You know what really sucks? When you're halfway done with a chapter and your goddamn computer freezes and you have to write the WHOLE FREAKING THING OVER AGAIN.
*pant, pant*
Grr. On another note, I got Re: Chain of Memories for Christmas (and it's AWESOME) and freaked out today because OMG! I got to fight Zexion! (in Riku's story.) It was pretty sweet, except he completely kicked my ass. Numerous times. He has this killer attack where he sucks all your cards away and you don't get them back for, like, eight reloads. Which means I had all of FOUR cards to fight with, and that epicly sucked.
FYI, I only got two reviews last chapter. Yes, I know it's only been a week, but come on, people. Kick it in gear.
Anyway, enough rambling. Remeber, I don't own any of these characters...
You know, come to think of it, I own a majority of these characters. Hm... I have a lot of OCs... But Square-Enix does in fact own Sora, Riku, Kairi, Terra, and I think Xehanort, although that might not be his name...
Enjoy.
I'm doing the best that I could
Trying my best to be understood
Maybe I'm changing slowly
I'd get out turn around if only
I knew I was dead wrong all along
You said it for my sake
As if I would lose my way
When I was dead wrong all along
-The Fray, "Dead Wrong"
Bruixe clapped her hands over her ears for what seemed like the thousandth time that day, wincing at the death scream of her latest mangled attempt at a Chaser. The thing writhed in agony before disintegrating into nothingness, leaving Bruixe alone in the Room of Awakening again.
Her muscles were trembling with exhaustion, sweat pouring down her face. She'd been at this all day, locked in this godforsaken room while Isalena and Rondot sat through Council meetings.
"Big things are happening, dear Bruixe," Isalena had told her. "As the people's savior, I must be present in Kingdom City when the official changes are made. But you don't need me here. You're quite capable of making Chasers on your own, aren't you?"
Bruixe had simply gazed at her with dull eyes as the Councilor's men locked her in the Room of Awakening.
The ultimatum had been short and to the point: she was to have at least one Chaser successfully created by the time Isalena returned that evening.
Bruixe had thought it would be simple. Summon a ghost, whip out Fallen Angel, cut the cord. If only it were really that easy.
She had no idea why, but every Chaser she tried to create thrashed around the room, screeching, only to die seconds later.
"This is impossible," she wailed to no one, collapsing to her knees. "How the hell did my father do this?"
Of course, there was one way she could find out how to make Chasers, as a little nagging voice in the back of her head constantly reminded her. And she was the only one with access to that information. She'd been putting it off as long as she possibly could, determined not to use his help.
She'd remembered it hours ago. It had been something Riku had said to her, when he told her how he'd overcome Xehanort's Heartless in Castle Oblivion.
"I could still smell him, even after I'd beaten him," Riku told her. "Maybe because he had been so much a part of me… or maybe it's not as easy as I'd thought, killing something inside yourself."
Bruixe frowned. "Does that mean Xehanort – Xehanort the Cruel, I mean – does that mean he's still inside me?"
"Who knows?" Riku answered. "Even if he is… you won't let him control you."
"Never," Bruixe agreed.
Bruixe snorted to herself. Famous last words, she thought bitterly.
"Xehanort," she whispered.
Only ask, and I am here, his voice said smugly in the back of her head.
She resisted the urge to claw at her temples, though his voice sent shivers down her spine. I'm in control here, she told herself.
Of course you are, he agreed. Mocking.
"Just tell me how to make the goddamn Chasers," she spat.
Xehanort seemed to chuckle. You went through all that to destroy me, and now you want to continue the very work I began?
"Shut up," she muttered.
It must be a soul of great strength, he told her. I understand the process of being separated from one's realm is very painful. Not that I would know personally, of course. But only the very strongest of souls can survive the trauma.
"And how the hell am I supposed to find the strong ones?" she demanded.
Sit, he ordered.
As much as she hated to obey, Bruixe knew she wouldn't get anywhere arguing with the remnant of her father. She pushed herself off the floor, ignoring the protest of her weary muscles, and into the single sculpted chair.
Close your eyes.
She did, and suddenly she was very aware of the warmth the chair was giving off, and the rough texture of the arms under her palms. There was a large, smooth patch near her right hand, and instinctively she spread her fingers flat over the surface.
Very good. Until now, you have been calling these souls through magic, yes? The magic of my Keyblade.
"My Keyblade," Bruixe corrected irritably. "It's mine."
If you prefer, Xehanort said. Fallen Angel's method is… imprecise, at best. A single ghost drawn at random from the billions of souls in the realm of the dead. The odds of awakening a soul strong enough for a Chaser are nearly impossible. However, the magic of the room is more accurate. Focus your thoughts on the surface under your hand. Will the room to summon a strong soul for you… and watch what happens.
Feeling slightly foolish, she did as he said, thinking, I need a stronger soul. Just give me a strong one… just one…
The room hummed to life as it normally did, but this time Bruixe could feel the power emanating from it. She opened her eyes. The soul looked just like the others – a seemingly normal human, but with grayish, translucent skin and the sense that it might blow away like dust in the wind.
I should warn you, creating a true Chaser is painful, her father's voice echoed. As if a part of yourself is being torn away.
"Go away," she told him, and Xehanort fell silent, dormant once more.
She lifted Fallen Angel once more, despite the protests of her weary muscles, and drew it forward until she felt the familiar catch – as if her blade had slid into a niche in an invisible wall. Bracing herself, she jerked it down, slicing cleanly through the link that connected the soul to its realm.
Instead of screaming in agony as the others had, this soul fixed its mournful eyes on her and asked, "Why?" before glowing as brightly as a sun, so bright that she had to turn her eyes away.
Then the pain Xehanort had warned her of struck, and she gasped involuntarily, doubling over. It was like claws had torn into her heart, squeezing, once, twice, three times before disappearing, leaving her panting on the cold floor. She looked up and flinched.
It was a Chaser, all right – but Bruixe had never seen one so calm. It stood loosely on two feet, barely moving, as if waiting for something – waiting for an order.
She tightened her grip on Fallen Angel, but she knew it wasn't necessarily. It would follow the commands of its creator, just as the old ones had followed Xehanort's commands.
A flaw in Isalena's perfect plan occurred to her, and she wondered if Isalena was going to blackmail her into commanding her troops as well as creating them. Or maybe she'll just kill me herself, and let them destroy whoever they want, she thought grimly.
She turned to the Chaser. "Um…" she began. "Well, just go to the realm of nothingness and wait, I guess," she told it.
Without any indication that it heard her, the Chaser vanished, and she hoped it was doing as she said and not preying on some helpless person.
She'd done it – she'd created a Chaser. And for some reason, she couldn't decide whether it was a good or a bad thing.
The soldiers let her out of the Room of Awakening after that, but they didn't return to Isalena's manor. Instead, she was shown to section of the house that had been repaired.
At first she'd been surprised that they hadn't even posted a guard at her door. But then again, if she tried to escape, she'd endanger her friends. Not an option.
It was strange being back in her old room – she felt like a child again. It was just like she remembered it: purple and blue walls; white, old-fashioned furniture; a bed that was entirely too small for the tall, lean teenager she'd grown into in the last eleven years. She shook her head as she thought of that time, back when she didn't know her father for the monster he was.
Monster, Xehanort scoffed. You let feelings cloud your judgment. My ideas could have brought peace to the worlds. Eternal peace.
Bruixe didn't have the energy to argue with him anymore. Shut up, she told him simply, and flopped onto her bed.
But sleep refused to come to her, and she sat up angrily, glaring at the mirror as if she could will herself away from this place.
Something about her reflection caught her attention, and her breath caught. The usual silver of her eyes had taken on a yellowy sheen – not as if she were sick, but a glowing, unearthly yellow.
The mark of the creator, Xehanort observed. That isn't so bad, not yet. If you'll remember, mine were far more changed. Yours will become more yellow as you create more Chasers.
Bruixe grabbed the nearest item – a pitcher of water that the soldiers had oh-so-thoughtfully left for her – and threw it with all her strength at the mirror, shattering the glass and sending shards and water everywhere.
Temper, Xehanort chided.
SHUT UP! Bruixe roared, forcing him into submission and silence.
She glared one last time at the ruined mirror, then buried her hideous eyes in her pillow and cried.
review please. or else.
