Case Three

A court of lies. A world of chaos.

Darkness aggregates around murder

untouchable by Helios.

Mountains shatter, loyalties are torn asunder

Light fades in the aftermath of disaster

Song, find my story

09:45 a.m.

Keyblade Wielders' Association

Training complex

Oil spilled across the floor in dark, sticky bands. Firaga glowed on the tip of Kingdom Key and touching it to the ground, Sora dashed.

A blazing inferno spun in the warehouse. Heat exploded the windows and grimy shrapnel fired everywhere.

Pressed against the wall with the out of control fire singeing his eyebrows, Riku's gaze automatically locked on Sora, trailing an obscene amount of fire. What he lacked in physical combat, he more than made up with his giant reserves of magic. However, it made him careless. Nox kicked a wooden crate and a shower of sparks released from the flame consumed box, distracting his student for a split second.

A split second is all Riku needed.

He lunged across the thin strip of visible flooring, an angry pillar of fire hissed after him

The concrete cracked and Sora froze, searching for possible escape routes. He held Kingdom Key up as Nox approached, frighteningly fast. A pair of intersecting roads spun like a weather vane on top of the silver haired man's head and swallowing nervously, Sora squeezed his eyes shut when his body tingled and white light played across the girders far above his head. Light exploded outwards, Salvation; and to his mute horror, Riku cut through the thin barrier of light and pointed the wicked edge of Soul Eater at his head.

"Not quite the checkmate you were expecting," Nox commented and shattered the fragile shackles of blizzaga creeping around his legs. The rundown warehouse flickered, streams of digital green numbers ran along the walls before assuming a blank, beige hue. "You rely overwhelmingly on magic," he lectured, "it drains you quickly. Although," a faint smile edged on his lips, "you did good with casting Salvation."

Outside, Vanitas waited while his brother slumped out of training. Sora grinned shakily, the grip on his weapon unnecessarily tight. He lumbered to the control panel and selected a new arena.

A grand hallway accented in gold unfolded, the long corridor stopping at a stained glass window on the far end. Shoes squeaking on marble tiles, Sora assumed a crude stance. Delicate glass lamps, bolted to evenly spaced pillars, decked the chamber in a regal, bronze glow. The air in the hallway remained static, a solemn quietude whispering of ancient responsibility. Partly regretting the lack of cover, Sora apprehensively watched his twin summon Void Gear.

A flash of dark purple flames rippled across the air. The Keyblade's turquoise eyes roamed before fixing its slit pupils on Sora and he swallowed anxiously. Cracks marred the previously pristine flooring and the frescoes on the walls chafed, shedding history in miniscule bits of dust.

"Please go easy on me," Sora pleaded when Vanitas charged. "I won't make fun of your clothes again." He gasped as the Keyblades clanged. Silver on ebony.

"If you go easy on him," Riku growled over the speakers, "I'll nullify your right to train your brother. And before you spit threats, yes, I can do it." Nox supervised the twins. The Black Saint excelled at combat, marrying magic and physical action into an art form. He swerved elegantly, taming his brutal assaults. "Clavius," Riku gritted through clenched teeth, "play fighting isn't going to help the King when he's standing on a battlefield."

Recently, Vanitas took to wearing a hooded jacket and baggy, calf length pants; clothing spun from magical threads which enabled him to access his Drive Forms. Unfortunately, he became the object of silent scorn and the only one with a death wish turned out to be his brother, who laughed raucously the first time Vanitas turned up at the apartment, tugging his trousers self-consciously.

A kick lashed the side of his head and a burst of dizzy swirls exploded before Sora's eyes. His grip on Kingdom Key faltered before he swung the weapon up, missing by a wide margin. Vanitas' kicks hurt like hell and he quickly sidestepped to avoid a giant chunk of ice.

The blizzaga speared into a pillar, disintegrating into a frosty cloud.

"You okay?" Vanitas lowered Void Gear, the teeth coated with icicles. "You're holding your weapon too tightly." He loosened Sora's death grip on the hilt. "Loosen up and you'll have greater control. Swing and see how the weight is dumped at the end?" Vanitas demonstrated with his own Keyblade. "If you need to block or spin, your wrist automatically rotates, you can't do it effectively when you're holding it like your life depends on it."

"I'm not okay," Sora snapped. His legs ached, his arms throbbed and a raw bruise flowered on the side of his head. "How long do I have to do this?" He melted to the ground, strewn with shattered tiles and the gold piping from broken chandeliers. "I need to go to work."

Acutely aware of the death glare the Grey Knight projected through the pane of glass, Vanitas relented. He waited for the pneumatic hiss of the doors and when the chamber refused to open, he raised Void Gear, simpering victoriously when the doors slid apart.

"You didn't spend ten minutes in there," Riku started the moment they exited the inner chamber. "You were supposed to train him for one hour," the angrier he became, the lower his voice pitched, "and you've been obstinately reducing this session by five minutes each day." Ignoring him, Vanitas passed Sora a potion and the latter gratefully drowned it in a few short gulps. "Clavius," Riku turned to Sora, "you're going back in the training room and you are training with me."

A gloved hand grabbed his shoulder. "Let him off for today, please." Vanitas was awfully polite when it came to demanding things for his brother. "He needs his head checked out after I kicked him." He gestured to the bruise. "And he's improving. Slowly."

"You didn't kick him," Nox corrected. "When you kick someone, they usually end up as an emergency case in the infirmary." Sora regarded his twin, pride and revulsion competing on his face. "...This is the last time I'm making allowances," Riku stated and a message on the panel beeped. "Go easy again and I'm taking you off the training program." He read the message, eyebrows furrowing. "Mail me your gym training results," he added to Sora before deleting the message and leaving, car keys jingling on the pocket of his plaid jeans.

The bruise on Sora's head looked worse than it felt and he eagerly smiled at the egg salad sandwich his brother unwrapped. The anthropomorphic duck and dog companions were nowhere to be seen. "Where are Donald and Goofy?" Sora asked, he developed a weird kinship with them. "Nox is always busy these days," he stated.

Crammed in the elevator with a bunch of other people and Sora squashed behind him, Vanitas flippantly ate his sandwich while the lift smelled of egg and mayonnaise. He shouldered his way out to the reception, dragging a limp, apologetic Sora behind him. Belle smiled at them from her post behind a gleaming, wooden counter and acknowledging her with a curt nod, Vanitas gathered his phone and signed out, emerging in the watery, early afternoon sunshine.

"Riku," he aggressively pronounced the name, "passed the High-tier evaluation a couple of weeks ago." Vanitas refused to register for the test. "He was always busy, but now he's got exclusive rights to boss me around. Who the hell does he think he is?"

A yellow cab stopped before them and they got in.

"Didn't you take the test?" Sora swapped his sweat drenched scarf for a new one extracted from his sports bag. His mentor long told him to ditch the scarf when training. He wouldn't. Couldn't. Sora protectively scrunched the material, comforted by the cashmere wool.

Shaking his head, Vanitas mumbled a negative and leaned in his seat. Los Angeles whirled past the windows. The Police precinct gave way to towering buildings of chrome and glass. Maple trees shed leaves, pops of crimson and brown-gold livening the drab grey pavement.

"This medal is important to me." He brushed his thumb against the disk of silver on his lapel, lingering on the tiny dents. "I want to hold on to it as long as I can." Sora nodded understandingly. "I'm coming with you to the agency," Vanitas announced brusquely.

Sora blanched.

"Uh... why?" I know perfectly why. Autumn arrived in hues of yellow and scarlet, clouds banked the horizon, petrichor teased the air. "I don't want to lose my job." Sora trained his gaze on the seat when he awkwardly met the driver's electric-green eyes on the rearview mirror. "Didn't you have a crush on someone else?" he asked, voice a desperate squeak when the cab turned at the Borscht Bowl Club intersection. "What was her name?" he sifted through his memories, "Jasmine?" Vanitas dismissively turned his head, ears flushing pink. "You ranted about how effectively she handled her KBWA. The vice chief too... really Vanitas?" Sora sighed, "I can't believe you still crush on girls en-masse."

The taxi driver chuckled and immediately quieted when the raven haired man's smoldering irises swiveled to him. He coughed uncomfortably and stepped on the accelerator.

The quicker he got rid of the man, the easier he could breathe.

"Please don't use your passive aggressive pick-up lines on Trucy, everyone at the agency will collectively burn you alive," Sora warned. "God, what did I do to deserve this?" he moaned pathetically as the Law offices edged into view.

"I wanted to see you work," Vanitas apologetically grinned when the taxi sailed to a smooth stop before the opulent Gatewater Hotel. He hopped out, grabbed the bags and Sora joined him, crossing the street to a taller building with a giant screen running a series of adverts.

Politely nodding at the lobby guard, Sora strode to the elevator and only slackened his rigid stance once four walls of steel enclosed him and Vanitas. Inhaling deeply, he stepped out again and marched to the glass doors of the office. An easy smile surfaced on his face when Detective Skye exited the agency, she held the door open for them.

The secretary welcomed them with a genuine smile. A set of five art prints hung on the wall behind her with a mismatched paining situated in the place of the sixth. Dim lighting mellowed the strained silence in the reception and she returned to the clients seated on the chaise lounge, dealing with them in a formal, reassuring tone.

"Sora!" Apollo bellowed. "You're late." He frowned good-humoredly and changed out of his tracksuit. "There might be left-over breakfast in the lounge, although I wouldn't count on it." Buttoning his waistcoat, he crashed on a leather chair and slid a binder file towards him. Vanitas entered the office and tripped over a plastic hula hoop on the floor. "Careful," he warned the latter cursing under his breath. "I've got all sorts of odds and ends in here." Apollo beckoned to Sora. "I need you to help me organize the evidence in this case. I'm up against prosecutor Payne."

Forehead scrunched in sympathy and part contempt, Sora grabbed a tiny watering can from the windowsill and sprinkled water on Apollo the cactus. He removed a few yellowing leaves from the bouquet of white flowers in a glass vase.

Done, he seated opposite his senior and dutifully categorized the evidence while Vanitas gaped at the signed poster above the mantelpiece. He picked a stack of cards strewn over the rug, righted the hula hoop on its side and swept out of the office.

"He's surprisingly docile today," Apollo commented when Vanitas waltzed out, "and he's wearing color."

Examining a photograph, Sora scowled thoughtfully. "Docile? But he's always..." he trailed off. "Red and yellow highlights on black isn't considered as color."

Beyond the blind covered windows, the sun played hide and seek among the clouds.

Sauntering through the carpeted hallway, Vanitas poked his head in Athena's office, courteously greeted the smiling attorney and shielded his eyes against her cheery workspace. He sidestepped when a young woman with caramel brown hair barreled down the corridor, feet in traditional wooden clogs; and bowed stiffly when Madame Fey followed her.

A lounge offered a messy view of worn, red leather couches; a thriving pot plant situated at the windows overlooking the Gatewater Hotel, and a baby blue beanie covering a trophy.

Wafts of baked pastries emanated from a room further on and curious, Vanitas trooped into the kitchen. An array of cakes, cut into dainty squares, cooled on a wire rack. A dollop of cream swinging on the ends of her loose ponytail, Trucy chaotically whisked butter in several steel bowls. She dramatically mixed a buttercup yellow icing and turned.

"Could you... get... me," she sputtered to a stop. Dried batter caked her apron, something shiny coated her diamond earring. "Oh," she set the bowl on a counter, "I thought you were Pearly, she's really quiet."

Unceremoniously cramming a cake in his mouth, Vanitas remembered how hungry he was, half a sandwich didn't make for a fulfilling, post-training breakfast. "I came to see how Sora works," he explained. Grabbing a clean side-plate he loaded a few of the fancy cakes lathered with icing in colors of pastel blue and pink. "Is it okay if I take these?" he asked. "Sora forgot to make breakfast, he was too busy having a panic attack for the morning's training session."

"Of course," Trucy beamed and he hurried out of the kitchen. "I think there's tea in the lounge," she called after him, "unless Daddy drank it all up."

His brother parading in and out of the office distracted Justice and Sora felt it, the way his senior scrunched his forehead, a map of frowns on top of frowns. A floral plate edged across the table, along with a cup of lukewarm tea and a bunch of paper towels and Apollo stopped working.

"Are you always like this?" he questioned, a hint of amusement swimming in brown eyes. He declined a proffered cake.

"Like what?" Vanitas barked. He raised the blinds and opened the windows and a gust of chilled air fluttered the papers on the table.

Please don't agitate him.

"Like an overbearing parent?" Apollo grinned when Vanitas yanked a silk handkerchief from under the table, ripping the fabric. "You're surprisingly good at taking care of people, despite your thuggish attitude." Sora gulped the tea, squashing the roiling pit in his stomach. "It's nice to have someone to depend on," Apollo conceded thoughtfully, tugging his bangle.

Wondering if the attorney insulted or complimented him, Vanitas decided to let it be. "For a long time, it was only us," he shrugged, "so we learnt to do things for each other." He understood why his twin preferred the agency, the tight knit bunch allowed Sora to work in a way he wanted. No messy shouts of how he should interact with people, or sending him off to training camps to conquer his social anxiety once and for all. The company functioned like an extended, chaotic family.

Apollo smirked at Vanitas' attempts to smother the increasing interest in Klavier's poster. He resentfully changed his opinions of the prickly Clavius when Vanitas dutifully cleaned the table of crumbs, expression crinkling into a warm, brotherly smile.

How could people change so quickly? Apollo's thoughts, as it always did, pulled to Mr. Gavin.

The giant globe map in the research laboratory cranked on its gears. Disney Castle spread further out, staunchly maintaining its corona of light, while Castle Oblivion swam in the murky sea of darkness. Another highway between the cosmos choked with heartless and the debris from a blown apart asteroid. Descending the twisted stairs, Aerith trailed her fingers across the wooden railing and stopped before a printer spitting paper.

Thin lasers probed a Keyblade. Void Gear's pupils rotated towards her and back to the scraper running between the weapons' teeth. The Keyblade went through several scans before the printer stopped churning line graphs.

Technicians unsealed the glass cage and Void Gear dematerialized.

Hopping from bench to table, Jiminy studied the graphs and Aerith gathered the papers in a neat bundle for him. "I'm positive," he raised his top hat in greeting, "the chemical composition of this Keyblade does not match those of the Grey Knight's." He conferred with his miniature journal. Technicians whirled about, organizing the raw data into manageable chunks. "I tested all of Nox's Keyblades. The one he recently summoned as well. All of them bear characteristics of Los Angeles so we know he is from here. But," the historian rubbed a gloved finger under his chin, perplexed, "the mineral make-up of Void Gear matches Destiny Islands."

Retreating to the top floor of the research laboratory, unchanged since it was first constructed from hardwood flooring and yew beams, Aerith sat on a bench, careful not to get in the way of an astrologist. Jiminy rode in her skirt pocket and leapt to the space beside her.

"Destiny Islands was torn in half a long time ago," she ruminated. "Did you check all the planets?" As she said it, she knew it might be impossible; the cosmos birthed countless other worlds. "He couldn't have come from a new world, could he?" Exhaustion gnawed her bones. "I locked a number of them, but when you don't have highways linking one micro-world to the other, it gets tedious to steer the ship through hordes of heartless and who knows what." She closed her eyes. "Jiminy, perhaps they are from Destiny Island but are too young to remember?"

The astronomer's astrolabe clinked finely, miniature bronze gears moving across an intricately detailed face. Old fashioned journals lined the shelves, electric bulbs provided light but Aerith preferred the balmy glow of fira flickering in covered lanterns and the occasional whiff of wax from a blown out candle.

"I will ask the researchers to check Kingdom Key," Cricket replied. "It's disturbing that we hardly know anything of their past. My investigations headed to dead ends," Jiminy confessed, raising his hands. "When I requested Leon to force the Black Saint to provide a detailed background... well, you know how he can get."

Gainsborough laughed. She heard way too many stories of Puppy's thick-headed, wayward ways.

"But he has a good heart," Zack always reminded her, a proud smile across his lips.

"What about The King?" she wished for a cold glass of elderflower lemonade. Deep underground, the earth whispered excitedly about the coming rain. A deluge. "How is he faring?"

"He is vastly attuned to magic, his latest report states he can cast Salvation," Jiminy informed. "However, he skimps on training when the Black Saint takes point," Jiminy checked his watch, "and performs poorly in close combat. Quite frankly," the historian added, "he is hopeless on the field as evidenced by how the Organization nearly killed him in an attack."

Everyone at the Association heard about it. If not directly, then through the rumor mill. The King, felled by a near perfect replica of the Wind Mage. Some Association members jeered and harshly compared him to King Mickey.

Others made excuses.

"What is the KBWA's stance?" Aerith relished small talk, but her assignment severely reduced her contact with people.

Springing to the floor, Jiminy replied, "After a discussion among KBWA leaders, King Mickey proposed Clavius be paired with companions." A pause, filled with the sounds of a quill pen feverishly scratching on paper. "Although, it would be a great disserve to the Black Saint if we suddenly switched Donald and Goofy from him to the King. There will be further developments," he skittered to the giant door, "I will keep you informed."

Bidding her farewell with a tip of his hat, Jiminy disappeared.

Joining the astrologist on the floor, littered by empty foil packets of chips and chocolate, Aerith checked the data. She shouldn't be here. Protocol dictated she be holed in her little pod on Basement floor 3, the Special Assignment floor. The astrologist's calculations worried her. The worlds converged ever so slowly, but they did not stop.

One day, she might wake up to everything she cared about, floating as a desert of ash. The earth under her feet no longer talking. Muttering sweet nothings. An entire planet collapsed and she flung off to a faraway place.

Alone.

Afraid.

05:15 p.m.

Wright and Co. Lawyers agency

Library.

Rain pounded the windows. The afternoon abruptly darkened and pregnant clouds encroached on the city. People scurried for safety. The wind tore dead leaves from the sidewalk trees and flung them around, nature's playthings.

Pulling off a pair of oversized headphones, Sora pressed his face against the cool glass. Raindrops raced past each other. The window fogged from his breath and his vision swam from reading fine print. Apollo's complicated case weighed heavily on his mind and he tried to school his concern into a calm, confident expression, he didn't want to worry his senior.

I hope Vanitas isn't doing anything inappropriate.

He knew his brother behaved well enough; but Vanitas relished towing the line between acceptable and unacceptable. Giving himself stomach pains while deciding to check on his unruly twin or not, Sora settled back in the plush armchair, fiddled with the antique brass lamp forever perched on the corner of the table and decided as long as someone did not screech bloody murder, Vanitas was conducting himself reasonably.

Quashing self-doubts, Sora dove back into work. The gentle patter of rain lulled him into hyper focus.

In the kitchen, Vanitas assumed the sacred duty of assisting Trucy prepare dinner. She graciously accepted his help and her sapphire eyes widened impressively as he cooked, a little self-conscious of his feminine, frilly apron absorbing splatters from the hot pan.

Glaring at me isn't going to do anything, old man.

Wright, in his comfortable grey tracksuit, glowered at the raven haired young man bustling in the kitchen. Clavius' amiable chatter with Trucy appeared hypocritical. Besides, he had kitchen duty. He always looked forward to lazy evenings, cooking with his daughter while she exasperatedly showed him how to do one thing or another. Sometimes Apollo joined them, providing sarcastic commentary if Phoenix burned anything.

Today, Vanitas stood at the counter, peeling a bunch of carrots and attentively listening to Trucy complaining about University. Wright did not like Vanitas' sinfully innocent smile. A lot of girls probably found themselves entrapped by the saccharine expression, only to find a wolf in sheep's clothing. His Trucy will not be one of those girls. Whoever wanted to date his darling daughter will have to go through him, Apollo and Athena; three living lie detectors; before he hands the guy over to Edgeworth for a more thorough inspection.

Phoenix glared darkly, fingers wrapped around the magatama. Like Sora, a score of black locks popped over Vanitas, but no red ones as he conversed.

"Pops." Vanitas twisted, a kitchen knife gleaming threateningly in his hand. "Your eyes can burn holes in concrete, it won't affect me." He brought the knife down on a potato. "I kill monsters; you're like," he stirred a pot of soup, "like seaweed. Pretty harmless."

Trucy giggled at the analogy.

Blinking, Wright detached from the doorframe. "Did you just call me Pops?"

Changes

Evening

KBWA Infirmary

A frosted glass screen sectioning a corner of the infirmary folded apart to admit Tifa. Leather belts and a magic barrier restrained an individual to the bed. Pulling out a stool, she sat down.

"You're not going to cut your hair?" she asked. The associate pulled his gaze from the sleeping man. "You don't have to wear those golden contact lenses anymore, Isa."

An X scarred his face. "I'm not wearing them," he said.

"When I first saw you, you were about this tall." She laughed and indicated around chest height. "Now look at you." She placed a gloved hand on his cheek and gritting his teeth, he looked away. "All grown up. You are taller than me!" Tifa exclaimed.

An obliged smile dissolved on his face.

"It's not healthy to say cooped in here," she gently chided. "Your assignment is over, cut your hair and visit me in my office." Saix nodded slowly, a shell of his former self. "Yuffie would want to see you too," Tifa urged.

No response.

Lockhart rose and hesitated, she hugged Isa and after what seemed like an eternity, he wrapped his arms around her.

"Leonhart..." he rasped, "called me a traitor."

Stepping back, the vice-chief pounded a fist in her palm. "I'll give Squall a piece of my mind," she stated, wine-red eyes softening. "Don't worry."

When she left, Isa smiled.

A/N: I had fun writing the part of Vanitas cooking and calling Wright 'Pops' Was anyone surprised with Isa?

Once again, please read and review, Isa needs healing.