Disclaimer: I do not own Kingdom Hearts.
The atmosphere of the dungeons within Hollow Bastion was by and large oppressive, just as it should have been. Those who entered its depths immediately understood that the relative liberties of the surface world vanished the second that the steel doors separating the dungeons from the outside closed. Inside the only source of light were dim candles, many of which had melted entirely long ago and needed to be replaced. Those candles that were alight cast long shadows upon the walls, and as the flames flickered the shadows seemed to dance, taunting the prisoners who lived only for the purpose of not dying. The public just wouldn't like it if a prisoner were to die through neglect or execution.
The cells of the dungeons drove home the idea of oppression to any whose will was strong enough to stay aloft even after observing the dismal confines. They were made to be economical and beyond destruction, and most of all they were made to isolate. The cells had been carved from the stone walls of Hollow Bastion's subterranean world so that the walls dividing the cells were stone. The walls did not echo and amplify noise like some walls, especially walls of stone, tended to do, but instead muffled any and all sounds. The end result was that so long as a prisoner remained within his cell, he could neither see nor hear anyone except himself and the wardens who brought the food or ordered the prisoners to sleep and other such commands that were needed so that prisoners didn't die, or, perhaps worse, go insane.
Of course, any efforts to maintain full sanity within the prisoners were a vain effort. It took only a matter of days before madness set in and reality was contorted within the minds of the prisoners. It was not, however, a raving madness, but instead a resigned madness. An insanity that allowed for the knowledge that any and all attempts at escape were futile gestures, meaningless and unsuccessful without exception. In their insanity the prisoners came to realize that the only person in the world their mind had created was themselves, and the only other living beings were the wardens, the demons that refused to let them die. If there was no one else, there was obviously no point in crying out, for who would hear them?
Nobody. Nobody transcended all other things, and became an entity all in its own. Nobody was the only thing that truly existed in their lives. Nobody could hear them, Nobody could see them. Nobody could care about them. They themselves slowly became Nobody, as through time knowledge of whom they were, why they lived, and their very essence slipped from their minds, fading into oblivion and lost for all eternity. While the public would be outraged if they ever came to learn of these conditions within the dungeons, and by proxy Ansem cared if they ever learned of the conditions, the wardens could care less. The mindset made their jobs that much easier, for it was incredibly easy to control prisoners whose will had been broken, or more accurately, whose will had become nonexistent.
Yet one prisoner had resisted this overwhelming oppression, and Ansem could only sigh in exasperation as he watched the most recent addition to the collection of fugitives struggle against his chains. The other prisoners didn't even need chains, they merely sat quietly, doing what was necessary to survive and awaiting the day that they could be pardoned of their crimes, not that they ever could be pardoned, for no one could learn of the workings of the dungeon. This prisoner, however, was no longer in a state of mind to be considered capable of understanding his circumstances. He was not so much a human being anymore but instead an animal, giving in to bestial instincts that had allowed him to survive. At the moment, his instincts told him to try and escape, to regain the freedom he had once known. Yet Ansem could not let him have such freedom, not until he was lucid once more, and even then Ansem would not be finished with this wretched soul.
As the prisoner struggled, the wardens had begun to take note, and had continually prodded him with their spears, and the prisoner had been cut hundreds of times, but they were all shallow cuts that failed to do so much as draw blood. More importantly, they failed to stop the prisoner's struggles. He continued the futile resistance, somehow believing that eventually the chains would come off. But even then, what could he do? One-inch diameter steel bars separated him from a tiny cell and the hallways of an impregnable dungeon. Ansem could have knocked him out long ago, and hence stopped this pathetic resistance, but he had really been quite fascinated by the prisoner. He was fascinated by the continued struggle, despite no chance of escape. Was it truly born from madness, or was it born from somewhere else? Did it come from the mind, or from the heart? Could it be that, with the logic of his mind unable to override the impulses of the heart due to insanity, the heart's indomitable urge for freedom went unchecked? Perhaps it was possible, and in his studies of the heart, Ansem would have to look into it.
In the meantime however, Ansem had more important things to do, and he had spent far too much time pondering the actions of those who couldn't even realize their actions. With a single wave of his hand he dismissed the wardens, who obediently walked out of the halls, more than happy to leave behind the depressing atmosphere of the prison.
After the wardens had all gone a lone figure stepped out of the shadows. It was wearing a cloak that concealed all of its features, but it wore the cloak not to disguise itself from Ansem, who knew full well everything about his contact, but instead to blend with the shadows. It was dark enough in the prisons to become invisible when wearing the right attire, something Ansem capitalized upon for this meeting.
When the figure came close enough to Ansem it produced an object from within its cloak. It was a dagger that had been imbued with powerful magic. The blade was, appropriately enough, made from onyx, with runes carved into the blade. It was a rather prized possession, an artifact from some ancient war that Ansem cared not for. The blades were outlawed for their abilities, but they were sold on the black market with a value upwards of five million munny. This particular black marketer, whom Ansem had dealt with numerous times, had demanded ten million, but the blade Ansem was getting was a rather special one. Most of the blades had the devastating effect of obliterating the soul within the body, making a single cut a fatal wound. This blade, however, had been modified at Ansem's request. It had probably taken hundreds of hours from the best of mages to do it, but the blade had been customized and Ansem was willing to pay the price for it. Instead of affecting the soul, it would affect the heart. Also, in opposition to destroying the heart, it would instead extract the two key elements within it, light and darkness. Of course, the knife would have to pierce the heart, and the stab wound would likely be fatal anyway, but that was of no matter. Once the darkness was removed from the prisoner's heart, he was no longer of use.
Ansem reached tentatively for the blade, his hand shaking somewhat as he looked at the dark creation. Then he quickly reached out and took the blade before examining it closely. The object felt rather heavy, not in his hands but in his heart. He somehow felt like he would sink into the ground, it was so heavy. Ignoring that, he motioned for the black marketer to leave, and within seconds he was standing alone, admiring the wonderfully cut blade. Each rune was perfectly carved, and the blade's edge was so thin it was almost impossible to perceive. Perfection had obviously been in mind during the dagger's creation, and perfection had been achieved.
Ansem then began to walk towards the prisoner, smiling triumphantly. He had all the means to complete his experiments, to find out once and for all how to save his people from the darkness. Every step he took was another step towards his ultimate goal, and soon he would have become the final salvation of his people.
Upon reaching the cell door, Ansem hesitantly unlocked it and even more hesitantly opened it, taking several minutes to do so. He did not fear the prisoner attacking him, as the chains showed no signs of breaking and they bound him completely to the wall. Instead, he feared the consequences of his actions. Salvation came at high cost, and Ansem did not want the cost to be paid by him.
Ansem began taking tiny steps towards the prisoner, and as he came closer, the prisoner, curiously enough, stopped struggling. Instead, he eyed the dagger Ansem held, watching it come closer and closer. Finally Ansem's stood a mere foot from the prisoner, and the two stared each other in the eye. Ironically, within Ansem's eyes there was fear, and in the prisoner's eyes there was mere resignation, or perhaps contentment. He knew Ansem's intentions, in all his insanity he had found one small spark of lucidity, and he had used it to realize what was going on. He knew that in death, he would be free. Free from the shackles that bound him in imprisonment, and free from the shackles of his mind.
It would be impossible to put into words what happened in the dungeons of Hollow Bastion, but either way the prisoner was left dead, an elaborate façade created to make it look like suicide, and Ansem left the dungeons with darkness in his dagger and darkness in his heart.