This is chapter twenty. Thank you Grim Reaper Kid, Eddie Camp, and Thaumaturgic Adversary for reviewing last chapter!

Chapter Twenty: Leave the Past Behind

Gillick twitched, eyes looking out the window and straining to see into the night. "I need to go," he muttered. He'd been lying in bed too long. So what if he was still injured? He still had a job to do. He would catch Silver…but he had to get out of this house to do it first.

His eyes shifted towards the door. The problem arose in the fact that earlier he'd been in too much pain to resist. He gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut at the memory of how Mala had had to help him get out of the Light Army's base. But that's passed, he reminded himself silently, trying to forget the painful blow to his pride.

Slowly, he moved his arms, his legs, his hands, testing each part of his body and each motion. He grimaced as he felt pain still flowing through his body. But though he was stiff and sore, he wasn't in nearly as much pain as he was before. He figured it'd be Ok for him to search for Silver again, though getting into a fight along the way would cause problems.

A little voice in the back of his mind hissed that if he used magic, then he'd be able to heal at a faster rate. But using magic would mean he'd have to summon his Keyblade. No way, he growled silently. He looked to where his sword rested by the bed. He slowly reached over and grabbed it, hand wrapped tightly around its hilt. He slowly pulled it partially out of its scabbard, allowing one rune to glimmer in the pale candle light. I swore I'd never use the Keyblade again. It causes nothing but trouble.

After a few moments, the former Keyblader returned his sword to where it had been. I'll leave come morning.

Thunder rattled the small house, jerking Gillick back to awareness. He blinked a few times, trying to adjust his eyes to the darkness. He shifted his head to glance out the window. Rain pounded down outside, causing an incessant clamor. He snorted. I hope it clears up by morning, he thought, frustrated.

Lightning flashed outside, spilling a pale glow into the room. A faint shadow shifted back towards the wall, out of the lightning's glow.

Gillick rolled out of his bed in an instant, grabbing his scabbard and swinging his sword out simultaneously. "Who's there?" he growled, crouched low and watching where he'd last seen the shadow.

He heard a quite sound behind him. He whipped around immediately, wincing slightly at some spikes of pain. His sword came into contact with a throwing knife, which fell away and clattered against the ground.

Every sense was suddenly on alert. Who's here? Who's attacking me? He kept low, trying to make himself as small a target as possible. He blinked his eyes several times, the amber orbs slowly adjusting to the gloom.

A harsh laugh echoed around the room. "Very good," a female voice hissed in mocking amusement. "Most people don't figure out I'm there until they're already dead." He whipped around, eyes flickering as he tried to figure out where the voice was coming from. "But then, I suppose you did have the storm to help you out."

Lightning flashed again, allowing him just enough light to see a shadow flashing towards him. He quickly lifted his sword. The assailant's dagger collided with his weapon as the light faded. He quickly kicked out his legs, trying to pull his opponent's out from under her. He saw faint movement in the darkness, and, when he failed to connect with anything, he realized she'd jumped over his attack.

Gillick whipped around, trying to pick out his opponent's movements in the deep shadows. Even though his eyes had adjusted to the night, it was hard to make out the gray shape in the din. He saw something lunge for him and swung out his sword. The assassin was quick, because she was easily able to avoid his strike and aim for his stomach instead. Still hanging low, he was able to turn his body in time to allow his shoulder to take the blow instead. He saw a few small shadows fly towards him. He was able to just lift his sword in time to block. He smelled something faint, and a shudder ran through him. Poison. The dagger she was carrying wasn't coated, but apparently some of her smaller weapons were. He'd have to be careful.

"That's quite an interesting sword," he heard her voice hiss. "Where'd you get it?"

He wasn't surprised when she struck from a different direction than where her voice came from, though he almost missed the shadow flitting towards him. When her dagger struck his sword, she quickly jumped back, out of his range. "What's it to you?"

"I just like to know something about the trophies I get from my prey." He shifted slightly, eyes narrowed as he tried to see where she'd come from next. There was a thud nearby. He glanced to his side and saw that a throwing knife was stuck in the wooden floor not far from where he was. If he hadn't shifted…that would've struck home. It was only by chance he'd escaped that time.

"My turn to ask questions," he hissed, hoping that if he could get her talking it'd be easier to figure out where she was. "Who sent you?"

"What's it to you?"

He was startled by the proximity of her voice. Gillick ducked and rolled to the side. Even so, he still felt the assassin's dagger scratch his cheek. He inhaled deeply, relieved not to smell poison.

"Gillick?"

He froze at the voice. The girl who'd brought him here…Shit.

The assassin snickered in the darkness. "Well, well, someone else has been alerted to my presence. Perhaps I should silence her, too."

The door slowly opened, spilling in the glow of candle light. "No! Go back!" Gillick cried in alarm. The assassin lunged for the young woman as she appeared in the doorway. Gillick jumped after her, managing to grab the assassin and pull her back.

The assassin struggled against him, obviously caught off guard. "Let me go!" she barked in anger.

"Run!" he told the startled girl in the doorway. She didn't hesitate to oblige.

He felt splitting pain in his side as the assassin stabbed him with her dagger. He released her, and she immediately whipped around to try and stab him in the heart. He was able to shift away in time, though he didn't escape injury completely. He gritted his teeth as the weapon slashed across his shoulder.

He knew he couldn't fight her. The darkness was her element, and he was still in too bad a shape to win. Since he refused to give in, that left him with only one option: running. However, the assassin had speed on her side. Though he was normally fairly fast himself, he'd be slower with his still healing wounds. If he ran on foot, she'd be able to catch him. Plus there were her throwing weapons to consider. If one of them stabbed him, he'd be as good as dead. So I'll have to find some faster way to escape, he decided silently. Something the assassin couldn't keep up with.

Gillick slipped back towards the bed, grabbing his shoulder plates - with their assortment of leather straps - and his scabbard. Then he jumped away. However, instead of going towards the door, he headed towards the window. He broke the glass with his sword, jumping out and rolling as he hit the ground before dashing off into the storm.

He blinked his eyes against the torrent of water, searching for anything he could use to get away on and listening for the sounds of pursuit simultaneously. There! A stable. Inside, he could just make out a dark form. He skidded to a halt near it, panting, and undid the latch on one of the stall doors. He didn't bother grabbing a bridle or saddle; he didn't have time. Instead, he hauled himself onto the horse's bare back.

"Trying to get away, are you?"

The assassin was racing towards him. He kicked the horse quickly, urging it forward. It whinnied at his touch, half rearing in the small stall. Then it bolted forward.

Gillick felt a wave of relief as the assassin ducked away instead of trying to jump onto the horse herself. The horse turned and galloped down the main street of the town. Whether it was more familiar with the path or frightened by the buildings, he didn't know, nor, for that matter, did he care. All he knew was that it was moving faster than the assassin could, and was heading out of town.

It seemed a long time before the horse finally slowed down to a stop. Gillick glanced back the way they'd come. The horse had seemed to stick to the path fairly well. Which means I can't stay on it, he thought. He slipped off the horse's side, landing with a splash in a puddle on the road. He hit the horse on the flank, sending it off down the road. I don't know if there will be any tracks to follow after this, he thought, looking to the sky, but it's better than nothing.

He realized, as he headed off the road, that he would have left a few footprints of his own as he'd headed off the road. He frowned, and hurried to fill them in. That'll have to do, he decided with a hasty glance back the way he'd come. I don't know how long it'll take her to catch up.

He headed away from the road quickly, hoping the rain would disguise his departure. He returned his armor plates to his shoulders, and attached his scabbard - with his sheathed sword - back onto one of the leather straps that was strung across his back. I can't afford to stop and wait out the storm, he thought with frustration as he wiped rain water out of his eyes. He sighed quietly and, with one more glance behind him, continued to trudge through the tempest.

Gillick looked up at his assailants in frustration. "Well? What you gonna do, punk? Didn't you say something about beating the shit out of me?"

He grimaced, looking away from the man. What had he been thinking, picking a fight with this guy? No, he knew the answer to that; he hadn't. All it had achieved him were bruises and more pain.

The man laughed. "Come on, guys; let's leave this loser here."

Gillick didn't lift his head to watch them go. Instead, he tried to pull himself tighter; tried to pull together what remained of his life. He closed his amber eyes, blocking out the world.

He'd been stripped of his armor. That was the greatest dishonor for any Keyblader. He snorted, his lips curling into a sneer. The Keyblade. Why did it seem like all that weapon did was cause problems? He'd seen the actions of its wielders, from both sides. It corrupted them. And, more than that, it'd torn his life apart.

He would never use that weapon again. Not ever. After all it'd done to him, he didn't want anything to do with it.

But…he needed a weapon. Obviously, all his time training with a sword-like weapon hadn't prepared him for typical fist fights.

"Hey, kid."

Gillick's eyes flicked open to see a man standing over him. "What do you want?" he growled.

The man looked at him for a few more moments before looking to where Gillick's former opponents had gone. "Not very good at fist fights, are you?"

Gillick's eyes narrowed. "You just here to criticize me?" he snapped.

"Merely an observation," the man responded quietly. "And, perhaps, I'll make another one."

A few moments of silence passed. Finally, Gillick snapped, "Well?"

The man returned his gaze to look at him full on once more. "Even though you were losing, you didn't give up."

Gillick laughed humorlessly. "A lot of good that did me," he responded quietly.

"Don't give up yet," the man told him quietly.

Gillick's hands tightened on his arms. He jerked upwards, angrily shouting, "What the hell do you want? If you're just going to give me 'advice', then get out of here! I've had enough 'advice' for one lifetime."

To his surprise, he saw a faint smile on the man's face. "Well, I'll leave, then," the man replied, "but not before I give you this." He took off the plates and straps that adorned his torso, and passed them to Gillick. Attached to one of the straps was a scabbard…holding a sword.

Surprise ran through Gillick as he took the items into his hands. He slowly pulled the sword out of its scabbard. It seemed like a normal weapon, except for the runes that were etched into the blade. Frowning, he slipped the sword back into its sheath. "Are you serious? Why would you-"

He cut himself short as he looked up. The man was gone.

Confused and somewhat unnerved, he looked back to the sword. He had it now; he might as well use it. He slipped the straps and plates over him, immediately realizing that he'd need to adjust them if he didn't want them to fall off.

He lifted his head to the sky. I don't know who you are, he thought, but…thanks, I guess.

For the next two years, he'd spend his time traveling the world as a mercenary and a bounty hunter. But, no matter how hard he tried, he could never completely leave behind his past as a Keyblader.

And there's the end of chapter twenty. Reviews are always appreciated!