Ronoad struck out at Yusuke with a gigantic fist, but the young spirit detective moved just in time to avoid any injury. Behind them, the army of demons was moving closer to Hiei and Riku, who shifted uncomfortably.

"There certainly are enough of them," Hiei commented wryly, drawing his sword gracefully.

Nodding, Riku stood patiently, waiting for them to make the first strike, "Yes, they obviously have no shame in launching an attack on us when we're outnumbered."

Unable to wait any longer, Hiei flung himself into the midst of a group of lesser demons. He promptly began slashing them to ribbons. Yusuke turned for a split second, but then had to put all his attention of Ronoad.

"Come on, give me a hand," Hiei called, frustrated that Riku was merely standing there.

Riku closed his eyes for a moment, fingering the black crown attached to his belt loop. The metal was cold and he felt a sense of power coming from it. He breathed deeply, inhaling its sweet aroma.

What does power smell like to you

Riku raised a hand before him, dazedly, and watched as little streaks of light spiraled up from his key chain and wound themselves around his arm spider-like. He felt his throat muscles contract and, for a moment, he couldn't breath. Then the pressure released and a wind rose beneath him; it was like nothing he'd ever felt.

The wind flowed from the ground, carrying words and feelings that he knew weren't his own. They pushed themselves so far into his thoughts that he wasn't sure who he was, at first. Then it came to him, forming in his hand like liquid lightning becoming solid glass.

It grew on either side, the right wrapping itself around his hand like a handle and the left forming a long, black blade in the shape of a key.

For me it smells like roses…addicting, intoxicating…yet sweet and pure…

"What on Earth-" Hiei stared, his eyes widening.

Yusuke paused long enough that he only just had time to move out of Ronoad's line of fire, "What the hell is happening!"

Riku's eyes opened—a lustrous shade of gold—and he turned the shadowy weapon over in his hand, gazing at it with such a nostalgia, a longing, that…

"The keyblade," he breathed hungrily, "it's come to me…"

For some reason, this surprised him; he had known all along that it was his, hadn't he? No, the keyblade was Sora's. This had to be wrong.

…Addicting, intoxicating…