeding towards him, laughing and laughing.

"Don't laugh at me." Roxas said, and swung the bat. It struck Vivi solidly in the shoulder, and the little thing rolled once, stilled, did not get up.

And then it all went wrong.

Again the laughter, coming from the little lump that was Vivi, curled on the ground. Roxas realized that the crowd had stopped cheering. He looked around. Everyone was frozen in place,

mouths wide open, smiling, yelling, whooping, fists in the air. Pence was suspended a few inches off the ground.

Suddenly Vivi moved. Roxas turned back. From Vivi's limp form, a white wraith erupted, swaying tantalizingly back and forth, eyeless head pointed directly at Roxas. "Again?" he

protested, feeling tired and helpless. His head throbbed again, his shoulder stung, his ribs ached. The Struggle bat was suddenly heavier in his hand, and cold. Roxas looked down. The

strange, enormous key, teeth gleamingly sharp, smiling at him.

Kill the wraith, it whispered to him. Use me. Kill the wraith.

Roxas sprang at the figure, Keyblade whistling through the air. He struck it over and over again, blind with fear and rage, not even feeling it when the wraith struck back at him, leaving

long red welts across his skin, occasionally drawing blood. With a sad little pop, the thing burst, leaving no trace it had ever been there. Roxas tried to calm his breathing; just then,

something else struck him across the shoulders, whip-like. He spun; three more of the monsters were squirming towards him. He lashed out at them with a cry, pounding at their heads,

slicing at their insubstantial limbs. One by one, he killed them all, and then stood in the center of the arena, waiting for the inevitable wrench in time which he knew must come.

Instead, he heard clapping.

From the back alley came a figure clad in black. Roxas gripped the Keyblade tighter, feeling its rough shaft biting grooves into his hands.

"Roxas. All right. Fight fight fight." said the figure. Roxas bent his knees and prepared to kill this thing, as well, be it man or monster. "You really don't remember?" it asked. "It's me. You

know. Axel."

It pulled its hood back. Roxas saw a shock of red hair--well, really more an explosion than a shock--pale skin, green eyes, a soft smirk, a strange teardrop mark beneath each eye.

"Axel?" Roxas said man was oddly familiar. Just the sight of him made Roxas's head throb, his blood pound in his ears.

"Talk about Blank with a capital 'B.'" the man replied, rolling his eyes. Roxas kept silent. "Man oh man. Even the Dusks aren't gonna crack this one."

Suddenly, erupting from flames, two white-hot chakuran appeared, spinning, by the man's hands. He snatched them from the air coolly, smiling sadly at Roxas.

"Wait a sec." Roxas said, feeling fear rising up to strangle him; the pointed spikes on the weapons looked extremely sharp. "Tell me what's going on."

"This town is his creation, right?" Axel said, looking around at the frozen citizens of Twilight Town. Roxas suddenly realized how very few of them there were. "Which means we don't

have time for a Q & A." The man's voice was mocking, laughing at him. Roxas clenched his teeth. Suddenly, the voice hardened. "You're coming with me, conscious or not. Then you'll hear

the story." Idly, he tossed one weapon into the air and caught it on his fingertips, letting it spin a little like a deadly ferris wheel.

Roxas took a couple steps back; the air behind him writhed and twisted, and the distortion spread towards Axel reaching around behind him, encircling the two. The redhead looked

around, green eyes suddenly wide, shoulders tense.

"Uh-oh." he said. With a whisper, the distortion cleared.

Kill him now. whispered the Keyblade. Roxas looked at it, horrified and puzzled.

"What's going on?" he screamed, throwing the Keyblade from himself. It clattered against the Struggle stage. Axel watched it go.

Suddenly, the cold weight was back in his hand, biting into his palm as though vengeful.

"Number 13." said Axel, musingly. "Roxas." Suddenly the voice was harsh again. "The Keyblade's chosen one." Again, the chakuran tossed into the air, casually, caught with trained

precision.

The Keyblade grew colder in Roxas's hand, whining with anticipation, trembling in his hands. The mist rose again into Roxas's vision, swirling, choking, red-hot. Roxas put his other hand

on the Keyblade as little red flames began to chip off of the chakuran in Axel's black-gloved hands.

Kill him. it whispered.

"Okay, fine!" Roxas cried. "You asked for it!"

And then the first of the wickedly spiked chakuran was flying towards his head.

Vaguely, he heard something that sounded rather like a hundred little glass shards falling down a metal tube. He couldn't think past the burning pain in his shoulder; although he had

fought, and possibly injured Axel, he had wound up pinned to the Struggle stage by one spike of the chakuran through the shoulder. As his vision flickered, he could see Axel leaping

back to avoid... something. Maybe someone had come to help.

"So it was you." Axel said, voice venomous. Suddenly the pain in Roxas's shoulder intensified, squeezed, dulled. He found that he was no longer pinned. The chakuran erupted into

flames back in Axel's hands, whirling with a noise like helicopters taking off. He hurled them both at... something. Roxas couldn't see what. All he heard was two soft pings, like coins

dropped onto mirrors.

"Roxas." someone said, in a dark, chocolaty voice. "This man speaks nonsense."

This man is in the act of killing me. Roxas thought.

"Stay away from him!" Axel cried. There was a flurry of black, movement that made Roxas's head spin; he felt as though he might be sick. And then the smell of burning flesh, and

darkness.