La Cité des Cloches
The Cathedral Notre Dame
The stars were alive that night, illuminating the dark skies with their impressive light. Occasionally, a shooting star crossed across the darkness like an arrow loosed from its bow, trailing across the endless black forever of the sky. Those sparkling lights twinkled and shimmered against the pitch, glimmering like jewels. It was hypnotizing how they glinted in shadowed heavens.
The spire landing served as the perfect spot to watch the night sky with unimpeded splendor. At the right angle, the world beneath Kuro shifted out of sight completely, leaving him with only the blanket of creation to glow ever bright and take hold of every space in his vision. Kuro wished the stars back in Traverse Town were as inviting and engaging as they were on this night. He recalled the starlight that littered the eternal nights in Traverse Town, always having a measure of menace to their breathtaking glow. Beautifully taunting him with their warmth. Tantalizingly him with their light.
It was all in the perception, Kuro had begun to rationalize.
The worlds that those stars were couldn't hold contempt for him. They had no choice in him being left behind and staying in Traverse Town. Even still, he still couldn't stop the clenching of his jaw, those helpless weeks in the dark clawing their way back to his memory. It was a nightmare, and it was unpleasant to think about, much less endure. The Heartless attacks, the lack of food, the seemingly unending darkness. Even if he was a Heartless… What comfort was there in the Dark, if not to properly gaze upon the lingering light that remains aglow even from the darkest depths?
"Never again." Kuro mentally noted, his hands curling hard against the stone railing. Feeling as though the very mineral would bend and break under his pressure. He took in a solid breath, in through his nose and out through his mouth. The sigh bellowed out as a harsh sound. "I'll never be in the dark again."
"I want to say thank you, Kuro." Quasimodo's voice broke through the hurricane of thoughts in Kuro's head, catching his attention. Kuro shook his head, letting go of the railing and letting his train of thought speed down the rails of his mind. "For today. I saw you fend off those two men with the rope. You didn't have to do that."
"What? Oh. Right. The festival. You're welcome. I had to do something, I couldn't just watch you get attacked up there. I saw those ropes and how scared you were… I'm sorry you were treated so harshly." Kuro shifted his hands over the railing, letting his elbows rest along the stone and his fingers interlace together. He perceived Quasimodo out of the corner of his eye, wondering why anyone would want to hate such an innocent man. He shook his head in disbelief, his locked hands knocking on the guardrail. "You don't deserve that. Why would they do that to you? You weren't hurting anyone. You looked so happy."
"Why wouldn't they? Look at me." Quasimodo gestured to his everything, offering a weak smile as he moved to stand alongside Kuro. Their elbows brushing, but to Quasimodo's surprise, Kuro didn't jerk out of the way or recoil at the touch. Quasimodo's eye gazed across the night shaded city, fawning over the lantern lights and lit windows of the world below him. Quasimodo's face became flat. Eyes dulled as he turned his head away from the beauty of the city. Feeling it improper for him, to be witness to such a gorgeous view. "I'm a monster, after all, I didn't deserve to be… You didn't have to help me."
"But I wanted to help and would help again. Because you… wait. You? You're a monster?" Kuro lets out a confused laugh, looking over the bellringer with an unclear idea of what made the man a monster. "No. No, Quasimodo. You're not a monster. I've seen monsters, real monsters. You're not one. Not even close."
"I am, though. I am. My master, Frollo-" Quasimodo begins to speak, his left hand brushing over his right, his fingers molding over every groove of his knuckles. His rough pads scratched at his skin. His lips quivering and his eyes frantically looking about, as if just muttering his master's name would summon the man.
"Frollo?" Kuro mumbles in surprise. "The Judge? He's your master?"
"He-He saved my life. He took me in and raised me when no one else would. If it wasn't for him… My mother abandoned me as a child because I am a monster, anyone else would have drowned me." Quasimodo shook his head, bowing his head and huffing out a hard sigh. His face contorted in physical pain as he continued to speak. "I'm deformed, and ugly, and these are crimes that the world shows little pity."
"How could such a dark man raise a kind man like you?" Kuro inquired, in utter disbelief. Quasimodo shook his head, biting his bottom lip with a shake of his head.
"I'm the dark one, Kuro. I'm the mistake. I should have been killed but I was instead saved. And he took it upon himself to raise me." Quasimodo's eyes shut gently, shaking his head harder as the words dug their way out of his self-loathing mind. "I'm not worthy of being here, not worthy of being in the presence of the light. But I am here thanks to him. And I am grateful."
Kuro's eyes soften at the sight of this poor man casting such harsh judgment upon himself. Kuro's eyes turned to the calloused, worn hands of the bell ringer, a sudden idea popping into his mind. For a moment, he felt the spark of darkness in the crowd when Quasimodo was attacked, and felt it immensely when in the presence of Judge Frollo as he lorded over the Heartless. Kuro turned towards him, Quasimodo wordlessly following suit. If Kuro could feel the presence of darkness in a crowd or in a single person, who's to say he couldn't do the opposite? If not to just give the bellringer a few words of affirmation and utter a kindness the world has neglected and wrongfully ignored to give him.
"Give me your hands." Kuro asked quietly, Quasimodo hesitantly raising his arms. Kuro nodded, raising his own and gripping them. Kuro's gloved hands held the heels of Quasimodo's rough hands. Kuro shut his eyes, taking in a deep and heavy breath, his head slightly bowing. "I want to try something…"
Quasimodo, believing that Kuro was for some reason trying to pray with him, followed suit and bowed his head to begin his own evening prayer. Shutting his eyes slowly as he began to recite his personal favorite psalm.
Kuro's eyes are hooded by darkness, then suddenly in the distance, flickering and waving in the currentless air. There it was. It was the lingering flames of Humanity.
With this soul, it took the form of a single wick wide candle, leveled at the height of Kuro's boot. No different than candles that were lit on the floor level of the Cathedral. Kuro's face feels a sudden gust, a puffing wave of warmth, as he is pulled deeper into the mindscape. He then moves forward, the world seemingly rolling his feet rather than him traversing himself, The sensation is odd, to move faster than his feet could possibly take him without taking a single step.
He finds himself standing beside the candle, and his hand moves down to slightly hover over the flames. Feeling the heat tickling his palm as he leveled it evenly above the flickering candlelight. He eases in a heavy breath and lets it out just the same.
"Show me his light… and show me me his darkness." Kuro requested softly, feeling the flame grow brighter and hotter under his hand. Taking that as a sign, he proceeded to inspect. Wondering the best way to do so, he goes with his instinct.
With a single slam, he crushes the candle into the floor. As the wax splits and spreads along the surface, the fire is never extinguished. The floor beneath him sprawls out in a shockwave, the vibration rattling his bones and making his body seize for a moment. The floor seemingly smoldering, the smoke rising up out of the darkness and leaving a dense cloud that covered him up to his shins.
From the center, in a spot no larger than a handprint, is a dot of onyx. A black so dark that Kuro could not see an end nor his reflection. That must be the darkness, the one that's dormant in every heart.
On the outer ring and beyond, is this low illuminating light blows away the darkness as the gust blows away embers and ash after a fire. The floor takes on the appearance of lantern glass, clear with a golden hue and barely tangible hum that shook along the pang. Pulsing up his legs and into his chest. The glass spread, being cast out further and further, yet there was nothing but light shining… And it got bright… too bright. Bright enough that it began to burn Kuro's face as though he had been in the sun for hours, his fingers tingling as though they were constantly hovering over roaring flames. Kuro's breath gets caught in his throat as if claws constricted his breathing, and he gasps abruptly-
Kuro's eyes opened suddenly, seeing Quasimodo's eyes just at the end of their closing and begun to pray, Kuro's hands dropping and tightening into fists. The intensity of this bellringer's light was immense and all encompassing. His hands feeling as though he had just grabbed a handful of coals out of a fire, his eyes squinted shut as if he had just stared directly into the righteous sunlight.
"There is hardly any Darkness in you." Kuro noted with a wince, wondering if Quasimodo's light would be comparable to one such as Kairi's. Her's would be perfectly lit, of course. This practice on her might actually set the Heartless on fire. A Princess of Heart would be without the speck of dark, but Quasimodo's own heart being as full and bright as it was regardless of his difficulties and tribulations, is worthy of noting. "You can't be a monster, Quasimodo. You're… you're so full of light."
"How do you know that?" Quasimodo's eyes focus on Kuro's gloved hands, hesitantly pulling them close to his chest. A sudden worry crossed his mind. "You're not a practitioner of witchcraft, are you?"
"Well…Not a practitioner, myself. But… a witch did practice on me once." Kuro shrugged, turning to Quasimodo with a teasing smirk, eyes half lidded as he felt a laugh blow out through his nose. Quasimodo frantically rubbed his hands together, as if he had just stained his hands and needed to wipe them clean. Kuro pointed to the bell ringer's hands, eyebrows raised. "What? You're scared of me, now?"
"Witchcraft is a horrible practice, Kuro. A damning practice." Quasimodo stated, ducking his head down and feeling a shudder roll up through his back. Hands clasped together in horror. "Frollo says that's why God hates Esmerelda's people. They practice the dark arts and witchcraft, it's a crime against all that's holy. Against the Light. Against God."
"But that witchcraft… if Esmerelda does practice it, she still showed you kindness when you needed it most. Dark or not, she showed you that she is a good soul." Kuro noted with a point, emphasizing his words before he continued. "I may practice the dark arts, however I still wanted to help you when you were wrongfully attacked. Because helping you was the right thing to do. "
"I suppose… I suppose you're not like them, then. You're good, Kuro." Quasimodo said with a half hearted shrug, turning back towards the floor. Kuro's sucked on his teeth, an annoyance rising up his back. "But how could you justify doing such a thing-"
"Even if I do practice the dark arts…" Kuro began to say, shaking his head before letting out a huff. "I wouldn't need them to see that you're a kind soul. You're not a monster."
"I need to thank Frollo for that, he is the good man between the two of us. He raised me, afterall. I thank God for him, every day. Without him… I'd be nothing." Quasimodo noted with a grateful smile, his eyes returning to the beckoning illumination of the stars. Kuro wanted to open his mouth to speak, only to hear that Quasimodo had sincerely spoken from the heart about his admiration for that cruel Judge. Kuro shut his mouth, returning his sights to the stars that were held overhead. No wasn't the time to argue. Not on a night like this. "The stars are beautiful tonight."
"They are, they really are." Kuro agreed, tapping his hands together as he admired the stars alongside the bellringer. Kuro nodded towards the heavens, lips curled into a smile. He thought of ebony hair, and an image of the dancer came to mind. "So, what do you think of Esmerelda?"
"Oh-Um. She's… she's nice." Quasimodo spoke with a blush along his cheeks, lips breaking into a bashful grin and his eyes glinted with a familiar shine. Kuro recognized the look well out of the corner of his eye, as it was the very same the girl squirrel gave his friend Arthur, utterly infatuated with him. Kuro resting his cheek against his raised closed fist, propping it up.
"You like her." Kuro stated factually, seeing Quasimodo's head shake, eyes shut before pressing his hands into his face. Trying to hide his blistering red face. Kuro chuckled at the sight. He could tell the bell ringer was being bashful. "You like her!"
"Fine! Fine. I'll admit, I'm only human. She is very beautiful. And she's kind, sweet and caring." Quasimodo said through his interlocked fingers, his voice getting a higher pitch and his nervous laugh rolling out with his words. Kuro laughed with him, nudging him with his elbow. Quasimodo swatted the arm away, chuckling all the while. "Oh, come on, now. No need to embarrass me."
"You shouldn't be embarrassed. She stood up for you in such a huge way. Tell her! I think she likes you too." Kuro said with a hopeful tone, seeing Quasimodo suck hard on his teeth before his hands skirt over his face and comb through his flameshaded locks. Squinting his eyes shut with a frown. Kuro shook his own head, nudging him with his elbow once more. "Don't look like that. I saw you two talking earlier tonight, and the way she looked at you and the way you look at her-"
"I appreciate what you're trying to do, really I do, but let's not fool ourselves here." Quasimodo pointed to his own face once again, that frown replaced by a forced grin. Trying his damndest to put on a brave face. "You remember who won, 'Ugliest face in all Paris', right? I don't think I'm her type…"
Kuro opened his mouth to argue, only to shrug, having to accept that Quasimodo believed that he was ugly, despite Kuro thinking the man's heart was what was the most important thing to consider.
After a few moments of settling in silence, admiring the stars and the night sky, it was time for bed. The bell ringer patted his spot on the guardrail and broke from his space, walking over to the ladder leading back into the bell tower. Ready to retire for a short time before having to ring the early morning bell. Kuro watched, before fiddling with his fingers anxiously before tightening that same hand into a tight fist. He had to tell him. "Hey, Quasimodo?"
The bellringer shoots his eyes over to the Heartless, just as he grabs the ladder handles and begins his descent. Kuro gives him a smile, knocking his fist against the railing. Pointing to the Quasimodo and emphasizing his point home.
"I know I can't convince you otherwise, but let me tell you. You might think you're a monster. But I know you're not one. You're agood man, Quasimodo. And not even you could convince me otherwise." Kuro's words make Quasimodo's eyes glisten and gleam in the starlight, his hands trembling slightly before reassuring her hold on the ladder. With a soft shake of the head, he then gave a nod to the silver locked man before beginning his descent down the ladder. "Anyways… G'night, Quasimodo."
"Goodnight, Kuro." Quasimodo shuffles down the ladder, Kuro's eyes lingering on the doorframe leading down and feeling a pair of horns brush against his knee. Dusk vied for attention, Kuro's hand reaching down to trace his fingertips between the space of the small goat's horns. The Heartless bleated in joy, Kuro's lips curled to a grin at the noise. It was a darling sound.
"What's on your mind, Kuro?" Dusk inquired, the taller Heartless shrugged, turning his attention back out to the city below. "I sense you are having a struggle."
"I am just thinking… How could Quasimodo be so harsh on himself? His heart is basically pure light. And yet, everyone treats him like he's some kind of monster. We've seen monsters, and yet…" Kuro shook his head, his hands moving up to comb over his hair and trail down his neck. "It doesn't make sense to me, Dusk. You're a Heartless born out of the darkness in people's hearts. Why? Why do they do that?"
"Human beings tend to believe that their exterior form is indicative of their self worth." Dusk stared up at Kuro with bright yellow eyes, the Heartless rolling their eyes at the notion. Kuro shook his head. "It's one of the earliest and strongest forms of Darkness there is. The Darkness of exclusion. The Darkness of hatred for things different than yourself."
"That's stupid. Who cares what people look like? As long as you're kind, what does it matter?" Kuro spoke sternly, his eyes turning from the city below to see the lantern lights burning along the roads. Kuro didn't understand it, why would anyone place value on the way one would look. "Maybe that's the kind of Darkness I felt in Frollo. The hatred for those different than yourself… maybe that's why it's strong?"
That's when he heard the sound of a window being smashed echo out in the calm evening air interrupted their conversation. Kuro's eyes turned down to the city, his eyes catching a pair of figures hurling what appeared to be small balls through the windows of stores. The harsh cackles of the vandals screeched as they found great enjoyment in the destruction. Kuro's eyes squinted, the faint glow of a recognizable gold lingered in their eyes as they skipped, flounced and cartwheeled through the streets. Knocking over barrels and ripping flags off of their poles. Snickering through the night.
"Looks like we have some company, Dusk." Kuro rolled his wrist and rotated his broad neck. Feeling it pop and crack under his skin. The sensation invigorating him.
"Must've been drawn to the darkness in the crowd during the festival." Dusk murmured, feeling Kuro's arm curl around the goat's small barrel chest, tucking the small Heartless under his arm. Kuro smirked at the prospect of combat, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. With a few jumps and slides, Kuro descended down the side of the Cathedral with great haste. Straight arms and measured leaps. Just as Quasimodo told him.
His chest thumping in excitement and his own grim chuckles echoing out into the night. It was time to get to work.
La Cité des Cloches
Frollo's Residence
The Judge's stare lingered on the embers of his fire, the massive hearth that was located at the far end of his home's hall. The Judge had many benefits of his office, and one of them was the fact that he was able to, 'allocate' some of the patron's tithing and use them to secure this home. The house of Frollo was established in the more aristocratic district of the city, and this location in particular had a beautiful view of the cathedral Notre Dame. The view showed just how massive the church truly was as it towered over the simplistic townhouses and shops that took residence in its square and basked in its shadows.
The home was lavish in grandiose height, but was barren and cold on the inside. Where the building was adorned with malevolent gargoyles, high iron fences, vaulted ceilings and intricate glasswork of the Judge's personal favorite saints and biblical moments in its windows, it lacked any hosting amenities that prevented Frollo to ever invite visitors over and have them relax comfortably in his home. However, this was all by his own design.
Hardly any chairs that weren't specifically tied to study suites, no lounging couches or coffee tables. The most obvious piece of evidence is the fact he had a deep dark wood dining room table specifically designed to be a staggering twenty feet in length to be placed in the huge dining hall. This table had but one single chair and dining placement at the head of the table. Where he would seat himself in the morning and evenings for his breakfast and suppers.
For now, Frollo found himself in his grand hall, his late night pacing, uncomfortable body and unsettled mind having brought him to the maw of his fireplace. Basking in the dying flames that gathered in his hearth.
It was positioned at the end of a barren massive hall, with nothing to accompany the stone and mortar except the wall it was joined to bearing the iron cross that was nailed above the mantle, and the lone statue of Saint Agnes against the western walls of the room. Frollo's bare hands raked through his thinning white hair, his vacant eyes seeing the flames shift and dance to the breeze that gusted through the windows. His tired yet sharp kind must've begun to play tricks on him. The fire can't dance. But it had.
The motion of the flickering flames and the rise of the smoke reminded him of the gyration of the Dancer's hips, the heat of the fire giving him the phantom sensation of the warmth that radiated off of her sun-kissed perfect skin when he was pressed against her earlier that day. The agitation he felt throughout his body made his palms sweat, and his breath shuddered out of his chest.
That's when the shutters of the windows were blown by the stern breeze, the harsh howls of wind combing through the room and nearly succeeded in putting the fire out. With each bend of the current, fumes of blackened smoke were left in its wake. The walls wailed, as the force from this gale was tugging on the foundations of this building. The smoke settled in the center of the room, the ink colored vapors creeping along the floor as fog shifted over graveyard soil. To bury the dead a second time over.
"I am a righteous man, Devil. While I can find it in myself to appreciate the gesture of you saving my life, even my humble heart could recognize, that does not mean I will never serve your Dark Lord. I am home, and that is where our work together ends." Frollo spoke aloud and with a dour tone, his eyes shooting over to the dark corners of the room to find the Devil that snuck into his home. In the shadowed spaces of his hall, crimson eyes with black irises honed in on him, mangled jaws and protruding horns jutting out and illuminated by the licks of the roaring fireplace. It was the one that pulled Frollo from the Dark, and the one that sent him back home when it was time. "If I hadn't become so… fraught by the vulgarity, the weakness, and the unchaste, I'd never have agreed to this arrangement in the first place."
"Come now… Judge." The King's words were raspy to the ear, rough and coarse when they were barked. The bass of his voice rattled the rooms, despite never rising above a predatory faint purr. To Frollo, it reminded him of a stoic prayer. The kind he himself would pray. "We both know that your God wouldn't have put you in your position if this was beyond your capabilities. You're a righteous warrior, battling against the encroaching dark… you are doing what is necessary to protect your world. God's most virtuous, are often his most… vicious. I simply recognize your devotion and your passion…no more. No less. The Darkness that resides in your heart-"
"I am the only one with the power to rid my world of wickedness! If my virtuousness is my damnation, send every saint into the bowels of hell." Frollo roared, veins taut in his throat and eyes glaring into the dark. "I'm not the same as you and your ilk. The Devil's power has no foreground within me, I assure you! The Darkness, what little I have, I will not succumb. I have divinity, and an immaculate mission on my side."
"Mind your tongue, child." The Horned King's gnarled features barely resembled a living being, looking more like a lumbering cadaver when the light gave him form. With the occasional flicker of flame illuminating his emaciated face. The skin was coarse and dry as bone, resembling a weathered leather more than ample flesh, his mouth permanently fixed in a snarling expression, as his lips and nasal appeared to have been vicious ground into his skull with measured and patient hands. His nose was just two open sockets in the center of his face, his mangled maw was lipless and bare, showing off the root of his disjoined and imposing fangs, withered chapped gums of his mouth cracked and cleft. The protrusion of his horns gathering around his skull, jagged and twisted in place. In the proper angle and flash of fire, it made a perfect crown in the shadow of this Dark lord. Frollo was steadfast and unyielding. He had God on his side. "The very same Darkness you curse is the only thing that kept you from plunging into the abyss so long ago."
"Once I am rid of the scum of this earth, I shall take no part in your depraved darkness. Back to the depths with your lot, once I have succeeded." Judge Frollo's voice refused to falter and refused to flatter the Lich. The Horned King begrudgingly respected the audacity and the ignorance. It was also too satisfying to see such a man so blinded by the long since vanished speck of light that he clung to in the face of an overwhelming darkness.
"But of course… Judge." The Horned King bows his head frivolously, his claws scraping together methodically as he walks to Frollo's side. The King towered over the Judge, but the Judge refused to appear afraid. His scowl stern and proper. "You are a vessel of irreproachable fury. Holy fire, given form. Your pious power isn't the result of your collusion with me. Never…Never. It is God that gave you your strength, after all. For a moment, we are on the same side. That woman… is only here to tempt you… You know this. To goad you, have you fold into the Darkness. Remind you of your mission. Clearly… She is winning. As the Devil ought to do against mere mortal men…"
"Let me enlighten you on a similar servant of the Lord. The Almighty dealt with Satan directly… once. Like you and I deal with one another. They agreed to a test. In order to appraise his most abiding, and upright servant. There is no one on earth like him. He is blameless and upright, a man who fears God and shuns evil… I will not yield under the weight of my destiny, I weather every storm and every tribulation just like Job! I am no mere mortal man, fiend! I don't yield to Devils. For God will light my way to victory!" Frollo reached into his pocket, pulling out a sash of purple with sewn stars in it. He tights it around his hands, pulling it taut as the embers in the hearth began to grow more and more ravenous. Not as if a log was fed, but it acted as though there was an accelerant added to the flames. The fire rising as high to lick the top frame of the hearth.
He imagined Esmerelda's neck caught in the sash's stressed fabric, gasping for air. His lips quivering with anticipation, his eyes lost in the flames. That's when he sees her. Her wispy fingers trailing against the roaring flames of her thighs. Her raven hair blows with the smoke as it drifts with the flickering fire. Seducing him. Beckoning him to come closer. "Why do I see her dancing there? Why do her smoldering eyes still scorch my soul? Is this a trick? Made by you?"
"Frollo. You must know me better than that. I wouldn't stoop to partake in simple parlor tricks. I see by a simple fire…" The Horned King spoke slowly and with intent, his form slowly shifting back into the dark. This lich was many things, and had spoken many ill fated and egregious things throughout his life, there was not a lie sewn among this exchange. The Horned King didn't manipulate the flames or impose any alterations to the Judge's mind. Whatever Frollo saw was of his own design.
The King was just confused about what the Judge was murmuring himself as the Judge was convinced he was being manipulated.
His lingering red eyes the last thing his form leaves in the room before he disappears, allowing Frollo to consult with the flames of his fireplace alone. "Ha-Heh-Ha-Heh… I was never really here, was I? I never told you anything you haven't told yourself, already. Not a thing you heard you know isn't already true. You never needed my power, of course… it was inside you, all along. The Saints shouldn't work alongside the Devils to know the breadth of their faith. I have but one question. What will you do now, Frollo?"
"I'll have her, of course." Frollo murmured with great purpose. His lips pulled back into a vicious and vengeful sneer. "I'll have her, even if I have to burn down all of Paris! She'll be mine!"
"How fitting…" The Horned King's words rumbled in the dark, those crimson eyes of his now faded into the shadows. Leaving Frollo alone with his living and frenzied flames. Frollo's hands slowly closed together in a solemn prayer to God, trying to ignore the grating whispers of a Devil in his ear. "To make her whole world a breathing Hell before you send her back to it."
The roaming band of five Heartless in the streets were trotting along the streets, arms waving wide and swinging their legs in huge arcs. The tops of their heads were snug caps that broke into two pigtail-like points that bounced with every step. Split down the middle, one side has a deep blood red and the other as dark starless night black. Their eyes were a shining yellow, skin was the same color pitch as the typical heartless, except their faces were painted a bright white with purple permanently placed grins or colored with fuchsia fixed frowns. Draw on their smooth skin with pencil drawn on definitions placed along where theoretically their chins, cheeks and eyebrows would be. Their garments and vestments were a blinding bright blue with diamonds of reds, yellows and green interwoven throughout. From tip to tip diamonds, the collars of their shirts were wide and frilled, with small clattering bells that shook with every frivolous lunge and skip of the Heartless. These Harlequin clowns were galavanting through the streets, their bells jingling as they sauntered.
Kuro's eyes stalked them in the darkness, steadily following them as they continued their jaunt. Body primed for combat.
Frollo's eyes slowly, methodically turned out towards the window of his hall. Admiring the view and breathing the majesty of Notre Dame cast its midnight shadow across the square. A rising upcharge of bile in his throat as he imagined the scum that dared to present themselves to her glory. How the disgusting, vile sinners would pretend to be worthy of calling out to God from within her walls. Unlike him, one of God's most pious and noble servants.
~ Beata Maria, you know I am a righteous man ~
~ Of my virtue I am justly proud ~
Frollo clapped and brought his palms together, his withered fingers tracing the veins and the wrinkles along the back of his hands. Basking in the warmth and the fury of the flames. In the fire he could see them, those sinners in hearth, dancing and drinking and sinning. That festival is an ungodly and unchaste display of man's vulgarity. It was a shame that so many people had considered it such a wonderful time, despite how deplorable it was in his eyes. Even if it did give him a chance to have a good view of Esmerelda's display.
Kuro's pace quickened from a measured prowl into an unwavering sprint as he charged towards his quarry. His sword spawned in his hands, a dense cloud of blackened smoke trails behind him as he comes upon his quarry. The bells stop ringing, their glowing eyes turn to see him. The leader of the Harlequins pulled out several pins out of their deep pockets, a few pulling out large whipped pies, and one flayed a few matches between their fingers.
~ Beata Maria, you know I'm so much purer than ~
~ The common, vulgar, weak, licentious crowd ~
Frollo's eyes stared sternly at the fire with an anger that rivaled the heat that radiated out of the hearth. He briefly imagined the sinners having been fed to the flames, in their eternal resting place amongst the roaring pyre and resting along the crumbling cinder, a wicked grin spreading across his face when he did so. A fitting end for such sinful fools.
Kuro's blade crashed into the ribs of the closest Heartless he could reach, the crossguard digging roughly into the spine of the clown before cleaving it into two, dissipating the monster into a puff of smoke. As the puff of smoke bursts, a distant horn is honked. Squeaking as their body combusts. The remaining four took immediate notice, their heads cocking hard in interest, their eyes running vertical with their left shoulders, before they sprung their attacks.
~ Then tell me, Maria, why I see her dancing there? ~
~ Why her smoldering eyes still scorch my soul? ~
Frollo's eyes once again cast the image of the ebony haired dancer, her curvaceous body turning and flaunting before him. Her hands trailing along the edges of her bust, her devious smokey smirk catching his attention as her hands move down to the silhouette of her hips. Her nails scratching along the inside of her thighs, before ever so slowly pulling her knees away from each other. Frollo's heart racing and his teeth chattering inside his mouth.
Kuro ducked underneath the wayward pie of a clown, the cream splattering against the ground and beginning to eat away at the stones with sizzling steam as acid would. Kuro swung out his left hand, his shield called to his hand as he blocked another incoming pie. The dessert splatters, the vapors wafting off of the shield but the metal remains stable and solid. Refusing to be destroyed. Dusk's hooves make them dart across the road, slamming their horns into the chest of a harlequin, the curved bone impaling the harlequin. The stabbed jester grabs Dusk by their haunches, pulling the goat and proceeding to slam them against the road with great strength. The bleating of agony that echoes out of Dusk as they are smacked against the bricks. Kuro pivoted his foot, crashing the face of his shield into the chest of the Heartless, rocketing them down the street with a belated honking of a horn that echoed across the street with each impact of their body against the stones.
~ I feel her, I see her ~
~ The sun caught in her raven hair ~
~ Is blazing in me out of all control ~
Frollo's hands racked against his torso, feeling his loose skin shift and move under his touch. His nails clawing against his robes, as if he were trying to dig out his own heart through his chest. His lips wetted by his tongue hungrily, his fingers feeling numb and tingling as he imagined his hands along Esmerelda's body earlier. Her smooth, unblemished skin. He savored the feeling of his thumb caressing her throat, feeling her heartbeat under his touch accelerate the longer he held her. Out of fear or a similar unabashed lusting, he didn't care to wonder. All he knew was that he craved the feeling of her pulse quickening under his touch. That's when the fire bolstered and grew, as if a fire breathing dragon belched up into the chimney, startling him as her blazing form grew into a human sized silhouette of flames and smoke. A mirror image of the woman who captivated him.
Kuro's blade was blocked by the swinging of a wide juggling pin, the Harlequin's free hand reeling back and tossing one of their three pins toward's Kuro. The solid wooden piece knocking and rebounding off of Kuro's skull, reflecting back into the hand of the clown. Kuro slashed up into the Harlequin, the jester throwing their arms back. Their hands leveled even with the stone as they walked on their palms and the flats of their feet, the stomachs parallel to the evening sky as they crawled away at the speed of a running hound. Kuro turned his attention to the three other harlequins that began to juggle their wooden pins, dodging and blocking the barrage of bottle shaped projectiles as they were thrown towards him.
~Like fire ~
~ Hellfire ~
Frollo's feet pulled him away from the hearth, the fire growing more and more vicious in the stonemouth. The very edges of the brick and mortar could begin to melt, with how lively and wild the fire had become. The shadow behind him should have grown smaller, as his form pulled away from the flames. However, it in fact grew. Instead of being a simple large silhouette of the man, it grew to the shadow of a giant. Nearly covering the entire back of the room in its shade.
Kuro's hand waved and pulled out his winged staff, throwing fireball after fireball. The harlequins seemed to have been prepared, as they had handle seltzer bottles out, spraying the fire out with their spouts of water and chuckles that echoed into the night. When the thunder came crashing down shortly after, two harlequins ceased their laughter permanently.
~ This fire in my skin ~
~ This burning desire ~
~ Is turning me to sin ~
Frollo's gaze grew rapid, his vision now clouded by images of her limbs splayed out. Her arms bent back behind her head with her chin raised and her eyes focused on him lustfully. He swore as the flames crackled, her voice etched out his name in agonizing want. Her desire for him leaves her hot and breathless. Her ample chest was emphasized by the way her back arched and the sway of her arms. Her knees bent and began to spread for him.. Ensnaring him with her devious and beautiful form. Her eyes looked seductively at him, the smoke that made her eyes enticing him to sin. Her billowy translucent finger called him hither. Beckoning him to come to her.
Kuro's eyes refocus on the two remaining harlequins, his hand waving off his staff as he reseattled and tightens the strap for his shield. With a rolling of his right hand and curling his hand into a taut fist, he charges towards the remaining two clowns.
~ It's not my fault ~
~ I'm not to blame ~
~ It is the gypsy girl, the witch who sent this flame! ~
~ It's not my fault ~
~ If in God's plan ~
Frollo's body ignored the panicked cries of his mind, as he slowly began to trudge over towards the silhouette of the dancer, Esmerelda. Her arms spread out widely, her eyes half lidded and her hips swaying slightly as she moves out of the flames and her form is entirely made up of dense smoke. Frollo's arms move to sink around her waist and his lips shift to find the tenderness of the nape of her neck, only for the form to dissipate as he makes contact. Taunting him as she bursts into a thin veil of vapors. Out of his hands and out of his reach. It left this linger warmth against his skin, before he could only feel the fire.
Kuro's eyes focused on the two jesters as he sprinted, who each replaced their juggling pins and seltzer bottle with a large headed hammer, with a poorly drawn frowning face on the flat of the mallet and a pair of two jagged daggers. The pair bolted towards the right and to the left, their once high pitched cartoonish chuckles now replaced with these bone chilling sinister cackles.
~ He made the Devil so much stronger than a man ~
Frollo frantically pawed at the air for the woman, his spindly fingers combing through the air in huge swipes as he craved the warmth of her skin. He cursed the way his body was drawn to the lasting feeling of the firmness of her body pressed against his. His heart thundered in his chest at the feeling of her struggling against him, the feeling of her hair brushing against his face.
Kuro swipes and crashes a fist into the hammer wielding clown to knock them off of their feet, before using the edges of his shield to parry and block each swipe of the heartless' sharp blades. The contact sparking and flashing the street in streaks of red light. The jester with the knives refused to stop laughing, each one of its cackles accompanied by a swinging or stabbing of the blade. Ha! Crash! Ha! Swipe! Ha! Slice!
~ Protect me, Maria ~
~ Don't let this siren cast her spell ~
~ Don't let her fire sear my flesh and bone ~
Frollo's chalk hair began to frazzle and stand on end, his pitch black eyes sinking into his skull. His claws scraped against his gaunt cheeks and his haggard breath an inconsistent whine that begged for a solid breath. It hovered between a death rattle that ached in his chest and pitiable huffs for air as if he was just drowning. His thin knees were shaking, as if the very bone was going to slide out of his liver spotted sagging skin. He felt as though he was starved and the only thing that would satiate his hunger was Esmerelda's flesh. He had a thirst that couldn't be quenched unless it was drawn from the river of her mouth. His body chilled and the only thing that could warm him was her touch.
Kuro slammed the face of his shield into the mallet as it swung, the contact ringing and echoing as though the hammer had just struck a bell. The sound vibrating in his ears. During his daze, it struck talons meeting flesh. Kuro felt two horizontal swipes that skated across his right ribs, leaving two clean cuts that caught him by surprise. The blood felt hot as it ran down his abdomen and gathered at the bunch of fabric along his waist. The knife-wielding heartless took notice of one of the blood edges of their blade, dragging their thumb across the cheek of the steel before applying it to their mask's lips as though it were reapplying their makeup. The once faded pink false lips now a messy runny bright crimson. The knives were spun around their fingers in captivated joy, blood flicking off to splatter across the street floor and against nearby windows, before they charged back into the fray.
~ Destroy Esmeralda ~
~ And let her taste the fires of hell ~
~ Or else let her be mine and mine alone ~
The Judge's arms were wide open, beckoning for the Lord above to answer his prayers. Frollo had always thought of himself as a good judge and an even better servant for the Lord. To devote his life and soul to God, he felt as though it was time for him to finally 'receive his prize.' And if he were able to pick his prize, he had prayed it would be in the form of the luscious body that was Esmerelda.
Kuro's shield rammed into the chest of the knife wielding clown, the heartless rebounding off of it and crashing into the floor. Kuro, taking a measured step back and trying to recall the angle of the wrist that the heartless had when throwing that juggling pin, then rocketed the shield into the downed heartless. The shield spun wildly when it was thrown, and crushed the heartless' skull between a pointed tip along its edge and the stone. Bisecting its head and cutting its hat into two even pieces. The knives crashed into the road and a noise between a chuckle and a cry was echoed, before the body disappeared into a cloud of dust.
~ Hellfire ~
~ Darkfire ~
~ Now darling, it's your turn ~
~ Choose me or your pyre ~
Frollo's crazed prayer dug its way out of his snarled maw as froth bubbled up out of a rabid dog's own mouth. His eyes, although always dulled and flat, now held an abyssal depth to them. That once enthused and sullen black now was now maniacal and frenzied. His body felt a release and a sudden change in the air. As if the heat of the hearth before him was now a chilling sensation against his skin. The fire that caught inside his chest and made a home in his heart had blown into a rapidly growing wildfire. One that rivaled the intensity and the flames of a very real fire.
Kuro's shield, once called back to his hand, was thrown at a rocketing speed, the dogfaced buckler smashing into the chest of the last Harlequin, knocking it into the stones as it is nearly bisected by it. Kuro charged forward and jumped into the air, and with a downward strike, slammed his sword into the collarbone of the Harlequin. Punctuating the devastating blow with a hard twist of the sword and a powerful roar. The clown has one last honk before bursting into a cloud of blackened smoke, the huffs of the silver haired warrior humming in the empty street, his jaw soon clenching and his breathing now a labored pant through his teeth.
~ Be mine or you will burn ~
~ God have mercy on her ~
Kuro rose slowly to his feet after the impalement of the last Heartless, catching a glimpse of his reflection in the glass of a nearby window, the fiery dark glow of his eyes mirroring a prevailing aura of malice and rage. His breath was harsh and heavy, hand tightly gripping his blade or fixed into a tight fist. His eyes glanced over to Dusk, whose forehead knocked into the knee of the Heartless man. Their bleating a welcomed sound in the night, Kuro's fury fueled gaze weakening immediately and instead grew into a warming look when in the presence of his small friend. His hand combed over his neck, feeling his hot pad echo its warmth against his skin. He took a quick step, feeling a sharp pain in his side. The cuts along his ribs were enough for him to nearly drop his sword, and with a focused mind and a sharp breath, the wound fizzled and tendons began to reattach as he Cured himself. What were once harsh wounds now are just a painful memory now, without a single scar to show for it.
Frollo's eyes, their dark sea sunken color, were caught in the glass window that overlooked the great Notre Dame. Their looming towers over the The vapors and flickering of his hearth's fire illuminated the window pangs. As if the great Cathedral were layered in the incandescent glow of the flames. Images of a woman clutching a 'horrid' child flash in his mind, his hands trembling as he felt that spike of adrenaline and satisfaction when he stomped her under his boot. That continued to fuel the fire that savaged his soul. What little there was left.
~ God have mercy on me ~
Kuro's hands pressed firmly against the cheek of his blade, feeling the eerily chilling metal through his gloves. A flicker, a glimmer of light catches his right eye. He turned his attention to notice the gentle rising of the sun, the fresh sunbeams blinding for a moment. As the glow beats against Kuro's skin, a wave of relaxation overtakes him. The blade then gets blown into thick black smoke and purple fumes that smelt of embers, being scattered by a sudden gust of wind. Sweat stained his brow, his breath was haggard and his shirt was compressed and clung to his broad body by the perspiration and blood. Kuro's hands smoothed out the spikes and curls of his silver hair, evening out the locks and combed them straight once again. His feet carried him back towards the Cathedral and he used the last of his strength to scale the face of Notre Dame, hoping to find a corner in Quasimodo's room to rest after a night of fighting.
Frollo's eyes focused on the sudden uproar of tire that came when he casted the woman's sash into the hearth. The sewn constellations and stars were caught by the flames, the fabric catching fire and crumbling into nothing before it could properly lay along the logs. He fell to his knees, hands pulled into tight fists as he crumbled before the hearth. The weight of his lust dragged him to the stones, as if the very air was determined to pull him into the earth. Only his faith in the divine and his glorious purpose keep his chin held high and his shoulders up.
~ But she will be mine ~
Frollo rose his hands up to the vaulted ceilings, reaching out to Heaven in his malicious cry. His body tensing and his arms becoming rigid. The veins in his throat tight against his skin, his hands trembling in anticipation and desire. He roared towards the ceiling, trying to ensure that God and every one of his angels would hear his promise through the walls and reach the very heights of their heaven. His eyes wet with tears of wrath and fury, the darkness of his heart now cloaking the whole room in its unrelenting shadow. He held a smile of pure fanatical glory, his eyes fixed to the vaulted ceilings. Imagining the rays of heaven beaming down onto him in glorious purpose, rather than the dark corners that were there to meet his ignored gazed.
~ Or she will burn! ~
The World That Never Was
The Grey Area
Xion's eyes focused out through the windows, her face blue irises reflected in the glass as she stares over the expanse of the metropolis. Her eyes were the first thing she ever truly noticed. Having found their cerulean reflection in her reflection during her first week of life.
With its flickers of light in the unoccupied windows, the shadowed barren roads barely visible under faintly illuminated streetlights. So much room for such an empty world. She wondered for a moment if anyone actually lived in the city below. Just as people live in Twilight Town and the City of the Bells.
Xion's fingertips pressed up against the pang, the pressure she put on the window was nothing considerable. Just enough to feel how secure the glass was. She wondered if she had enough force to break the glass, or if anyone did. They were so high up.
She looked out the window and imagined sitting along the clock tower in Twilight Town, ice cream in her hand sitting alongside Roxas. In a blinding flash, the sun over the quaint imaginary town must've caught her eye at the right angle, because the vision became the somber city that was lorded over by a massive cathedral. On her right, Roxas was no longer a blonde haired, fair skinned, blue eyed boy. He was now silver haired, tanned skinned, and amber eyed. His voice was not a mellowing, if dull, cadence either due to his disconnection to the world around him or to her specifically. His voice sounded more grounded, more secure and more vigorous.
"Relax, it's ok. I'm not going to hurt you anymore…." She had replayed the sound of his voice in her mind several dozen times already. His gruff, rough sounding voice. It sounded hoarse, scratchy, with a rumble that brought her comfort in the oddest way. It soothed, as much as it could terrify. The sincerity in his words did relax her that day, and his laugh came out in hard huffs that made her feel this warmth in her chest. There was tenderness and urgency in his voice that wasn't apparent or available with her other Organization members. Who often spoke to her with disdain and irritation. Always directing and ordering, never conversing or talking.
Her lips breaking into a tender smile at the thought of his horizon hued eyes, whose heat found refuge and blossomed in her chest. Giving her vivid feelings of tranquility. Even now, when he is so far away. The feeling of being at ease reminded her then of sunsets, his eyes the same shade and the clock tower in Twilight Town came back to mind.
She then thought of Roxas, having checked up on him prior to coming to receive her assignment for the day. Once again, the poor Nobody was comatose. Asleep, and peacefully resting in their room. She had hoped he would be awake by now. She had a lot to tell him about. From the beautiful places she has seen and the people she has observed. Particularly, how she had made a friend of her own. A real friend, one who wanted to be friends with her first.
"Xion," Number VII's voice thundered in the currently vacant lobby of the Grey Area, barring Numbers XIV, VII, and IX. Demyx was strumming his sitar whilst spread out across one of the sofas, eyes vacantly staring into the ceiling. Taking advantage of the fact that their numbers have dwindled and gave him some more lounging space. The Lunar Diviner's blank chilling eyes meet Xion, who promptly stands at attention and awaits instruction after having her thoughts interrupted by the barks of her superior. "I have received notice that there is an intense gathering of darkness in the world you most recently visited. The bell tower world. My sources tell me a rather powerful Heartless is prowling around. Eliminate it."
"Yes, sir." Xion nods, her hands pressed firmly to her sides as she prepares to head towards the hall and take off back towards the city of the bells.
"Wait here, Xion." Saïx utters, before walking over to the sofa currently being lazed about on by Demyx. Xion mentally cringed, however her face remained as stoic and flat as she could make it. She really didn't want to work with him again. "Demyx."
"My sanct-tuary, my sanctuary, mhm yeah." The sitarist mumbled to himself as he continued to play. Saïx squints his eyes, his hands flayed out before tightening into fists. Saïx's patience with certain members of the organization certainly ran thinner than most. Demyx, unfortunately, found himself to be the one with the shortest thread. The laziness, the condescending attitude, and, personally the worst offense in Saïx's eyes or more accurately his ears, the constant 'music' that he had been subjecting anyone with ears to since he arrived. He hated it."Where the fears and lies melt a-way-"
Saïx grabs hold of the sitar by the neck. Wishing the object could draw a single breath just so he could have the satisfaction of choking the life out of it.
Dragging it out of the musician's hands and feeling the cords begin to groove into the material and leaving divots that were string deep, the pressure he was placing on the sitar would've snapped a lesser instrument into pieces.
Demyx's hands reached for it, the sudden snapping of the sitar reminded him of the offense Larxene took to his tuning and singing. However, considering it was Saïx that was responsible for this interruption, Demyx's heart - if he had one - would have stopped immediately. His blood running cold as the most wrathful member was the one who put a stop to his one man concert.
Demyx wouldn't place any bets on anyone who dared to challenge the scarred berserker. Having seen the Nobody in combat once before, it was a sight he wouldn't carelessly forget. The screaming, the fury. Demyx shut his mouth, and was waiting patiently for Saïx's order.
"Accompany Xion. You're already familiar with the world. Ensure the Heartless is destroyed." Saïx ordered promptly and harshly, before sternly shoving the instrument into Demyx's lap. The Melodious Nocturne is propelled into the cushions of the couch, just the slightest and gentle push from Saïx was enough for him to feel the support of the couch bend and cry out in taut tension. Any more, and he would have sent Demyx through the sofa. A real show of power and Demyx would have been broken through the couch and had been rocketed through the floor into the one below. Which would have been Axel's room by his guesstimating. Which would be an unwelcome surprise to come home to after being stuck in Castle Oblivion for weeks on end.
Demyx immediately nods to the order, watching VIII walk out of the room to continue about his business. As soon as he was out of sight and surely out of his earshot, Demyx rolled his eyes. Just in case the new number two could hear eyeballs rock around in their sockets.
With a whine and a groan, he complained while rising up to his feet. Swinging the instrument in his arms to begin resting the body of the sitar across his shoulders. With a blasé sway, he walked over to Number XIV. The musician shakes out his chin and his mullet sways across his shoulders in clean sweeps. A short yawn escaping his lips. Nudging the smaller Nobody with an elbow. Xion flinches at the contact, earning a snort out of the higher ranked Nobody.
"Come on, Fourteen. This'll be a hoot and a half. For sure." Demyx walks along down the hall, his whistling sharp and loud, echoing down the halls of the castle as he makes his way to the Embarking Room. Xion takes an aside glance out the widows once again, taking one last look out to the shadowed cityscape before hurrying after him. "By the way, you really need to learn to not draw attention to yourself. After that fiasco yesterday, I'll be keeping an eye on you. Did you know how long it took for me to draw up that report saying that it all went smoothly?"
"I don't know, fifteen minutes?" Xion answered, only for Demyx to snicker and shake his head towards her. He flexed out his palm and stretched his digits twice.
"Ten whole minutes. So exhausting, working so hard. To think, Larxene would spend like an hour on her reports. Made working with her such a drag. Glad that blonde witch is currently cramping everyone else's style in C.O." Demyx's eyes returned to the hall, blowing out an improper rhythm through his teeth as he walked. "Going forward, listen here. Just keep to yourself and stay out of the way. And one more thing? If you can handle it? Don't embarrass me today, either. Got it?"
"Yes." Xion nodded, flexing her hand and feeling the phantom weight of the Keyblade in her hand. Her purpose is clear and her body is ready. With a quick breath of reassurance, she straightened her back and held her head high. "I won't embarrass you."
It was time to get to work.