Disclaimer: I own nothing, you know this :D

A/N: Thanks so much for all your reviews and support! I really do appreciate it and I'm glad that I'm able to give you this story. I'm having a blast writing it.

Once we get through the introductions of the disciples and the beginnings of the Heartless, you're going to be in for quite the ride (grin)

As always, your reviews, thoughts, suggestions, fav parts/characters are extremely welcomed and very much appreciated!

2. Braig

25years ago

"Go! Take your brother and get to the shelter!"

The fourteen-year old boy stood there, staring at his mother. His clothes hung in rags on his rail-thin body, his short, black hair hanging in soot-covered locks around his face, his golden eyes wide with fright. This isn't happening…it's not! His precious world was crumbling down around him in a rain of fire. War had been ravaging the world for nearly all of his life but it seemed that it had finally hit its climax as their village was burned down to the ground before his eyes. He watched, horror-stricken, as the fire roared around him, engulfing home after home in searing, bright-orange fire. The air was filled with acrid smoke and he coughed, finding it difficult to breathe. The smoke stung his eyes yet still he stood there, watching as the fire roared closer, along with the men with their horrible weapons, shooting anything that moved.

It was true that he loved guns. His father had taken him hunting every year up in the forest that covered the side of the mountain near their village, but this was different, far different. These people were shooting things, people, just because they simply existed. He felt anger bubble inside him, his hands clenching into fists, his gaze narrowing. How dare these people, these monsters, come into his village and do this. How dare they. He'd make them pay, each and every one of them. Somehow.

His hatred-filled, golden gaze was met by one of these shooting men. The man sneered and Braig knew he would never be able to forget that face. The man had a jagged scar that ran from his right eye, across his nose, all the way down his left cheek. A black tattoo was etched into his forehead, the symbol of the man's home land.

Suddenly, someone was between him and the man, shaking his shoulders. Braig blinked a few times before his mother's face came into focus. "What are you staring at?" she admonished. "Go! Get your brother out of here before they come!"

"What about you?" asked Braig, suddenly finding his voice and realising that his heart was thundering in his chest. He looked at his mother with fear in his eyes. "They're going to get you too."

"I have to wait for your father but take Igas and run! He needs you, Braig." She pressed her dry, chapped lips to his forehead in a kiss before pulling him into a tight hug. "Be careful," she whispered before pulling back and smiling softly.

That was the last time she would say anything or ever smile at him again. For as she stood there, urging her teenage son to take his younger brother and go, the sneering man had pointed his gun at her and with one shot, ended her life. Braig heard the shot but his feet seemed rooted to the ground. He could only stare in horror as his mother's face twisted into one of shock and pain, and then her eyes rolled up in her head and she sagged against him.

"Mother? MOTHER!" he screamed, not understanding at first what had happened. Then he saw the blood and knew. His heart thudded to the ground and he felt the hot tears welling up in his eyes and streaming down his cheeks. His shoulders shook with sobs as he held his dead mother to him as he buried his face in her lilac-scented hair. Yes, even in the hazy smoke and smell of blazing fires, he could still smell the lilacs. It was the one thing that he would always remember.

When he finally lifted his head, his gaze was not one of sadness but one of anger. His golden gaze narrowed darkly and as he stood there, fires eating through the homes around him, he vowed that he would take revenge on the man who had murdered his mother in cold-blood. He would find that man and he would delight in watching him die, very slowly.

"Mummy?" someone whimpered nearby, shaking Braig from his thoughts. He carefully laid his mother on the ground, knowing that he wasn't strong enough to carry her anywhere else. He hated leaving her like this, prone to the flames that inched closer by the minute, but there was nothing he could do. He had to take care of Igas. If his father didn't make it to the shelter, then Braig would be all that Igas had.

"Come on, Igas," he said quickly, picking up his six-year old brother and running for the shelter. Ever since the war had reached their village, famine had slowly begun to eat away at the village's inhabitants. Igas was proof of this. Once, his little brother had been strong and healthy, but now he was merely a bag of bones, his features gaunt, and his once bright gaze now hollow and dulled. Braig had suffered as well from the lack of food, his body becoming abnormally thin, and his muscles deteriorating from the lack of vitamins. Yet Braig knew that his parents had given him and his brother everything they could offer, sometimes going without food so that the two boys could have just enough to wet their appetites. There's not enough food to feed a cricket, thought Braig bitterly as he hurried through the stone-paved streets, fires burning hotly on either side of him. He passed by so many people, their faces just a blur, the smoke making it difficult to navigate the streets.

Braig continued to cough, the smoke becoming thicker, covering the village in a dense fog. Adrenaline pumped through his body, his heart hammering in his chest as screams and shots erupted around him.

Finally, Braig spotted the stone archway that led to the underground shelter. He saw the door beginning to close. Braig willed his legs to move faster, gasping for air due to the strain on his lungs. He stumbled inside the shelter just as the man shut the door and collapsed to the ground, still holding his brother tightly to his chest. Braig fell into a fit of coughs, struggling for breath. Smudges of soot stained his face and sweat poured down his forehead and cheeks.

"You just made it son," said the man. "Here, let me help you."

Braig protested weakly as his little brother was taken from his arms but he couldn't even feel his body anymore.

"It'll be all right," said a soothing voice as strong arms were wrapped around him. And then the blackness overtook him.

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At twenty-nine years of age, though his body was slender and willowy, his muscles were toned and hardened from years of hard labour. His long, black hair was pulled back at the nape of his neck by a leather band, a few strands framing a face that showed no mercy. He always had his rifle slung across his back and two other guns strapped to his thighs in holsters. Around his waist he wore a utility belt that contained extra ammunition, rations for a week and two knives. After his village had been destroyed, Braig and his brother were put into an orphanage and it had been absolute hell. His brother, Igas, hadn't lasted for more than a year, his frail body giving into illness. After his brother had died, Braig grew embittered, thinking only of when he'd be able to escape and go after the man who had killed his mother and whom he felt was responsible for his brother's death. He had stolen a gun from one of the guards when he was sixteen and would often go deep into the woods behind the orphanage to practice his aim in private. Hard labour was all he knew for the next ten years of his life until finally a few of the boys (along with him) managed to escape the prison that was their orphanage.

Braig had been quickly caught up in the mercenary field and over the next five years, he had acquired several specialised weapons along with a reputation for being the best. Many sought his services and he was well off. His enemies always mysteriously wound up dead in back alleys and so far Braig had been untouched save for a single, jagged scar that ran down the left side of his face: a wound received from fighting hand-to-hand with one of his most skilled adversaries. He won in the end, but the scar served as a reminder of what could happen when he didn't have his guns in hand.

He had always been an instinctual fighter and that incident only made it concrete. He had a habit of shooting first and talking later, not always a good thing, but it hadn't failed him yet.

In his third year as a mercenary, a new ruler had come to power in this world and things began to change rapidly. His name was Ansem and known as an incredible researcher and revered as being highly intelligent. These two things, along with his knowledge gained over his lifetime, was already affecting the world visibly. Peace began to spread, ever so slowly, and on Braig's last run as a mercenary, he encountered the scar-faced man who had killed his mother. He had fought this man, Durheig, and while he had won in the end, it hadn't come without a price. Their fight had been long and difficult and Braig received a nasty blow just above his right eye, the blood blinding him on that side of his face and forcing him to wear a black eye-patch from that point forward.

The next few years served as re-training years as he learned to fight using only his good eye and perfect his aim. He never missed a shot and didn´t plan on starting anytime soon. Later that year, he was approached by Ansem, who asked him to be part of the forces that protected the castle and surrounding land. He agreed, not having much of a choice in the matter, and fought along with the rest of the soldiers against invaders. They were mercenaries, of a sort, for they rooted out the bad apples in the world. It took eight, long years, but soon the world had become peaceful. Ansem the Wise, whom everyone called a sage and loved, had succeeded in bringing peace and harmony to the world dubbed Radiant Garden. Everyone was happy and though Braig never lost his bitterness over losing his family, he had grown to appreciate the peace.

It wasn't until one, particularly warm afternoon, that Braig truly found his place. Over the years in the army, Braig had proven himself as a cunning strategist and this earned him an offer by Ansem to join his research team. The team was going to be delving into the mysteries of the heart and the darkness that slept within all people. Initially, Braig had been ready to refuse for research wasn't exactly on his list of things to do. It had actually been Xehanort, the boy whom Ansem had raised and one of Assam's disciples, who had convinced Braig that this was a worthwhile opportunity, something that could change all their lives. So Braig had accepted and from the moment he said, "I'll join your little group," he didn't know it but he had sealed his fate for what was to come.

------

After Xehanort had told all of them about Even, Dilan, and his discovery in the bowels of the castle, Braig had to see this for himself. Xehanort wanted to study these creatures and experiment to see what they could discover about the darkness that these creatures had come as a result of. So he made his way down to the lower levels, his white lab coat swirling around his legs, briefly showing black, knee-high boots and the two guns he had strapped around his thighs. He never went anywhere without his weapons and while the life of a disciple wasn't dangerous in a war-like way, it still had its risks. But he didn't care. The prospect of danger didn't scare him. In fact, it made him eager to continue and these experiments had taken on a whole new level, one that he didn't mind at all. Perhaps that was another reason why Master Ansem had recruited him to join his special team.

Braig came to a halt outside the room where they had locked all the failed test subjects and that now housed, supposedly, these creatures of darkness. Pushing open the door, he stepped inside, the light from the corridor entering the room and lighting up the first few feet. He felt something near his foot and his lightning-quick reflexes kicked in as he moved to the side and aimed a gun at the creature. Yes, it was a creature and he found himself staring at it incredulously, his finger pausing on the trigger. What the hell is that! Then the thing actually had the nerve to leap at him!

He shot it and it disappeared into swirls of darkness. His heart was beating quickly as he looked into the dark room, wondering just what the hell had happened. As his eye adjusted to the dark, he found himself wishing he couldn't see what was in front of him. There were swarms of these creatures, almost like a tidal wave, coating the entire room. Braig wasn't afraid of anything but he found himself backing out of the room and shutting the door quickly, staring at it. Xehanort was right but does he know there are like, thousands of those things!

He turned and headed back to the laboratory in search of Xehanort. He found the younger man standing next to where Even was sitting, discussing Even's current experiment. Braig walked over to them and came to a halt behind Xehanort. "Xehanort, there's something you need to see downstairs."

Both Xehanort and Even looked at him curiously. "What's going on?" asked Even.

"Does it have to do with the creatures?"

Braig nodded. "They've multiplied and I don't mean just a few more, I mean like thousands of these things."

Ienzo, Elaeus, and Dilan had been working on calculations nearby when they heard this and made their way over to where Braig stood with Even and Xehanort. "What did you see?" asked Elaeus.

"The shadow creatures seem to have multiplied," said Xehanort, his amber eyes glowing with a morbid curiosity that Braig would only associate with that particular young man.

"Then what are we waiting for?" asked Dilan with a smirk. "Let's go check this out."

"Multiplying?" asked Ienzo in surprise, his eyes wide. Then he grinned. "I'm there first!" And with the energy he was known for, Ienzo took off down the corridor.

Xehanort chuckled and the others smirked. "He has enough energy for all of us," said Xehanort.

"The eagerness of youth," said Even simply as he stood from his chair. Then he turned and walked out after Ienzo.

Dilan looked at the gun still in Braig's hand. "You shot one of them?" he asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Dude, it jumped at me," said Braig, motioning with the hand that held his gun. "Like I was going to just let it do that and get away with it. As if!"

"What happened?" asked Elaeus, appearing curious.

"It just disappeared into darkness," said Braig, looking at the broad-shouldered man.

"Interesting," mused Xehanort, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Let us see what our trigger-happy friend has discovered, shall we?" He chuckled before walking out.

"I am not trigger-happy," muttered Braig as he followed Xehanort.

"Yes you are," said Dilan, smirking.

"As if. Shut it," retorted Braig.

Elaeus just shook his head, following the two down the corridor as they continued to bicker.

------

It was a few days later, after they had been studying the creatures of darkness, and Xehanort had just returned to his room after a lengthy observation. They have multiplied so quickly! I'm beginning to wonder if that room will be able to hold them. Master Ansem may yet discover them and if he does, he will surely put a halt to our experimentation. I will not let that happen. I have worked far too hard to get to this point and we have finally hit the jackpot! We have discovered true darkness, these creatures that seemed to have spawned from the collapsed hearts of our test subjects. After all those hours of observation, I need to write another report. We must hasten our experimentations before they are halted. I see the eagerness in my team's eyes and I know that that same eagerness resides within my own heart. After all our theories, we are nearing the climax of our entire purpose for starting this research project in the first place.

He took a seat at his desk and pulled his journal from its resting place on the shelf. Opening it to a fresh page, he took his pen and began to write.

Report 2:

The shadows that crawl beneath the castle…are they people who have lost their hearts, or incarnations of Darkness? Or something entirely beyond imagination? All my knowledge has provided no answer. One thing that I am sure of is that they are entirely devoid of emotion. Perhaps further study will unlock the mysteries of the heart. Fortunately, there is no shortage of test samples. They are multiplying underground even as I write this report.

They still need a name. Those who lack hearts…

I will call the Heartless.

So, what did you think? I'd love to know :D

Thanks for reading!