It was strange to be someone else, to feel himself tromping around in too-large shoes, trampling carefully-laid plans, delicate experiments.
Some things were familiar—the rush of the Keyblade, the slaying of Heartless—but others were alien, unthinkable.
Treason, he screamed as the Keyblade bludgeoned the life out of Dusks. He could hear their dying screams, could hear their whispered pleas I don't want to die I don't want to die Master Roxas please I don't want to die but Sora could not. The Keyblade Master blundered through the worlds, tearing through Heartless and Nobodies alike, selfishly in search of his friends.
Roxas tried to make himself heard, noticed. He succeeded, once, while Sora was still sleepy. It had felt felt! wonderful to cry, to feel sorrow for the loss of Twilight Town Hayner… Pence… Olette… but feelings came at a heavy price. He tried to stop the Keyblade from tearing through the black coat, through flesh and blood, which had startled Sora, but not enough to stop him. The look on Demyx's face I'm sorry, Demyx, I'm sorry, I never meant for this to happen! made him feel terrible inside. He tried to share his grief with Sora, but the Key-Bearer was too stubborn to accept it.
Roxas cried. Sora didn't.
Nobodies falling to the Keyblade. Organization blood on my… Sora's… hands.
Xaldin was next. Roxas knew him well, well enough to know when the Lancer was defeated. He could see it in his eyes the moment the tide of the battle turned. He knew he was going to die, but he went on, going down fighting.
Roxas hated Sora. It was so good to hate, to feel such emotion.
And oh, how he'd screamed, railed against the confines of his Sora-shaped prison, wept until he had no tears left when the fire that had been Axel went out.
Axel saw him. He did. Roxas could tell, when Axel's eyes brightened for just a moment. In that instant, Roxas tried to convey everything he felt felt.
Did it work? He never knew.
I'll see you in the next life, Axel. You're free now.
His heart heart! leapt when he saw the Skyscraper of Memory.
Yes. Yes. Yes.
It was exhilarating. He was himself, and he had a heart—his own heart!—and he could use his own Keyblades, harm, kill…
He fought Sora, fought him with all his strength. For Demyx, all kindness and flow and soft songs in the darkness; for Xaldin, with his braids and his lances and his blue eyes; for all those helpless Nobodies. The sensitive, playful Dancers; the topsy-turvy Creepers; the strong, silent Berserkers; the slithering, cocky Assassins; the obedient, timid Dusks.
For Axel, with his laugh and his grin and his wink, the tilt of his head, the flicker of fire in the wind, the twinkle of sea-salt ice cream in the twilight.
But Sora's heart was his, and he couldn't last long.
Xigbar.
Xigbar, who had taught him everything about the Castle and the City and the others, Xigbar who loved to joke and hang upside-down and defy all the rules, even gravity.
Luxord.
Luxord, who had talked with him for hours, teaching him the rules of every game he knew, Luxord, who smelled of tea and smoke and occasionally rum, the click of dice, the whisper of shuffling cards.
Saïx.
Saïx with his never-ending loyalty, who would follow Xemnas into oblivion without a second thought, Saïx the enforcer, who died unfulfilled, without any heart, but he would never have blamed his Master, his Superior.
The Proof of Existence glared accusingly red on Sora's eyes, and Roxas hated him. Hated him for not using his… their… heart to mourn.
I hate you I hate you I hate you…
8. Roxas/Serial Killer
A/N: I really shouldn't have to say this. Please review... or Xigbar will fire spitballs at you.