F R A G M E N T S
a kingdom hearts fanfic
He woke coughing and spluttering, pushing himself up on shaking elbows. Sand was in his eyes, water dripping off his hair, trickling into eyes already burning with salt. He rolled over, scrambling out of the water, muscles aching, entire body wound tight and raw. The coat was soaked, clinging uncomfortably to his form.
After a few moments of laboured breathing, trying to regain his bearings, the young man slowly clambered to his feet, feeling woozy and weaker than he had ever been. He reached for his forehead, fumbling for the blindfold and pulling it down low over his throbbing eyes.
Still half-blind, but guided by a pressing sense of urgency, he stumbled through the sand, towards a dirt road in the distance. He moved with a certain lack of grace, still not believing that, of all things, he was free. He pressed onwards, not looking back to the ocean from whence he came. Everything was in such sharp, bright clarity. Too sharp, too strong. The light was harsh, the colours too golden, too rich and deep... Years in near-darkness had–
flash.
Pain and exhaustion hit him as he fell. His arms and legs were begging for rest, cramped with fatigue. The keyblade slowly dropped, and then slipped from numb fingers, clattering on the ground. One hand was splayed on the concrete, sharp grains of rock digging into his palm as he struggled to push himself upright. An endless sea of baleful yellow eyes opened up ahead and around and below, everywhere, watching and waiting.
A droplet of pain appeared in the back of his head, slowly intensifying and becoming the sound of a voice. Insistent, demanding; pushing, prodding. Fight. Fight for me. Drive them back. Kill them.
He didn't need to look back to see Ansem's ruined figure. The heartless king was something half-man, half-dead, by now, just living on the barest fringes of the other's heart. Bitter reproach and anger brimmed in the young man as he felt the voice, that same deep arrogant voice, forcing him onwards despite the pain. Ansem had constructed a tenuous hold between the two, linking them in some mortifying way. A vice-like grip on his heart, that had him obeying his every whim, protecting him hour after hour.
Whatever harm befell the king, Riku felt twice over.
Taking up the keyblade again, he leapt back into the fray. The moment after he fell, a hooded figure had materialized by his side, keyblades whirling. One of Ansem's nameless followers. They had come seeking the king, and found more than they bargained for: a world full of hostile, uncontrollable Heartless.
But they were helping. They fought for them, and it was an ease on his burden – the battles were shorter nowadays, and he could actually stop and rest and they planned to free them, to free the two and bring them out of this prison of darkness and lightning–
flash.
It was hours after his initial awakening on the beach. He had found his way to the town, and was now collapsed on a bed in the inn, sensing every single lump in the mattress. The curtains were drawn, the lights off, the blindfold resting over his pained eyes. Countless days and months and years in darkness had him forced to see by the light of fitful lightning and spluttering, dying electrical lights. The ruins of a world. The world where the Heartless had taken up residence, for god knows how long.
But he was free. He was out of it, and back in the Destiny Islands. Safe, and with the Heartless worlds away.
... He was back, but not home. Not yet. He had inquired, and pried, and it turned out that he was on the wrong island. Some maps showed that he was across the sea from home, far from the isle where he had passed his childhood. How long ago it seemed. Now, he was on some little dip of a place, just off the main continent.
He would have to buy fare on a boat, and travel. Travel soon. He had to return; had to go home.
flash.
"No! Fools! Idiots! You were supposed to hold him–"
"... Sir?"
"Go! Chase after him! He cannot escape!"
Still blinded by his exit from the pitch-dark world, still helpless as a newborn babe, he was already stumbling forward, spurring feet into a run. Where am I? he thought desperately, emerald eyes flickering, sight hazy and blurred. Hollow Bastion? Could it be? After all these years, was it Hollow Bastion?
He ran onwards, the Unknown plunging obediently after him. His coat fluttered out behind, and before he knew what he was doing, he had vaulted himself over the side of a railing, plummeting back into the swirling vortex they had been taken through. It had taken them across worlds, and brought them escape from the Heartless city. He didn't know where it led now, minutes afterwards, but anywhere was fine. Anywhere but here. Anywhere my mind is free from that monster.
As he fell through the portal, his thoughts were freed, whirling and cascading into nothing. He reached out to grasp for nothing and to reach and to reach and finally, finally catch hold of a place. A memory. Remembering a place, a place a memory one that he had to return to, desperately had to return to–
He was torn abruptly back to consciousness, sand in his eyes, water in his hair, salt in his throat.
flash.
He had no belongings, no munny, no nothing. The innkeeper had had serious doubts about giving him a room. The young man on his doorstep was healthy and lean with muscle, but reeling and on the verge of passing-out. He wore a coat of fine leather, but it was in shreds. Old scars criss-crossed his body, open cuts still leering on his face. And no munny.
He had finally been given this scrap of a room by agreeing to work for the man. He would help out around the inn, doing any sort of chore that came to mind. 'Heavy lifting might be a possibility. Are you up for it?' He had wanted to laugh out loud, right then. Endless battle had strung his nerves and muscles so tight he was afraid they would snap if he didn't do some sort of exercise.
... Munny. Fighting for his life had a certain logic to it, but now it had somehow come down to coinage? He would need to amass some munny if he wanted to buy passage to his own little corner of the Destiny Islands.
flash.
Occasionally, he was granted respite from the battle. A while to sit and rest, to gather his energy while the Unknowns danced below, blades flashing. Ansem was always somewhere above; sitting watching them, pulling and weaving some pattern for them to fulfil. Hatred surged within him at the thought of it, but with it came some malicious anticipation. Someday, that monster would finally, finally meet its end.
In the first month, it had all seemed hopeless. He had been prepared to throw down the blade, no matter the king's screaming and raging, no matter the pain inflicted on his mind as a result of it, the splitting agony Ansem caused. At times, despite all that, he was prepared to kill himself.
But then the Unknowns showed up. And then there was hope. They would escape. One day they would escape, and that would be his chance. Then he would sever the ties that bound them, and he would be loose and free and he could go home.
And the monster would meet his end.
flash.
It took a few weeks of work at the inn. At first, the townspeople had watched him warily, almost in fear. But as they got used to him being there, they tried to be friendly, tried to pry him open and figure him out. He wanted none of it. He refused their conversation, their curiosity. He knew they would talk and gossip about him, but it didn't matter.
After he had worked up enough money for the boat fare, he left the island, finally leaving behind their looks and whispers and pity. And he was on his way. On his way home. He would see Sora, and Kairi. It wouldn't be back to normal; but of course not, who expected it to be? But he would see them again, and....
.... and then what?
flash.
Then one day, it had gotten desperate. That day, all the Unknowns were gone – plotting somewhere, in whatever world they came from. And Ansem was quiet for once, having realized the gravity of the situation, quivering with an intense uneasiness.
Riku's blood spilled on the streets, mixing with the rain. He slipped and fell, losing his foothold in the wetness. He crashed to the ground but was immediately up again, fingers sliding along the edge of the keyblade's hilt. He drew his hand around it, feeling the muscles tighten throughout his body. Neck straight, jaw tense, teeth grinding as he clashed with the Heartless, again and again, struggling to drive them back. Bare metal dug into shapeless bodies, cutting through shadow, ripping it apart. But for every Heartless he killed, another lashed in from behind, sending him screaming to the ground, blood splattering across his vision.
The second he fell, he was always up again, kicking and writhing to regain his balance and keep the fight going. Endless. It was endless, endless, absolutely endless..... and then came the moment he fell and, shaking with the pain, he could not get back up.
... That was the day the King appeared.
The King appeared, and he drove them back.
flash.