A/N: Takes place before all games. Thank you to maidenmonster, odi8200, and Water-gem for the encouraging reviews!

Disclaimer: If anyone in this story belonged to me, I would be filthy stinking rich. Since I'm anything but, you may rightly assume that I'm merely playing with someone else's toys - Square Enix and Disney Interactive's toys, to be exact - and that I may, someday, give them back. When I feel like it.

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Chapter Two

The ever-steady and soft, fluid glow of the walls roused Demyx from a surprisingly peaceful slumber; one lacking in nightmares or even the odd hopeful dream, such as the one he'd encountered on his third night. He hadn't wanted to leave the warm place – the one he couldn't remember – and he'd secretly hoped that it was this world, in all of its confusion between the corporeal and the ethereal, that had been the nightmare.

Instead, he rubbed a cool hand across his eyes, feeling remarkably well-rested. There was something important he told himself to remember for the morning that was currently dancing on the outskirts of his memory –

Ah, yes. That's right.

A smirk lifting the corner of his lips once more, Demyx dressed himself quickly and made his way to the hall where many of the Organization chose to dine. For the first time in days, he felt famished. It was interesting to Demyx how pain and other physical sensations were terribly strong, yet those sensations that had no known physical origin were only shadows of what they could have been.

Yet, they were there.

The mage made his way over to the steel table, nearly bumping into a dark-haired man as he gave more attention to his idle musings than to his sense of direction. The dark-haired man whipped around and scowled.

Demyx winced, then stepped back. "Sorry," he said plainly, and gave the man a tentative pat on the shoulder before he realised that the best possible move he could make would be to simply walk away. He sighed. He should have scowled back.

"Hm," said the dark-haired man, and ripped a chunk off a bread loaf in front of him.

Demyx's stomach growled fiercely, and he tried to find a place to sit that wasn't too close to the other members. He did this only out of respect for those who had the capability to rip his head off with their minds – Demyx was, by nature, a very extroverted creature – and though he longed to converse at lengths with these strangers, he assumed by their lack of enthusiasm for his presence that they would not enjoy it.

A plate, whereupon lay a warm loaf of bread and a square of chocolate, materialised at his place, coupled with a small clank of silver against china as a bowl filled with soup settled into existence – or, Demyx wondered, non-existence? - right beside it. Hungrily, he picked up the bowl, completely disregarding the spoon inside it, and drank down the broth in enormous gulps. A pang of regret followed that action, when he realised he could have dipped the bread into the broth, but that didn't matter. He would make a sandwich, and all would be right with the world.

Just as he was beginning to bask in the beauty of his own chewing, he felt a hard thump against the broadest part of his back. Demyx coughed violently before he was able to swallow, and he whipped around, prepared to mimic the dark-haired man and give the culprit a very irritated glance, when his glare melted into a timid frown. Number Eight brushed behind him, that self-assured grin permanently plastered on his face. The mage's expression swerved more toward horror when the red-haired Nobody casually pulled out the chair beside his and plopped down into it.

So, being tough was going to take a little more work than Demyx expected.

"Geez, what?" Number Eight said, squinting at the newcomer's look of pure terror. "You think I look bad in the morning, you should see Saïx –"

A blue-haired man – presumably the one called Saïx – lifted his gaze from his own meal and regarded Number Eight with a cold, unwavering stare. Demyx cringed away from it.

Number Eight appeared to be mostly unmoved by the non-verbal assault, though his eyes flickered briefly to the ceiling. Then he grinned, crammed a piece of bread into his mouth, and chewed thoughtfully.

At the opposite end of the pseudo-emotional spectrum, Demyx was regarding his plate with the utmost interest. He hoped Saïx and Number Eight would keep focusing on each other so he could finish his meal in a relatively safe state of mind. Unfortunately, Number Eight turned his gaze toward the young mage as soon as the thought crossed his mind.

"So," Number Eight said, his tone purely conversational. "What'd they end up calling you?"

Demyx hadn't been prepared for anything but taunts and cruelty to pour from the lips of the fiery Nobody; therefore, when Number Eight's amicable mannerisms proved dominant, the blond was stuck to respond. "Um," said he, in a dizzying display of eloquence. "D-Demyx." He hadn't meant to stutter, and cursed inwardly when he realised he had. In his mind, he was ruining every opportunity he had to make himself appear stronger to the others.

"Cool," Number Eight replied, not addressing the slip in diction at all. Demyx was thoroughly confused. Was this the same man that had appeared to take pleasure in making him suffer the night before? "I'm Axel. Got it memorised?"

Arching an eyebrow at Axel's tilted grin, Demyx nodded and chewed the last of his bread slowly. He wondered if the man was insane. In a place like this, he wouldn't be surprised. "Yeah," Demyx said at last.

Axel leaned back further in his chair, his arms behind his head in a semi-relaxed state. "So, the Superior wants me to take you to the First Chamber for some practise." His eyes remained riveted on the mage, as if testing him.

It was something Demyx expected. "Um, I'm gonna be busy today," he replied, hoping his features were relaxed enough to appear nonchalant.

Snorting, Axel shook his head. "You'd better thank the stars that the Superior didn't hear that. Oh, and be glad I'm compassionate. Generous, if you'd like to go that far. If there's one thing that doesn't go down in this place, it's disobedience." Axel leaned in, causing Demyx to instinctively scoot back in his seat. "We call it subordination. Ever hear of that?"

Demyx nodded jerkily.

"Yeah. It doesn't yield the most pleasant of returns." With that, Demyx thought he saw the fire-worker's gaze shift toward Saïx – though it could have been a trick of his own mind. He slumped down.

"I'm sorry," Demyx said honestly. "I just – don't know why I'm here. I don't want to fight."

Axel broke off a piece of chocolate and dunked it into the dregs of his soup, letting it melt a little between his fingers. Demyx wrinkled his nose. "I kinda got that from last night. Man, you were a mess. I guess the Superior has something in mind for you, else you wouldn't be here. But yeah, wow, I can't say I was impressed."

"You nearly killed me!" Demyx shouted, realising only moments too late that a sudden outburst might provoke a negative response.

Only Saïx moved to acknowledge him, and though the man's face betrayed no hint of irritation, it could be extrapolated from his carefully enunciated words. "Silence yourself, Number Nine."

Demyx's eyes went wide for a moment, and then he looked down at his plate. He chewed a piece of chocolate in the newly-settled quiet. Saïx regarded him briefly, then returned to his own meal.

Axel's plate disappeared once it was empty. Demyx assumed that the same would happen with his, though he wasn't sure if he was going to be able to finish it after all. His stomach had certainly shrank during his fast. "You have a lot to learn," Axel said simply, then got up from the table and stretched. "See you in the Chamber." He clicked his tongue and winked at Demyx – the mage wasn't sure whether to interpret that as a friendly gesture or a taunt.

See you, Demyx wanted to say, his throat ready to tense around those formidable words. However, he would find that his voice had seized; he could only move his lips around a dry whisper. Did Axel really scare him that much? He didn't feel overly frightened – at least not to the point of speechlessness. Dejected, Demyx sank even further into his seat. Maybe there were things here that his body recognised, but that his mind did not. He was still so new to this, like an adolescent. Perhaps he would grow into these shadows of emotions like a teenager grows into his own.

Demyx stood, leaving the last fragment of chocolate on his plate. It was making him sick; it wasn't enjoyable. He liked chocolate, but currently he felt like it would be wasted on him. I hope the First Chamber is right next to the Second, Demyx thought ruefully, not quite up to exploring the entirety of the place just to get to the room where he would be undoubtedly pounded into the ground.

The red-haired Nobody was a mystery to the Nocturne – one that he wasn't quite sure he wanted to solve. Usually, war begot war. War rarely begot camaraderie, yet Axel didn't seem to regard Demyx as an enemy outside of the Chamber; rather, he treated Demyx like an ordinary acquaintance. It was the most disjointed "friendship" he'd ever encountered.

He shoved his hands in the pockets of his long coat and steadily made his way out into the corridor, the bridge of shimmering polygons glowing again under each step. They were almost hypnotising. However, they were not suited for stealth, as Demyx would have remained unaware of the presence behind him were it not for the off-rhythmed glow that bounced from the walls a few paces away.

Demyx turned around, and instantly, he felt cold. Saïx stood there, fixing the mage with a level gaze. Demyx met it uncertainly. "Can I help you, Saïx?" His tone was in no way confrontational; the last thing he wanted was to fight against this man.

"I want to watch you practise," Saïx responded calmly, folding his arms in complete silence, the leather of his coat too supple and worn to crinkle and squeak like Demyx's.

Lowering his gaze, Demyx gave Saïx a small smile. "It'll be quick and funny; I don't know who wouldn't want to watch."

Saïx merely lifted his chin in response. "If you refer to your own skills, might I inquire as to why you find them so deplorable?"

A strangled sigh issued from the throat of the Nocturne, and he placed a tired hand to his forehead. "Because they are," Demyx insisted. Why wouldn't anyone listen to him? "I've never fought well. Not here. I have no idea if I fought well when I had a heart, but considering the fact that my skills are 'deplorable' now, I'm going to guess that back then, I still sucked." His face was contorted in an expression of perfect disappointment and anguish. Saïx's did not change.

"I think, Number Nine, that you have simply not been trying hard enough," Saïx replied impassively, approaching Demyx and placing a hand on his shoulder. Not surprisingly, the action was hardly comforting to Demyx, but because the blue-haired Nobody seemed to be exhibiting some effort at acquainting himself with the mage, he gave him a tentative smile in return. Then, he resumed his study of the floor patterns. "Perhaps, if you have some positive encouragement," Saïx went on, "you will find that fighting Number Eight is not as difficult as you may have envisioned."

Demyx didn't know how to respond to that theory outside of a vague nod. Truthfully, he doubted everything Saïx told him regarding his strength in battle. He wasn't going to admit that aloud, however – out of fear. "I have to – to be there," Demyx said awkwardly, pointing in the general direction of where he expected the Chamber to lie. "If you want to come and watch me die, I guess no one can really stop you."

Saïx quirked the slightest of smiles, but said nothing more. The two walked together – Demyx in a hushed sort of hurry, Saïx taking his time – until they finally reached the shimmering doorway that lead to the First Chamber of Arms.

Axel was already there, executing a few lone yet impressive moves with those flaming, spinning, devilish chakrams. Demyx grimaced, a ghost of the pain returning in his side with a fleeting memory of the night before. "Here," he said unenthusiastically, stepping inside the square.

Interestingly enough, the fire-wielder didn't acknowledge Demyx at first; instead, he stared straight over the mage's shoulder, where Saïx stood in wait. After a moment of studying the occasion, he spoke. "What the hell is he doing here?"

"I am here to observe the newcomer," Saïx replied, a subtle sneer gracing his features. "It will not be an inconvenience to you?"

Demyx watched them interact, and the palpable tension made him incredibly uneasy. In that time, he wondered if the two of them would fight instead. It would definitely save him the trouble.

Axel stared at Saïx, a mixture of dislike and something else – fear? - pooling behind his eyes. "No," he said finally, his answer curt. "Not at all. Have a seat. We'll put on a great show, won't we, Demyx?" He flashed that confident grin again, and there was a hint of animalism within it that made the mage squirm.

Demyx could feel that tightening sensation in his chest again, and it made speaking very difficult. It was all a game to them; a deadly game, wherein he was the pawn. "Mnf," he muttered, and took his stance. He recalled the idea he'd had the other night, when he watched himself spin in a fluid frenzy across the room to that haunting, harsh, and peculiar melody.

Holding out his arms, he focused on the sitar that sat in the corner of his quarters. It materialised gracefully in his hands, and he tested out the chords.

A heavy silence settled over the room. Then, Axel started to laugh so hard that his cries of mirth were indistinguishable from sobs. "Oh, man! You gonna sing me to sleep, Number Nine?" Axel jeered.

The Nocturne ignored him, dragging his fingers languidly across the strings. The melody picked up; it was harsh and dangerous, and Demyx glanced up at Axel from beneath his brow, through wisps of blond hair. He felt the mist, and unleashed it.

Axel stared as the clone advanced on him. "The fuck?" He promptly destroyed it with a single hit from one of his chakrams. "You don't start fighting for real, I'll just knock you flat."

Saïx kept his gaze riveted on the young mage and his sitar.

It happened all at once. Demyx felt a strange tension build from the small of his back, snaking up his spine and agitating his nerves. A stinging heat flushed his face with red, and he jumped back, throwing out his hand to release a heavy and pressured geyser directly at Axel, flinging him bodily against the wall.

Axel fell to the ground, momentarily stunned, then turned a wicked eye toward the water-wielder. "That's more like it." He spun toward Demyx without any further hesitation and struck out at him with the chakram. It grazed the musician's shoulder, and Axel chuckled when the mage let out a cry of pain. That is, until he was struck repeatedly with the Nobody's sitar.

Demyx shook his head and drew back, his mouth dropping open. Why had he done that? He'd knocked it out of tune! I'm sorry, baby, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you, he thought, stroking the neck of the sitar, a horrified look twisting across his face. I'm –

His thought process ended there, when Axel slammed one of his chakrams into the back of Demyx's head.