Chapter 2

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Marluxia, the Graceful Assassin, Number Eleven of Organization XIII, Castle Oblivion, was not happy.

In fact, one might even have said that he was furious, if he had had a heart to feel so strongly with. Everything had been going perfectly as planned, the Key-bearer playing into his hands—and then Axel had turned on them, double-crossing everyone, overturning all schemes and plots in his quest for… something. No one knew what Axel wanted.

It had been Vexen who had found him teetering between existence and oblivion. How he must have looked: no more than a wraith, a shadow of his former self. More precisely, a rapidly-fading memory of the man he had once been, a man who had been Aramuil, or Marluxia, or both. How pitiful he must have seemed, unable at first to summon the will to even stand up… yet, Vexen, of all people, had been patient with him as much as could be expected, treating him like an ill child, helping him stand, walk, become himself again.

It had been Vexen who had brought him to this place, a world which Marluxia had never seen, and installed him into this abandoned house along with Lexaeus and, a short while later, Zexion.

It was Vexen who dwelled most in Marluxia's thoughts, more so than Sora or Larxene, who was pointedly missing, or even Axel.

Vexen, ah yes, the source of his unhappiness—his vexation, he thought with a little smirk—the green-eyed stick figure who stalked the halls in clothes that didn't quite fit, the blond thundercloud who continued to ignore him completely.

Marluxia simmered quietly, unable to vent any steam. If only this were Castle Oblivion, and he were in charge! Sora was sleeping, protected only by a tiny group. If they acted quickly, they could capture him and reclaim Naminé in one fell swoop, as well as perhaps take control of two more Key-bearers and a man of mysterious power. He would surely be forgiven for his errors if he could bring such a prize to the Organization… a prize which would naturally include the three traitors. His status in the Organization would be solid, his rank considerably higher, and in time he could recruit more discontents and try again to overthrow Xemnas, more carefully this time.

He could do all of this. There was no barrier to prevent him from portaling back to Oblivion or Never Was.

So why didn't he?

He could see Vexen across the room in a knitted sweater a size too large, engaged in a heated debate with Zexion, while Lexaeus looked on. The three were almost always arguing about something. Marluxia never listened—their petty matters were beneath him.

He scowled. It had been a bad idea to treat Vexen the way he had in Castle Oblivion. Since the scientist was responsible for saving them from complete destruction, he had been wordlessly accepted as their impromptu leader. The balance of power had shifted, positions had been reversed, and Marluxia had thoroughly smashed his chance at holding any authority in this new arrangement at all.

The elders spared only the briefest of glances in his direction as he approached. This rankled on his nerves. He had never like being ignored.

"What now?" he asked, intentionally interrupting Vexen's and Zexion's conversation. Both glared at them, stopped in mid-debate.

"What do you mean, what now?" Zexion said impatiently.

"Sora is practically defenseless," Marluxia replied, making a broad gesture. "We could still fulfill our mission, rejoin the Organization…"

"We?" Vexen asked scathingly, sneering. "You mean yourself, of course, once you bring both Sora and the 'traitors' to Xemnas."

Marluxia returned the expression with equal venom. Before he could retort, Lexaeus stepped in.

"I'm certain that Marluxia's intentions were pure. However, he is aware that, should it come to a question of our next actions, he is without allies."

Zexion smirked, and the corner of Vexen's lips twitched.

"Now, Lexaeus, let's try to avoid any discord," the Academic said dryly. "There are so few of us as it is. We can't afford to fight amongst ourselves."

Hm. Perhaps Vexen wasn't as much of an enemy as he had thought.

Marluxia sidled a bit closer to the frosty scientist, smiling in a rather unpleasant manner.

"Glad to know you care about me. Snowflake," he added for good measure, landing a firm smack on Vexen's rear. He had barely enough time to see IV flush scarlet before Vexen slapped him. He heard a snicker from Zexion and a soft cough from Lexaeus which may have disguised a laugh.

"Under no circumstances, Number Eleven, are you to touch me in such a manner," Vexen hissed, momentarily slipping back into his old habits. "And do not call me that."

Marluxia raised a hand to prod gingerly at his stinging cheek as Vexen stormed off.

"I would advise against antagonizing Vexen," Lexaeus rumbled, something all-too-close to amusement glinting in his eyes. Although he was sorely tempted to make a rude gesture, Marluxia settled for a glare and stalked off.

He would never have settled for that sort of behavior back in Oblivion. But Lexaeus was right—here, he was alone. Axel and Larxene were absent. He had no authority anymore, no orders from Xemnas to elevate him. He was an outcast, a stranger bobbing at the fringe of a closely-knit group. Worse, he was now dependent on them, and he had a feeling that they had some revenge to enact. His only choice was to swallow his pride and work his way into their good graces.

The first order of business, then, was to apologize to Vexen, in some overly humiliating and debasing manner.