Kingdom Hearts: Echoplex

by RpgBlaster

As you open the book and delve into its pages, you are immediately transported to the mind of our protagonist. a young teenager awakens from a seemingly eternal slumber. However, instead of finding himself in the familiar surroundings of the real world like an hospital, he is surrounded by a background with nothing but pitch black nothingness as he float. But he is not alone.

39. Chapter 39 (Crescendo - Part 1)

Blizzard tilted his head back, his gaze moving almost fully behind himself as he saw Chirithy, its small form trembling, its eyes squeezed shut, its body shuddering with an unseen force. He could sense its distress, a wave of conflicting emotions, yet, he knew that whatever was plaguing its mind, was something that he could not help with. Not now. Not yet.

Chirithy: It's... It is kind of scary, isn't it? All those lines and numbers. It is just... When will this loading thing? I'm starting to feel dizzy.

A strained sound, a subtle acknowledgement of the bizarre digital landscape, yes. Yet, also a clear attempt to inject a touch of levity into a situation that was rapidly spiraling out of control.

William chuckled softly, a sound that held a strange mixture of amusement and a quiet resignation, his gaze sweeping across the lines of code that now surrounded them, his expression thoughtful, his tone almost dismissive as he finally responded to Chirithy's hesitant query.

William: Oh, don't worry about that, you get used to it.

The lines of code vanished, dissolving into nothingness as the digital landscape faded, replaced by the familiar, and yet strangely different, sight of the jungle. The ground solidified beneath their feet, and they were no longer floating, but standing firmly on solid earth once more. They were back.

Blizzard blinked, his senses returning to normal as he took in his surroundings, his gaze darting around as he tried to orient himself. It was the jungle, that much was clear, the familiar green canopy overhead, the humid air, the distant sounds of birds and insects, all of it, was back. But it was also different. The light was muted, the shadows were longer, and the air held a new kind of chill that he did not recognize from before.

And then he heard it. The unmistakable sound of aircraft, growing louder, reverberating through the jungle canopy, a sound that was all too familiar, and yet, in this context, strangely unwelcome. An airplane.

His gaze lifted towards the sky, his breath hitched as he saw it. A single airplane, its form dark and ominous against the gray sky, its engines roaring as it descended, its approach a clear and unmistakable sign of an incoming force.

And something else, something was falling from the sky, a dark shape descending rapidly from the aircraft, its form a swift motion against the fading light, its descent too fast, too uncontrolled to be anything other than a freefall.

William's eyes widened as he recognized the falling figure as he took a step back.

William: Is that...

The figure landed nearby, impacting the jungle floor with a heavy thud, on a crouch with legs bent to absorb the force of impact, then rolled to distribute the remaining momentum across his body. After a moment of stillness, he slowly pushed himself up from the damp earth, he tested his weight on each limb, checking for injuries. A strained groan escaped his lips, a sign of lingering discomfort from the jarring arrival as he finally straightened up.

And then, the man ripped off his mask, revealing his face, Snake, his expression a mixture of disbelief and a lingering exhaustion as he stared back at them.

Naked Snake: What the...? You two? I... I don't understand. It's been... It's been a week. Seven days. Seven days since... And... And you're here? Again?

His voice was low, almost reverent, his words tinged with a mixture of awe and a growing sense of unease.

Naked Snake: I... I was sent back. To...

William: We are aware of the general situation. Orders from above, isn't it?

His words hung in the air, a subtle yet unmistakable indication that he possessed a knowledge that was both unsettling and strangely accurate. His quiet declaration left Snake momentarily speechless, his mind struggling to reconcile the absurdity of the situation with the eerie certainty in the young man's voice. He had not even told them anything, and yet, somehow, they already seemed to know.

He sighed, a sound of defeat, a quiet admission that he was no longer surprised by anything these two strangers might say or do. His carefully constructed walls of logic, and reason, had crumbled, leaving him exposed, vulnerable, and utterly bewildered.

Naked Snake: Classified information, and you already know? Of course you do. Why am I even surprised anymore?

Crackling through his radio, Zero interrupted their conversation.

Zero: Snake! Do you read me?! What is going on?! Are you under attack?! Report your situation! Now!

Snake sighed, his body slumping slightly as he activated the radio, his gaze shifting towards Blizzard and William, a mixture of weariness and a strange, almost resigned amusement, coloring his tone as he finally responded, his voice betraying a subtle hint of a morbid humor.

Naked Snake: Zero, you're not going to believe this. Blizzard and William? They are here. Again. With me. They... They are alive. They're standing right in front of me.

A long, deafening silence spread through the radio once more, followed only by the faint hiss of static, as Zero, Para-Medic, and Sigint, wrestled to process the bewildering information, their minds clearly unable to grasp the sheer absurdity of Snake's report, their voices lost in the static, their earlier skepticism now replaced with a growing and unsettling sense of alarm.

Para-Medic: Snake, are you... repeating what I just heard correctly? Are you suggesting that Blizzard and William have reappeared? But that's... That's... illogical. Implausible in the extreme.

Sigint: Unorthodox combat abilities, then claims of... temporal paradoxes, and now... you are claiming that individuals, presumed lost, have simply... returned? Am I to assume that they just... reappeared out of thin air?

Zero: State the facts and try to make some semblance of sense, if you are capable to do so, with what you just claimed. Those teenagers, Blizzard and William... you confirmed their status, their conditions? Are you completely sure that you are not imagining things? I won't tolerate more fabricated events! Try to offer an understandable answer that does not include anymore absurdities!

Snake cringed, rolling his eyes in a subtle display of exasperation.

Snake: I am lucid. As lucid as I have ever been. And I can attest to you, with complete and utter certainty, that everything I am about to report to you is real. They are here. They are standing right in front of me. They are not hallucinations, and they are not fabrications of my mind. They are real. Just as real as you and I are right now.

And after a few seconds of contemplation.

Snake: I am not on drugs. I am not suffering from any kind of psychological breakdo-

Blizzard raised his left hand high, a silent gesture for Snake to cease speaking.

A scent. A familiar, yet long-forgotten scent, a fragrance that he had not encountered in what felt like an eternity, a smell that was as unwelcome as it was undeniable. A scent that always preceded the coming of danger, of chaos, and of death. A smell that he had learned to associate with only one thing, and one thing alone.

Blizzard: Do you smell that?

His voice was low, strained, his words tinged with a growing alarm, his body tensing as he prepared for the inevitable.

Even before he could fully articulate the warning, the world around them shifted, the air itself seeming to crackle with an unseen energy. Dark portals, shimmering and pulsating with a sinister light, tore open in the fabric of reality, their forms a stark intrusion into the familiar landscape. And from those portals, they emerged.

Heartless. Countless Heartless, their forms a chaotic blend of darkness and light, their bodies shifting and swirling, their eyes burning with an eerie, unnatural yellow glow. They crawled out, poured out, flooded out from the void, a parade of shadows and distorted shapes, a terrifying tide of darkness unleashed upon their world.

Some were small, and almost deceptively harmless, their forms almost comical in their absurdity, yet their eyes betrayed a hunger that was far from harmless. Others were towering behemoths, monstrous creatures that radiated an aura of pure dread, their bodies nightmarish abominations that seemed to defy all laws of nature, their presence a clear and present danger to everything around them. They were here. And they were everywhere.

Snake recoiled in horror as his hand instinctively reached for his weapon.

Naked Snake: What the... What the fuck is that?!

William remained strangely calm, his eyes fixed on the Heartless, his expression almost thoughtful, a subtle smile playing on his lips, a hint of recognition at last.

William: Heartless... Oh, right. Of course.

And then, Chirithy vanished. Its form dissolving in a puff of smoke, leaving Blizzard and William to face this new, and overwhelming threat alone.

The Heartless surged forward, their movements erratic and unpredictable as they advanced, their hunger for light, their thirst for darkness, driving them towards their prey, towards the small group of humans that now stood before them.

Blizzard shifted his weight onto his right foot, digging his heel into the scorched earth for purchase. Muscles tightened across his back and shoulders, coiling in anticipation of movement, his fingers clenched around Frostbite and Inferno, the Keyblades emitting a potent energy, their light pushing back against the encroaching shadows. He propelled himself ahead, a surge of focused aggression, towards the Heartless horde. His form advanced, limbs pumping, the twin blades poised to unleash devastation upon the encroaching darkness.

Snake reacted as he raised his Tranq Gun, unleashing a series of darts towards the oncoming wave of darkness. Each projectile arcing through the air towards the Heartless, seeking to subdue the encroaching horde. The darts struck their targets, impacting against their shadowy forms with a soft thud. Yet, the effect was negligible. The Heartless barely registered the assault, their forms undeterred, their advance continuing unabated. The projectiles passed through their inky bodies, leaving no visible mark, no discernible impact, the tranquilizing agents failing to penetrate their otherworldly composition.

The Heartless continued their advance, their forms shifting and swirling, their hunger showing no signs of abating. Snake cursed under his breath, realizing the futility of his weapon. These creatures were immune to conventional weaponry. His tranq darts, designed for human targets, were utterly ineffective against these supernatural foes. He would not risk closing in with his knife and CQC, not when facing an enemy so utterly unknown. He was no fool. These kids seemed to know what they were doing. He would keep his distance, and let them handle this madness.

Naked Snake: They don't even flinch! What are these things even made of?!

William, for his part, remained still, his gaze fixed on Blizzard as he fought his way through the horde, his expression thoughtful, his eyes narrowed as he observed the dance of ice and fire, the raw power that was now unleashed by the young Keyblade Master. His gaze then shifted towards Inferno, its crimson blade burning with an intense heat, its presence radiating a strange, almost unsettling allure, a darkness that seemed to beckon him closer.

A monstrous roar echoed through the jungle, shaking the very air around them. The ground trembled as something large and powerful forced its way through the dense vegetation, trees splintering and collapsing as a Darkside, its massive form a hulking silhouette against the smoke-filled sky, emerged from the foliage, its glowing yellow eyes fixed on William, its heavy footsteps shaking the earth, its presence casting a long and ominous shadow over the clearing.

William did not move. His body remained still, his hands tucked casually into his pockets.

His gaze remained fixed on the Darkside, his expression conveyed a curious stillness, a sense of waiting rather than apprehension. He was observing the creature as one might observe a familiar tableau, a recurring element in a pattern long since memorized.

A thought crossed his mind, unbidden yet distinct. Would something be different? Or would it simply be the same? He searched the creature's face, or where a face should be, for any hint of deviation, any spark of the unexpected, but found nothing.

He tilted his head just a fraction, an almost imperceptible movement, conveying a subtle sense of resignation.

The Darkside raised its massive right arm, coiling its hand into a tight fist.

Blizzard's heart lurched, his gaze snapping towards William, his voice a desperate cry as he saw the behemoth looming over his friend, the massive fist descending with terrifying speed.

Blizzard: William! Move! Get out of there!

But William did not move.

William: You... You are rather large, aren't you? And... and quite aggressive as well.

His eyes, narrowed subtly, his brow furrowed, betrayed a hint of discontent.

The fist crashed down, the impact shaking the jungle, sending shockwaves through the air, and a cloud of dust and debris erupted, obscuring everything from view, the ground around the point of impact splintering and cracking, trees collapsing like matchsticks.

Blizzard's breath hitched, his heart accelerated, his mind racing as he desperately sought to understand why William had not moved, why he had seemingly allowed himself to be struck down by such a devastating attack. Had he been too slow to warn him? Had his voice failed to reach him in time? Had William simply... yielded?

A chilling fear, sharp and cold, pierced through the adrenaline that had coursed through his veins just moments before. Had his new friend, had William, just been killed? Had he failed again?

He had yelled, he had warned him, but... but William had remained still, as though he was rooted to the spot, a strange and unnerving stillness that had preceded the Darkside's brutal assault. Why? Why hadn't he moved?

Was it fear? Had William simply frozen up in the face of such overwhelming power? Had he been too terrified to react? Had his courage, that nascent bravery that Blizzard had started to witness in him, simply crumbled under pressure? Or... Or had something else, something far more disturbing, occurred?

A different thought, a chilling possibility, crept into his consciousness, a question that was as unwelcome as it was insistent. Had William even tried to move? Had he even attempted to summon his Keyblade?

Back then during thier Travel.

During those long hours spent confined within the vessel, William had attempted, time and again, to summon his Keyblade, his movements ranging from subtle gestures, small motions of his fingers, to more elaborate and dramatic poses, his arms outstretched, his body twisting and turning as he sought to command the power that was supposed to reside within him.

He sat on a cold, metallic chair, his brow furrowed, his features a mask of intense concentration as he extended his right hand forward, his fingers splayed, his arm angled precisely as he had observed Yen-Sid doing it once.

William: Arise!

His voice lacked any real conviction, his tone betraying a hint of self-doubt that undermined his every attempt, and nothing happened.

Perched on the table, Chirithy watched the display with a mixture of amusement and thinly veiled impatience, its eyes narrowed, its small body shifting slightly as it suppressed a snicker.

Chirithy: Are you quite certain that you are performing the summoning correctly? Perhaps if you were to try... a little dance? Or maybe you require a more dramatic angle for your arm? Or perhaps you have borrowed too many of Yen-Sid's books?

William's reddened slightly with frustration as he shifted his stance, trying a different approach, his left hand now extended, his fingers curled into a fist, his arm now positioned at a different angle, his body twisting as he sought a new and hopefully more effective method.

William: Come forth! Weapon of Light!

His voice was louder this time, strained with effort, and a hint of desperation, yet, once again, nothing happened. He sighed, a sound of utter defeat, his shoulders slumping as he let his arm fall limply to his side, his hope waning with each passing moment.

Chirithy chuckled softly, its form shifting slightly as it hopped down from the table, its movements fluid and graceful as it approached William.

Chirithy: Well, at least you are consistent. Consistently inept, that is. You know, it reminds me of Blizzard's early attempts. It was quite amusing to watch him flail about like a fish out of water, trying to summon his Keyblade with all sorts of ridiculous gestures. At one point, I believe he even attempted to use his feet! Perhaps you two should form a club. 'The Inept Wielders of the Tower.' I am quite certain that you two would have a lot in common.

Blizzard stepped forward, his voice gentle, and reassuring, as he sought to offer some words of comfort.

Blizzard: It's not easy at first. Really. It takes time, and... and practice. You have to get used to it, to feel the flow.

William sighed, his gaze fixed on his empty hand, his tone a mix of frustration and a hint of self-deprecation as he acknowledged the obvious futility of his actions.

William: Time? You think we have time for this? And practice? You make it sound so simple. Just... just feel the flow? What flow? I don't feel anything. Maybe... Maybe I am doing it wrong? Maybe it's... Maybe it's just not meant to be for me.

His voice was laced with doubt, along with a subtle hint of sympathy in his tone. Understanding that he wasn't alone in his frustration.

Blizzard: It took me a while too, you know? It wasn't always easy. My first time... Well, let's just say that it was a complete and utter disaster. Heartless attacked me. Shadows, I think, or maybe some Soldiers. I don't quite remember the details. It was all... a mess. A complete and utter mess. And I... I couldn't even summon Frostbite back then. Not even a little spark.

He paused, his gaze drifting downwards for a moment, his mind flashing back to that first terrifying encounter.

Blizzard: And even then, when I finally managed to summon Frostbite... It wasn't enough. Not really. It was only when I finally understood what I needed to do, how to focus my energy, that I was able to properly wield it, that's all that matters. It just... It just takes time. And a lot of... focus. And maybe a little bit of luck too.

Cut to the Present.

Blizzard: William! No!

His voice was a desperate cry, a raw expression of terror and disbelief as he turned to face the monstrous creature, ready to unleash his full power, to avenge the fallen.

And then, a form jumped into the air, a swift motion, limbs rotating with deliberate precision.

A flash against the dark abyss, a clean slice descending upon the Darkside. The weapon carved a line from the base of the creature's waist to the top of its monstrous head. The Darkside recoiled, its massive body lurching backward, its form staggering. A guttural cry escaped its throat, a sound of raw agony. Its physical structure trembled, joints protesting as it was assaulted.

And then, the wound erupted, a series of explosions tearing through the Darkside's body from within, the line of the Keyblade's cut bursting into flames, each detonation sending tremors through the air, each shockwave growing larger, more violent, more destructive than the last, until the creature's massive form was finally consumed by a torrent of pure, raw power.

Five explosions in total, each one increasing in size, ripping apart the Darkside's being, until its body was finally overwhelmed, collapsing, dissolving into a cloud of dark particles that faded into nothingness, leaving behind only a lingering scent of ozone, and the faint echoes of its tormented cries.

Only its left leg remained, a massive limb crashing heavily to the ground with a ground shaking thud, the force of its impact sending tremors through the earth, yet even that final remnant of its former might was not immune to the forces of oblivion, as it too, dissolved into dust and ash, leaving nothing behind to mark its existence.

William stood there, amidst the swirling smoke, his form untouched, his Keyblade, a new and unfamiliar weapon, held casually in his right hand.

A Neutral-type Keyblade, a large one at that, its hilt was formed from polished obsidian, cold and smooth to the touch, ending in a guard shaped like stylized wings, each feather meticulously carved with sharp, angular edges. The blade itself was not of light, but of raw, contained heat, appearing as a ribbon of superheated plasma, a flickering distortion in the air itself, its core a deep black that bled into intense crimson at the edges and tip.

The keychain dangling from the base of the handle, was shaped like a stylized skull with empty sockets, with a chain made of interlocking black links, heavy and unforgiving. Its presence alone was enough to suggest a potential for devastation, a capacity to unleash raw power with even the slightest touch.

Indeed, mere contact with this weapon could result in violent detonations, its energy imbued with an explosive force ready to be unleashed at a moment's notice, capable of obliterating any target with a single, controlled impact. The tip of the blade, for a fleeting moment, flared with a vivid crimson hue before cooling back to its default dark color, the heat dissipating like spent ember.

Jetwing Ember.

Blizzard paused, his breath catching in his throat, his eyes wide with shock as he took in the startling display, he was awestruck by the feat that had just saved his friend's life."

William offered him a small, almost apologetic nod, his lips moving into a faint smile, a silent acknowledgment of his efforts, a gesture that was both reassuring and strangely unsettling, as though he was fully aware of Blizzard's confusion, and yet, somehow, still unconcerned with the sheer absurdity of it all.

Blizzard understood. He turned back to face the remaining Heartless, his Keyblades held high, his heart pounding with a new surge of purpose, his body surging forward with renewed vigor as he unleashed a fresh wave of attacks upon the remaining shadows, their forms dissolving under the combined might of Frostbite and Inferno, their numbers dwindling with each passing second. The battle was far from over, but for the first time since they had arrived in this jungle, victory, felt not only possible, but now, almost inevitable. And he had William to thank for it.

The one-sided massacre continued, Blizzard's movements a dance of death and destruction, his Keyblades carving a path of fire and ice through the remaining Heartless, their forms dissolving into nothingness, their presence no longer a threat, their numbers diminishing with each passing moment, until finally, silence returned to the jungle, the only sounds left were the distant whirring of helicopters, the rustling of the leaves, and the ragged breathing of a Keyblade Master.

After the battle, Snake moved back towards the clearing, his footsteps slow, and measured as he observed the aftermath of the chaotic engagement, his gaze sweeping over the scattered remains of the Heartless, their forms now completely dissipated, leaving behind nothing but faint trails of smoke, and the lingering scent of ozone in the air. He stopped near a fallen log, his body slumping slightly as he finally allowed himself a moment of respite, his breath ragged as he tried to regain his composure.

Snake: Well... That was... something else.

His voice was strained, his words tinged with exhaustion and a lingering disbelief. He raised a hand to rub at his temples, pushing back against the lingering effects of the shock. Then, he straightened up, his gaze shifting towards Blizzard.

Naked Snake: What... What in the hell were those things?

He paused, his gaze sweeping from Blizzard, to William, and back to Blizzard once more.

Blizzard sighed as he closed his eyes for a moment, his body still trembling with exhaustion.

Blizzard: Those... Those were Heartless. Creatures of darkness. Born from the hearts of those who have lost their way, and consumed by the shadows. And... And those Keyblades... Well...

His voice trailed off, his gaze shifting downwards, his fingers tightening around the hilts of Frostbite and Inferno, the familiar weight of the weapons offering a strange comfort amidst the chaos.

Blizzard: They're... They're Keyblades. Weapons of light, and darkness. They're... They're the only things that can truly destroy those creatures. For good. Bullets... Bullets and grenades, they won't do anything. Not against them.

He paused once more, his gaze locking onto Snake's, his tone now a mix of weariness and a subtle, almost somber understanding.

Blizzard: When someone loses their heart... When they succumb to the darkness... that is what they become. Heartless. Monsters. Devoid of emotion, and without any trace of humanity, just mindless beings that seek to consume all. That's... That's all they are. And that's all they ever will be.

He closed his eyes, a wave of exhaustion washing over him, his mind racing as he thought about the endless cycle of darkness and light, of hearts lost and souls consumed, his thoughts heavy with the weight of a destiny that he had never asked for, and a battle that he knew, would never truly end.

Blizzard: And sometimes... Sometimes, if the will is strong enough... they become... Nobodies. Beings of twilight. Empty shells, adrift, seeking to reclaim a forgotten past. They're monsters too. But different in nature. Shades of grey and white. And those with a stronger will... Well...

He paused, a subtle tremor in his voice as he chose his next words with care, his gaze lowered to the ground, a mixture of exhaustion and a haunting sadness reflected in his features.

Blizzard: Those who retain human form... those are the most dangerous. Sentient. Calculating. And cold. They lead Organization 14th. They... orchestrate events. They wield power beyond simple brute force. And they despise Keyblade Wielders with a fervor that... is difficult to truly grasp.

Naked Snake: Everyone? Everyone can become... both of those things? Heartless and... Nobodies? Is that what you're saying? Because if that's truly the case, then... Then where are they all? Why isn't the entire world overrun by these... monsters? I would have seen them, wouldn't I?! Everyone, every soldier, everyone in the world, should have witnessed such a thing!

William remained motionless, his head gazing at the sky above, his expression hidden from view. A strange silence descended upon him, his form becoming rigid, almost unnaturally so. He was still, unmoving, as Snake's words seemed to resonate within him.

William: You should not even allow yourself to imagine such a thing, you know?

A subtle tremor went through his shoulders, his fingers twitching almost imperceptibly, then a slow smile began to curve his lips, a smile that was not of amusement, nor of joy, but of something else entirely. Something darker. Something that was disturbingly wrong. It was a smile that did not reach his eyes, and it felt more like a physical reaction, a nervous tick, than an expression of any real emotion.

It was a psychotic grin.

Blizzard and Snake exchanged a worried look, a silent communication passing between them, a shared sense of unease as they observed William's bizarre shift in demeanor, the sudden and unsettling change in his expression. His silence was no longer passive, but instead, held a strange, almost threatening energy.

William inhaled slowly, deeply, his chest expanding as he regained control over his breathing, his smile slowly fading, replaced by a more somber and introspective expression. He looked down at his hands, his fingers twitching almost imperceptibly as he collected his thoughts.

William: I did not mean to... to react in such a way. It's just... The thought of a world overrun... it's... unsettling. More than I can properly convey.

His voice was now calm, measured, devoid of any trace of his earlier mania, his tone carrying a subtle hint of vulnerability, a glimpse into the depths of his inner turmoil, his features softening as he finally addressed Snake's initial question.

William: It's... more complex than that. Not everyone is vulnerable. Not everyone can simply succumb to the darkness, and become a Heartless. It's... it's like a fire, I think. Or maybe... more like an infection, a disease. It spreads, yes, but it only takes hold in those who are... susceptible. Those who possess a certain weakness within their hearts, a vulnerability to the shadows. This world... your world, it has just been fortunate, I suppose. For now.

Blizzard stepped closer, his expression a mixture of curiosity and a growing awe as he sought to understand the source of William's sudden and unexpected power, his voice gentle as he prompted him to delve deeper into the mystery.

Blizzard: William... How... How did you do that? Back there? With the Darkside? I didn't even see you move.

William paused, his gaze shifting towards Blizzard, his eyes widening slightly as he pondered the question, his hand moving almost unconsciously to touch the back of his neck, his fingers lingering there for a moment.

William: It just... It just felt familar. At the back of my neck. A... A sudden urge. A pressure, pushing down. Like... Like a heavy weight pressing on me. And then... And then, well... the Keyblade was just... there. In my hand. The angle, the rotation of my hand... all of that seemed... pointless, now that I think about it. Perhaps It per-

Snake gestured sharply with his right hand, a silent command for them to pay attention.

Snake: Enough chatter. All that noise... It's a miracle that more soldiers haven't swarmed this location already. We were fortunate. Barely.

He paused, his expression stern.

Snake: From this point on, quiet. We still need to reach ADAM's rendezvous point. The camp. And we need to reach it unseen. Until sunrise, keep quiet and follow my lead. Understood?

Without waiting for a response, Snake turned and sprinted into the dense foliage, his body disappearing into the green abyss with an almost unnerving silence. Blizzard and William exchanged a glance before following, their movements more cautious, more measured, yet equally determined.

Within Infinitum Firmamentum.

Fifteen thrones, each imposing in size, yet with subtle variations in height, lined the vast chamber. Of these, twelve were occupied. The remaining three, deliberately left unoccupied, their leader, and the void left by Xanderius and Norgam's incompetence.

An unusual stillness permeated the atmosphere. A barely perceptible tension, stretched through them as they awaited their leader's arrival, their forms unmoving, their eyes fixed on the entrance.

The massive doors at the far end of the room slid open with a soft, hissing sound, breaking the silence. The Leader, Dorval, entered, his figure casting a long shadow across the polished floor. He walked with a measured pace towards the center of the room, his movements betraying a barely contained impatience. Reaching the central dais, he leaped into the air, his form ascending with an unnatural grace, before landing soundlessly on the tallest throne.

His gaze, sharp and penetrating, swept across the assembly, his eyes lingering for a moment on the two vacant thrones, his expression revealing his displeasure. A low sigh escaped his lips, a sound that conveyed a mixture of weariness and an unshakeable authority.

Dorval: My dearest members. We gather here today to address recent events, and to reaffirm our collective commitment. One year has passed. One year since we began this new... arrangement.

His voice, calm, and even, resonated through the room, each word carefully chosen, each syllable weighted with meaning.

Dorval: Our trades with Black Beard continue to prosper, our coffers swell with each transaction. His... ideals, though crude, are undeniably... profitable.

He raised his left hand, his fingers toying with a syringe filled with the dark substance, its form dampening in his grip, its presence a visual aid to his words.

Dorval: Humans, as it seems, find this rather... agreeable. And so do we. As long as the coin keeps flowing, of course.

He paused, a subtle shift in his tone signaling a change in subject, his gaze now sweeping across his subordinates, offering them a rare glimpse of something akin to satisfaction.

Dorval: I bring you news of mixed character. Which shall you prefer to hear first. The comforting tidings that might, for a fleeting moment, soothe your souls? Or... the less agreeable facts, that will, undoubtedly, remind you of the bleak realities of our ongoing... predicament?

Member One: Enough with the theatrics! Just... just give us the good tidings first!

His words resonated with a rare display of raw emotion, a plea that was tinged with a desperate longing.

Dorval chuckled softly, a low, almost sardonic sound that betrayed a hint of amusement, as his gaze lingered for a moment on Member One.

Dorval: Very well then. Comfort, it shall be. For a fleeting moment at least. Good tidings, you shall receive.

He shifted his posture, his hand gesturing outwards in a wide, almost benevolent motion as his tone shifted, now carrying a subtle, yet unmistakable note of triumph.

Dorval: The good news. With the artifacts that we have now secured, and with the increased energy that they are now providing for our grand design... I can feel it. A change in the very air itself, a subtle shift in the flow of energies, a tremor in the invisible fabric that surrounds us all. And more than that, I have witnessed it with my own two eyes. The Gate to Kingdom Hearts... it is almost open.

A subtle ripple of energy spread through the room, a silent wave of anticipation that moved through the Nobodies, their previously still forms shifting almost imperceptibly, their eyes, widening slightly with a flicker of something akin to excitement. Member One allowed himself a small, almost imperceptible nod, his gaze fixed upon Dorval, his body conveying a rare, fleeting trace of approval.

Member Four: Finally! After all this time, after all these countless efforts, we are finally... we are finally getting there! I can barely contain myself!

His voice was a rare display of raw emotion, a crack in his usual composure, his body shifting in his throne as though he was about to jump up and down with pure, unadulterated glee.

Member Seven: A week or so? Just a week or so more? Can you imagine it? After all this time, after all these endless and frustrating efforts, after enduring the infinite expanse of Nothingness itself, we are finally going to reclaim our Hearts! We will be whole once more!

Dorval allowed them to express themself for a moment, the hushed anticipation hanging thick, before he continued, his voice now taking on a more somber tone, a clear warning that the good news was about to be overshadowed by something far more troubling, his smile fading into a grim line, his left hand now clenching into a fist, the syringe cracking audibly under the pressure as a black liquid poured down from it.

Dorval: However... criminals still lurk within this cosmos. Blizzard. And The Lunatic. They remain... a persistent obstacle. A continuing... issue.

His tone deepened, his voice now carrying a weight of concern as he finally addressed the lingering concern.

Dorval: A year, since any of our drones have detected any trace of their presence. No energy signatures, no whispers in the void, nothing. They have vanished. And yet, despite their absence, I can feel them. Lingering in the shadows. Waiting to strike... like a disease!

His gaze shifted downwards, his attention drawn to something on the floor before him, something that had not been there before. A briefcase, and yet, strangely out of place in the pristine, immaculate white of the throne room. Its surface was divided precisely in half, one side a color close to white, the other side, a color close to black. Its sudden and unexplained apparition was a clear intrusion, an unwelcome anomaly in their carefully controlled environment, and a clear sign that something was terribly wrong.

Member Twelve: How... How did that get here?!

His words were a cry of alarm, his body recoiling slightly, his eyes wide with a mixture of shock and a growing dread. The other members, their earlier anticipation replaced by a sudden and unsettling unease, stirred in their thrones, their gazes locking onto the briefcase.

Dorval raised a hand, a clear command for his subordinates to regain their composure, to suppress their fear, no matter the cost.

Dorval: Calm yourselves. It is merely a briefcase. Nothing more. We must not allow ourselves to be distracted by... childish displays of panic.

His words were dismissive, his tone conveying a subtle hint of annoyance, yet, even he could not fully conceal the subtle shift in his own posture, the almost imperceptible tightening of his jaw muscles, a telltale sign of his own, carefully concealed anxiety.

No one moved. The tension in the room was almost solid as the members of Organization 14th remained frozen, their gazes locked onto the briefcase, their silence heavy with unease, their forms rigid with apprehension.

Dorval paused, his gaze sweeping across their faces, his eyes lingering for a moment on Member Six, Lumielle, her form unusually still, her features devoid of her usual playful smirk, a clear indication that even she, was not immune to the growing sense of dread that was now pervading the throne room.

Dorval: Lumielle.

His voice was a low, almost silken command, yet, carrying an undercurrent of an absolute and unyielding authority, his gaze locking onto Member Six, his silent order unmistakable.

Lumielle hesitated. Member One met Lumielle's stare with a cold, and silent glare, his eyes narrowed, his lips pressed into a thin line, a clear and unmistakable warning, a silent threat that needed no words to convey its meaning.

Lumielle swallowed hard, her earlier playfulness completely vanished, replaced by a clear and palpable sense of apprehension, a subtle tremor moving through her limbs as she finally accepted her leader's command, her gaze shifting downwards in a gesture of reluctant obedience.

With a slow movement, hesitant, yet unavoidable, Lumielle rose from her throne as she leaped down. Her boots clicked against the polished floor, the sound sharp in the strained silence as she moved towards the center of the room. Her gaze, fixed, unblinking, was drawn to the briefcase resting on the floor, the object of their collective unease. It was just a briefcase. Simple, unassuming, ordinary. No visible energy radiated from it, no ominous aura.

Crouching down and reaching the briefcase, Lumielle paused. She circled it slowly, her eyes scanning every inch of its surface, searching for any sign of danger. The paint was clearly aged, the colors muted and dry to the touch, no fresh strokes visible.

It looked mundane, unremarkable, a common object, and yet, its presence in this room, at this moment, felt deeply, disturbingly wrong. Dust motes danced in the air above it, undisturbed, and no trace of recent fingerprints marred its surface.

Member Two: Are you quite certain that you require an eternity to merely approach a simple box, Lumielle? Are we to assume that you fear it might detonate? Perhaps you expect it to leap up and bite your delicate fingers off?

Member Two's voice, sharp and laced with sarcasm, cut through the strained silence, the words aimed at Lumielle, a thinly veiled attempt to mask his own growing apprehension with a display of bravado.

Lumielle flinched slightly at the taunt, her eyes flashing with a brief spark of irritation before her gaze returned to the briefcase, her form remaining frozen in place, her hand hovering just above the clasp. She hesitated, her fingers trembling almost imperceptibly as she finally made a move, her fingers brushing against the cool metal, and then, with a swift, decisive click, she released the latches.

The briefcase sprung open with a soft hiss, revealing its contents, a neat stack of pristine white papers and a bundle of glossy photographs, their forms contrasting sharply with the aged and worn leather lining of the interior. Lumielle peered inside, her eyes scanning the contents for a fleeting moment before a sharp gasp escaped her lips, her body recoiling violently, stumbling backward as she lost her footing, falling heavily onto her back, the impact knocking the air from her lungs.

A flurry of white papers and glossy photographs cascaded from the briefcase as it clattered against the polished floor, scattering across the immaculate surface.

Lumielle's gaze was fixed, wide with disbelief, as she stared at the images that now lay strewn around her, her breath catching in her throat, her body trembling with an unseen tremor.

The photographs showcased the interior of Infinitum Firmamentum. Familiar hallways, the towering thrones, even this very room, the Throne Room itself, all captured in sharp detail. And in each and every photograph, a single figure dominated the scene. The Lunatic.

The first photograph depicted him lounging casually on Dorval's own throne, the tallest and most imposing seat in the chamber, his form draped across the white surface with a mocking disregard for protocol. His posture relaxed and almost jovial.

Another image showcased him standing in the main hallway, striking a theatrical pose, his cloak billowing around him, his arm outstretched as if he was greeting an unseen audience.

A third photograph presented a their personal reserve. Food was scattered haphazardly across the floor, wrappers and containers littering the usually immaculate surfaces. And in the middle of this mess, stood The Lunatic. He had pillaged their stores as he shoved handful after handful of food into his cloak. The voluminous fabric of his attire expanding outwards, his form inflating like a literal balloon.

A fourth depicted him examining Member One's throne, his gloved hand tracing the carvings, his head tilted sideways, his posture conveying detached curiosity.

A fifth photo was even more unsettling. It depicted The Lunatic within their power core, at the very top of the entire structure, his form hunched over the machinery that fueled Kingdom Hearts. His gloved fingers were deliberately rearranging wires and cords, twisting and misconnecting them in a clear act of sabotage.

The remaining photographs continued this disturbing theme, each one showing The Lunatic in different locations within Infinitum Firmamentum, each photo a display of his unseen infiltration.

The last photograph, however, was the most unsettling. It was a close-up, zoomed in on her face as she slept in her own bed, her features vulnerable in repose. Visible in the frame were his hands, disembodied and unsettlingly intimate. One was positioned near the edge of her pillow, the other, more disturbingly, appeared to be caressing her cheek.

A cold dread washed over her as she imagined the scene. He was there, in her room, watching her as she slept, his presence a violation of her most private space, the intent behind that touch... Was he planning to harm her? Was he studying her to find a weakness? Or... a more vulgar possibility arose, making her stomach clench with disgust. Had he been intending to abuse her?

Murmurs rippled through the silent chamber, their voices hushed, and tinged with a growing unease. Member Three recoiled in his throne, as if physically repulsed by the mere sight of the photographs. Member Five's body trembled, their hands clenching tightly around the armrests of their throne as Member Nine let out a choked sound.

Dorval raised a hand, cutting through the rising tide of panic.

Dorval: Enough! Calm yourselves, you fools! Mere photographs! Nothing more than paper and ink!

He slammed his left fist against the armrest of his throne, the sound resonating through the room, a clear sign of his dwindling patience. A gloved hand then moved to cover the lower half of his face, a fleeting gesture of self-conscious dismay.

Dorval: We were... complacent in our security. Perhaps it was inevitable. That will be rectified later. But first.

His gaze moved over to Lumielle.

Dorval: Lumielle, open the letter. Read it aloud. Let us hear what this unhinged individual has to say. Perhaps, a threat? Pointless pronouncements? Let us hear it. Now.

Lumielle reached for the letter, her fingers brushing against the paper. Her breath hitched, her sapphire eyes darted nervously towards Member One once more, seeking a silent confirmation, a gesture of reassurance before she finally began to read.

'Dear Members of Organization 14th,

I hope this letter finds you in a state of disarray and confusion, for that is precisely the effect I intended to create. As I write these words, Blizzard, the once esteemed Keyblade Wielder, has descended into madness. He now seeks to unleash chaos upon the hyper verse, erasing entire Locked Worlds from existence.

But that is not all. Blizzard, in his delusion, has awakened comatose Keyblade Wielders and twisted them into his personal army of destruction. His newfound power as a Keyblade Master fuels his insanity, and he has even managed to brainwash the promising Yen-Sid himself to serve his cause.

I know this news must come as a shock, but fear not, for I offer you a way out of this impending doom. I come to you with an alliance proposal, a chance to stand together against Blizzard and his army. Together, we can thwart his nefarious plans and restore balance to the worlds.

Now, let us address the peculiar photographs you found. Rest assured, those images were not meant to mock or taunt you. It was merely my way of breaching your Infinity Stronghold. You see, the Mindless Nobodies guarding your stronghold would not have allowed me entry, no matter how politely I asked.

In two weeks' time, Blizzard will arrive at your doorstep, ready to unleash his madness upon you. Time is of the essence, and you must decide whether to trust my words or face the consequences of disbelief. The fate of Organization hangs in the balance, and I offer you my assistance in this dire hour.

Let it be known, I hold no affection for your group or your motives. I despise all of your kind. And yet, I find myself compelled to act. Blizzard's actions are... problematic.

His deeds in the Dream World, are... unacceptable. He murdered the Dreamscape Sovereign in cold blood. A protector of balance. He did it merely for power, for a new toy to wield, for that armor that now adorns his insignificant form. He destroyed an entire realm for his selfish quest. He seeks to plunge all of reality into nothingness in his nihilistic rampage, and who knows, perhaps his next target will be Kingdom Hearts itself? Such a course of action... is beyond even my standards of depravity.

Thus, I extend my hand, begrudgingly, to offer a temporary allience. For the sake of all that is at stake. This has to stop. He has to stop. And for now, you are the only ones who may have a chance to do so, for I am... occupied with more pressing matters.

As a gesture of good will, I offer you a gift. The coordinates to their current location. They are residing in the Mysterious Tower. Seek them out. Confront them. End this madness before it spirals completely out of control.

Choose wisely, for the path you tread may lead to your ultimate demise.

With love ;), The Lunatic.'

Dorval's face, previously composed, now betrayed a clear anxiety, his eyes wide as he stared down at Lumielle.

Member One: I knew it! I knew it all along! That boy was a threat from the very beginning! And now... Now look at what he has done!

His voice rose in pitch, a sharp cry of vindication, his form shifting restlessly on his throne, his words a torrent of barely contained fury as he pointed an accusing finger towards the scattered photographs, his gaze locked on the image of The Lunatic perched mockingly on Dorval's own seat.

Member Two: And what of the comatose wielders of the past? If Blizzard has somehow managed to awaken those wielders, and twisted them into his personal army... Then... then we are finished. We are doomed.

Member Three: Yen-Sid? I do not even recall a mention of that name, and yet, if this Lunatic's ramblings are to be taken at face value, then... And he claims that he, too, wields a Keyblade? Is that even possible? Is that even logical? And if he is also brainwashed...

His voice trailed off, lost in thought, brow furrowed, failing to see reason in such claims against what he knew to be factual.

Member Eleven: What do we do? How can we possibly hope to defend ourselves? How do we protect ourselves from such impending doom? If a Keyblade Master is truly seeking to attack us, what are we supposed to do?!

Dorval: Silence! Enough!

His voice resonated through the room, cutting through the rising tide of panic, his tone firm, and authoritative as he sought to regain control over the increasingly chaotic situation, his hand slamming against the armrest of his throne with a sharp, resounding thud.

Dorval: This... bickering... It will lead us nowhere. We are an organization. Not some... hysterical rabble. We are not... children. We must regain our composure. And approach this situation with... rationality, and logic.

His voice softened slightly, his tone now carrying a subtle hint of weariness, a plea for calm amidst the chaos, as he tried to impose order on the situation.

Dorval: A vote. It is time for a collective decision. We shall vote. On how we shall proceed, and what path we shall embrace from here on out. We shall decide, whether we should deny this... fabricated truth, or to take it for granted and act, as if it was, indeed, the only way.

The room gradually quieted down, the members, their initial panic slowly receding. The Leader nodded slowly, a subtle inclination of his head signaling his approval as he summoned a small wooden box in the middle of the room with a snap of his fingers.

Dorval: Each member shall cast their decision. Yes, we shall take this letter for granted and prepare for the hunt against Blizzard and that... Yen-Sid. Or No, we shall dismiss it as a lie and continue our prior goal to secure Kingdom Hearts without any further interruption. Let us begin.

The tension eased almost imperceptibly as the members, their initial fear now replaced by a more controlled apprehension, reluctantly regained their composure, their gazes shifting towards the wooden box, their minds now focused on the task at hand. One by one, they approached as they deposited their votes into the collection box.

The Leader observed each member casting their vote with a somber air, his form unmoving on his throne as he watched them all, his gaze sweeping across their faces, his jaw clenched subtly and a deep line etched between his brows, a map of worry etched into his features as his eyes searched for any sign of doubt, any trace of uncertainty that would betray their true feelings.

Once everyone had deposited their decision, Dorval rose from his throne as he jumped down while approching, reaching out to grasp the small wooden container, his touch almost reverent as he lifted it with care.

Dorval: Thank you, everyone, for participating in this... essential vote. Now, we shall tally the results, and finally make our collective decision.

He turned away, his form moving towards the side of the room, away from the direct view of the other members, his purpose hidden from their sight.

Dorval returned minutes later, his features now set in a grim line, his posture rigid as he moved back towards his throne, the small wooden box no longer present in his grasp. He reached towards his side as his weapon appeared in a flash of dark energy.

With a subtle gesture, he held out his left hand, his magic flowing through the blade, and with a barely perceptible motion, papers materialized above, floating gently in the air.

The papers moved, gliding through the air, each one shifting, rearranging themselves, forming neat columns before each member, a silent and impartial display of the collective will, each choice now laid bare for all to witness. The final piece of parchment moved to the center, hovering directly in front of Dorval's face.

His eyes widened almost imperceptibly as he scanned the results, his gaze moving rapidly from column to column, counting, assessing, analyzing every single vote with a meticulous attention to detail. A breath hitched in his throat, barely audible, yet betraying a subtle shock that resonated within his being, a sudden and unexpected shift in his inner composure. He processed the numbers.

Dorval: The results are clear. Five votes for... No. Dismissing the claims as fabrications. Eight votes for... Yes. Accepting the letter as truth, and taking immediate action against Blizzard and Yen-Sid.

He paused, his gaze sweeping across the assembly once more.

Dorval: My vote... is Yes.

His voice resonated through them.

Dorval: The majority has spoken. We march upon the Mysterious Tower. We will confront Blizzard. And we will ensure that this madness, ends here, and now.

He raised his katana high above his head, the blade shimmering with dark energy as he uttered the final command.

Dorval: It is time.

With a swift, fluid motion, he brought the blade down, slicing vertically, and then horizontally through the empty air before him, the magic within the weapon responding to his will, distorting the space, tearing a jagged rift in the very fabric of reality. A dark portal materialized before them.

Dorval: For balance. For order. For the greater good. For all of existence, and to finally put an end to this Keyblade's cursed influence! For the Souvereign! And for a universe without wielders!

And with a final, decisive motion, he turned towards the portal, and with a reckless abandon, he charged forward, his form disappearing into the swirling darkness, followed by the other members of the organization, their collective will now focused on a single, and terrifying purpose.

Within the Mysterious Tower.

Yen-Sid sat at his desk, sipping his tea with a relaxed yet attentive posture.

Jameson stood near the window, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon, his silhouette framed against the fading light, his body still and unmoving. He turned towards Yen-Sid.

Sergeant Jameson: Do you truly believe they are going to be alright out there? William... He is still recovering, Yen-Sid. He is no fighter, not yet.

Yen-Sid sighed softly, his gaze fixed on the intricate patterns of the carpet beneath his feet.

Yen-Sid: William wielded a Keyblade prior to his... slumber, did he not, Sergeant? It is a power that, once ignited, It never disapear, It remains dormant, waiting for the correct catalyst. He might surprise us all, perhaps, with his... innate abilities, despite the current... set-backs. And as for ensuring his continued well-being? Well, Blizzard is with him, is he not? One would assume that even Blizzard cannot fail to ensure such a simple task.

He paused, his lips curving into a thin, almost strained smile, a fleeting attempt to inject a touch of levity into the increasingly somber atmosphere.

Yen-Sid: William will be as safe as he can be.

He attempted to formulate a joke, a dry quip to further reassure the anxious Sergeant, but the words caught in his throat as a sudden wave of unease washed over him, a cold dread that pierced through his carefully constructed facade of confidence.

His right hand, which had been idly toying with his teacup, suddenly spasmed. The delicate porcelain slipped from his grasp, falling soundlessly towards the polished floor, before shattering against the hard surface with a sharp, cracking sound. Hot tea spilled outwards, spreading across the intricate patterns of the carpet, a dark stain blooming across the pristine surface.

Yen-Sid's body stiffened. His earlier calmness vanished, replaced by a sharp, almost aggressive energy as he stood abruptly from his seat, his chair scraping harshly against the wooden floor. He moved with a swift, decisive motion towards the center of the room, his hand reaching towards his left shoulder. With a firm press against the metallic pauldron, his Keyblade Armor materialized around him.

Jameson recoiled, his eyes widening in shock as he witnessed Yen-Sid's abrupt transformation, his brow furrowed in confusion as he struggled to grasp the sudden shift in atmosphere, his voice a strained whisper as he finally dared to ask the question that was now burning in his mind.

Sergeant Jameson: Yen-Sid? What's wrong? What is happening?

Yen-Sid remained motionless for a long moment, his form rigid within the newly formed armor, his senses straining, his mind racing as he tried to decipher the growing threat, the approaching darkness that was now descending upon them.

Yen-Sid: They are coming. Thirteen of them. I can feel it now. Thirteen energy signatures, all approaching this location. And all of them... powerful. Extremely so.

His tone betrayed a subtle tremor of fear he could no longer fully suppress.

Yen-Sid: Five of them... Five of them surpass even my own power. They are far more potent than I anticipated. This world... This world is no longer safe. It is finished. Jameson, you must leave. Now.

He turned towards the Sergeant, his gaze now fixed, and intense, his words a clear and unmistakable command, his hand gesturing urgently towards the door.

Yen-Sid: This tower... This entire world is now in danger. You cannot remain here any longer.

He moved towards the spiral staircase, his footsteps echoing through the silence, his form disappearing down the winding steps.

Yen-Sid: Follow me! Now!

Reaching the base of the staircase, Yen-Sid paused for a brief moment, his body tense as he gathered his magic. He raised his left arm, summoning both Wisdom and Enlightenment, with a swift, diagonal motion, he slashed through the empty air to his left.

The window nearby shattered with a loud crash, shards of glass raining down as a swirling vortex of light tore open in the space where the glass had once been. A Portal.

Yen-Sid turned back, offering Jameson a small, almost strained smile that did not reach his eyes, a fleeting expression of grim amusement.

Yen-Sid: Don't just stand there gaping like a fool! Do you not realize that I am offering you a free ticket out of here? Or do you prefer to stay, and face... them? Because, believe me when I say, you do not want to meet them, not even on your best day.

Seargent Jameson: Do you mean...?

Yen-Sid: This... This portal... It is not perfect. Far from it, in fact. It will only allow one being to pass. And even I, cannot fully control its destination. It could lead anywhere, to any world, to any realm. I can only hope... I can only pray that you will find yourself on solid ground, on a world that is... habitable. Somewhere safe.

He moved closer, his armored form towering over Jameson, his hand reaching out to grasp the Sergeant by the collar of his uniform, his grip firm, almost bruising as he pulled the older man closer.

Yen-Sid: I do not know what... transpired between you and your son. What mistakes you may have made. Or what regrets you may carry in your heart. But I am telling you this now. You better listen to me. And you better listen to me very carefully. You have to fix this. You have to find a way to make amends. Because if you do not... If you fail to take responsibility for your actions, then... then your son will never truly know you, he will never forgive you. And in the end... He will end up just like me. Alone. Insane. And isolated from the rest of the world, hiding behind a fabricated identity, and unable to overcome his own fears. Do you understand? You are the only parent that he has left. Do not fail him. Not now. Not ever again.

His grip loosened slightly, his form stepping back as his gaze softened almost imperceptibly.

Yen-Sid: And besides...

He tilted his head to the left, a small, almost weary smile forming on his lips, his eyes reflecting a mixture of sadness and a quiet resignation.

Yen-Sid: There can only be one Almighty Sorcerer, after all. And that role, it has always been, and will forever be, mine.

Sergeant Jameson: Why...? Why won't you come with me?

Yen-Sid shook his head slowly, his gaze fixed on the portal, his voice low, resolute, and final.

Yen-Sid: They are coming. Right now. They have already located my energy signature. It is pointless. And foolish to try and run. I will not hide. Not anymore. Not this time.

With a final, almost violent shove, Yen-Sid pushed Jameson towards the portal as the Seargent stumbled backward, his form falling into the swirling light of the portal.

Sergeant Jameson: Yen-Sid... Thank you... And... I'm... I'm so sorry...

The portal intensifying before abruptly collapsing in on itself, vanishing without a trace, leaving Yen-Sid alone in the staircase.

Yen-Sid whirled around, his armored form a swift display of motion as his voice echoed through the empty halls, a command that resonated with urgency and power.

Yen-Sid: Golems! Defend the Tower! Now! We are under attack! Repel all intruders!

His words, sharp and authoritative, were a summons to his silent sentinels, an order for his stone companions to awaken and fulfill their purpose. He raised both Keyblades high above his head, their forms burning with magical energy.

Yen-Sid: Time Stop... X... X... X!

His voice resonated, each repetition of the final syllable tearing through the air, a sonic force that warped the very fabric of reality, time itself distorting around him like a clock shattering into fragments. The world shifted, his vision losing its vibrant hues, fading into a grayscale monochrome. Everything stilled. Frozen. Immobile. Save for him.

Yen-Sid: How... How did they find this place?

His thoughts raced, a torrent of questions and uncertainties, yet, answers remained elusive, obscured by the immediate danger, the imminent threat that was now descending upon his sanctuary. No. Questions would not aid him now. Action, and decisive action, was the only path forward.

He moved, his armored boots echoing against the stone steps as he ascended the spiral staircase, his pace quickening with each step, a determined climb towards the top of his tower. As he moved upwards, he paused at each window, his gaze sweeping across the outside world, his senses straining to pierce through the darkness that now cloaked his domain, a chilling premonition settling onto his soul.

Ten seconds passed. He was still climbing, his boots echoing against the stone steps, the silence of the frozen world pressing in on him, the weight of the impending confrontation settling upon his shoulders.

Thirty seconds. They were circling his tower, he counted them again just to be sure. Thirteen attackers. All of them, clearly poised to strike, their intentions impossible to mistake.

Forty seconds. He recognized their forms, their silhouettes, that distinct style. Nobodies. And not just any Nobodies, but the elite. The core members of Organization 14th.

Fifty seconds. A novel sensation stirred within him, a certain... intrigue. Not a surge of valor, nor a rush of defiance, but a distinct curiosity, a need to witness, first-hand, these beings that Blizzard so clearly regarded with a potent mixture of apprehension and something akin to respect. He would not flee. He would not cower. He was Yen-Sid, the sorcerer of this tower. And these intruders, these so-called Nobodies, they were welcome.

Sixty seconds. He reached the top floor, his sanctuary, his fortress. He paused, taking a deep breath, the frozen air still and cold in his lungs.

Yen-Sid: Time... Resumed.

The grayscale world snapped back to life, colors flooding back into his vision.

An explosion erupted. From all angles. The walls of his office crumbled inwards, the stone cracking and splintering as the roof above him collapsed with a deafening roar, showering the room with dust and debris, the yellow sky now illuminated his armored form.

{Organization XIV}

Level: 99+
Energy Level: 5500

{Current Status}

Yen-Sid's EL: 1100

Thirteen figures, dark silhouettes against the yellow sky, observed him from a distance, their forms unmoving in the air, their presence a silent and menacing threat. The top floor of the tower had been destroyed, leaving a gaping hole in the structure, and through this opening, Yen-Sid could see one of the figures positioned above a section of the wall that remained intact, standing high above the rest. The figure slowly lowered their hood.

Dorval: You. The one in armor.

His voice was even, measured, and devoid of any warmth. He did not need to. He was here for one reason, and one reason alone. His gaze then moved downwards, taking in the sight of the two Keyblades that Yen-Sid was wielding, his brow furrowing slightly.

Dorval: I am Dorval, leader of Organization 14th. We are here to put an end to Blizzard's madness. You have harbored a criminal, and in doing so, you have become a threat yourself.

He drew his katana as he pointed the tip directly at Yen-Sid.

Dorval: Are you truly this... so called Yen-Sid?

Yen-Sid chuckled softly, a low, almost sardonic sound that betrayed a hint of amusement, and a subtle, yet unmistakable defiance, his form relaxing within the armor, his posture shifting into one of quiet confidence.

Yen-Sid: Indeed. I am Yen-Sid. The King of this Tower. The Almighty Sorcerer. And you, intruders, have made a grave mistake. You have dared to violate my sanctuary. And for that transgression, for that unforgivable insult... you will pay quite the price.

The members of Organization 14th exchanged a quick glance, their forms shifting almost imperceptibly, a silent communication passing between them, a subtle acknowledgement of the unexpected turn of events, this Keyblade Wielder, was not brainwashed. He was... something else. Something unexpected.

Dorval's expression remained unchanged, his demeanor calm, his voice even as he issued a silent command to his subordinates. A subtle gesture of his hand, a mere flicker of movement, and then...

Dorval: For the sake of balance, for the sake of order, for the sake of all that is right.

He swung his katana, the blade releasing a beam of dark energy, a horizontal slash of raw power that tore through the air towards Yen-Sid.

Yen-Sid laughed, a sharp, almost mocking sound as he reacted with blinding speed, his Keyblades moving in unison, intercepting the incoming attack.

Yen-Sid: Reflect!

His voice echoed through the shattered chamber as a barrier of hexagonal energy materialized before him, deflecting Dorval's assault, redirecting the beam of dark energy outwards, transforming it into a wave of pure, white light that exploded outwards, encompassing the members of Organization 14th in a blinding flash.

Cries of pain erupted from the ranks of Organization 14th, their forms recoiling from the redirected energy, the unexpected counterattack catching them completely off guard. Wisps of dark smoke rose from their cloaks as they absorbed the brunt of the reflected blow, their forms staggering as they struggled to regain their footing, the attack leaving them wounded and disoriented.

Member Two: What... What was that?! Some kind of... barrier?

Their initial surprise quickly morphed into a cold fury. Weapons materialized in their hands, katanas, lances, scythes, and various other armaments shimmering into existence as the Nobodies prepared to retaliate, their gazes fixed on Yen-Sid, their earlier unease now replaced by a focused, and unwavering intent.

Dorval's expression remained unchanged, his demeanor as calm as ever, yet his eyes betrayed a flicker of irritation as he assessed the situation.

Dorval: Enough foolishness! Do not attack when he is casting that silly spell! Wait for the openings! Let him exhaust himself, or strike when he's vulnerable. It's simple.

He lunged forward, his katana moving with a speed, and precision that was beyond human, engaging Yen-Sid in close-quarters combat, his blade a dark streak against the bright light, the air crackling with the clash of opposing energies.

The other members of Organization 14th followed suit, their forms descending upon Yen-Sid from all angles, a chaotic storm of attacks, each strike aimed to overwhelm the lone sorcerer, their movements a relentless assault that threatened to crush him beneath their sheer numbers.

Yen-Sid laughed once more, a sound that was tinged with a hint of desperation, yet also with a wild exhilaration as he embraced the chaos of the battle. He moved through the air, his Keyblades arcing in rapid succession, deflecting blows, evading strikes, and unleashing a barrage of reflected energy in all directions. He jumped, dodged, and weaved, his movements a frantic ballet of skill as he fought to keep his enemies at bay. He reflected attacks left and right.

Yen-Sid: Reflect! Reflect! Reflect!

He slammed his feet against a crumbling section of the wall, propelling himself upwards, his form spinning through the air as he redirected the reflected energy downwards, aiming for the ground beneath his feet, transforming his defensive spell into a weapon, a chaotic explosion of light that ripped through the floor, sending shards of stone and debris flying outwards in a deadly wave, catching the Nobodies off guard.

Cries of pain were replaced by sounds of surprise from the ranks of Organization 14th, their forms recoiling from the redirected energy. Their disorderly counter-maneuver to the redirected energy proved to be ill-considered as their ranks suffered harm from their own assault.

Dorval: Cease this foolish display! He is merely spamming that ridiculous spell! Do not attack directly while he's protected by Reflect! Wait for a gap in his defense, and strike then! He cannot maintain that spell for long! He will exhaust himself eventually!

Yen-Sid rolled his eyes, a gesture of annoyance, not that they could see it behind his mask, but his thoughts were clear. So much for originality. They had figured out his little trick. Well, all things must come to an end, and he was already getting bored of using Reflect anyway.

Predictable. Annoying. So much for originality, Dorval thought. While initially... devastating, as the initial strikes proved, Reflect was now revealed for what it truly was, a parlor trick. All that frantic movement, all that jumping and flailing about, the sorcerer was nothing more than a missile, a chaotic projectile ricocheting wildly around the sky, hidden behind a fragile barrier of light. A potent display, yes, for those foolish enough to rush directly into its path. But only an utter imbecile would fall for that trick... twice.

A crushing force impacted him from behind just as he had finished that thought. A Stone Golem, one of Yen-Sid's crude constructs, lunged from an unexpected angle. Foolish creation. Did it truly believe that a clumsy, rock-hewn automaton posed a genuine threat? In contempt, Dorval grasped the Golem's arm. His fingers dug into the stone. With a brutal application of strength, he shattered the entire construct with a single, unrestrained slap of his hand. Fragments of rock and dust exploded outwards. Another insignificant obstacle cleared from his path.

Dorval: Your frantic displays are... tiresome.

Without another word, a sniper bullet struck Yen-Sid from behind, impacting his left leg. An electric discharge jolted through his limb, the force of the projectile tearing through the armor, sending a wave of agonizing pain throughout his body, the electrical current burning through his circuits and muscles. He yelled, his form jerking violently from the sudden assault.

Before he could react, a Nobody materialized before him, striking with a heavy hammer against his right shoulder. The impact resonated through the armor, the force of the blow jarring his bones. Another cry escaped his lips as the world swam before his eyes, his body staggering under the combined assault. He stumbled, his footing faltering as he lost his balance.

And then, Dorval was upon him. The Nobody Leader descended from above, his katana arcing downwards with lethal speed, the blade slamming against Yen-Sid's head, the force of the strike cracking his armor at the point of impact. He coughed, a wet, rattling sound as a sharp pain tore through his skull. He fell, his body tumbling downwards, towards the shattered remains of the tower's top floor, the ground rushing up to meet him with terrifying speed.

The impact was brutal, the collision with the debris-strewn floor shaking the very foundations of the tower as Yen-Sid crashed into the ground, scattering fragments of stone and dust in all directions. The remaining structure of the tower groaned and shifted, its integrity finally compromised, the entire edifice threatening to collapse under its own weight. Stone Golems, previously animated defenders of the tower, now stood motionless amidst the rubble, their forms buried beneath tons of debris, trapped and immobile, their purpose denied by the sheer force of the Nobody assault.

Member One, with a swift, almost contemptuous gesture, hurled his weapon at the crumbled tower, the giant weapon arcing through the air before impacting the ruins with a deafening explosion, the force of the detonation sending a violent shockwave outwards.

Yen-Sid pushed himself up from beneath the debris, his form battered, his armor cracked, and his energy reserves depleted. He had no choice but to pull out this card.

Yen-Sid: You wish to witness surrender? Very well then!

He raised his left arm, a gesture of apparent resignation, his armored hand hovering near his pauldron.

Yen-Sid: For a single minute. Grant me merely sixty seconds, to relinquish this... mantle. This... title. This... armor. It is all yours! Take it! Take it all and be done with it!

From their positions around him, the Nobodies paused their assault. A wave of amusement rippled through their ranks. Member Three chuckled, a low, mocking sound. Member Two smirked, a subtle curl of his lips that conveyed a clear disdain. Even Dorval, his expression usually impassive, allowed a hint of a smile to play on his lips.

Member Twelve: Did you hear that? He is actually renouncing his title! And he dare to call himself an Almighty Sorcerer?! You disgrace yourself! And your Keyblades! You disgrace everything that we st-

Yen-Sid vanished from sight.

Dorval: Wait!

Member Twelve's boast was abruptly cut short by Dorval's sharp cry as his hand extendted outwards toward him.

Dorva understood now, the shift in Yen-Sid's presence. Not a decrease in power, not a surrender, but a sudden surge. A dramatic amplification of energy, an increase in force that radiated outwards from the armored figure in waves. It was not weariness he was projecting.

Yen-Sid reappeared a blink later behind Member Twelve. His form pulsed with a strange power as the armor drew upon a finite source of energy, feeding on his mastery, causing the armor itself to visibly crack little by little, the surface now marred by lines of strain. A binding vow made in exchange for strength, for the power necessary to endure for no longer than a single minute. This would mark his final moments as a Master, for once the armor shattered.

His armored hand shot out, grasping Member Twelve by the neck. Member Twelve cried out, a strangled sound of terror.

Member Twelve: Help! Someone! Help me!

Yen-Sid hurled the Nobody away as it flew towards the ranks of Organization 14th. Keyblades repositioned. Wisdom and Enlightenment moved into close proximity, their hilts nearly touching as Yen-Sid concentrated power between them.

A beam of multicolored energy erupted. A wave of sound and light. Not a mere beam, but a torrent of chaotic notes, musical phrases transformed into pure force. The discharge struck Member Twelve point-blank.

Member Twelve: Aaaaaah...

His voice dissolved into nothing as their form dissolved into motes of light, evaporated by the sheer intensity of the blast.

The musical beam expanded outwards, engulfing the Nobodies that stood in its path. Those closest to Member Twelve were thrown back by the force of the blast, their legs scorched by the searing energy, their cloaks smoldering as they stumbled away from the point of impact, wounded and disoriented.

Cracks spiderwebbed across Yen-Sid's armor, lines of fracture spreading outwards from the point of energy overload. Yet, despite the strain, he remained standing, his form resolute, his gaze fixed on the remaining members of Organization 14th. He needed to escalate.

He moved his hands swiftly, bringing Wisdom and Enlightenment together, slamming the two Keyblades against each other with a sharp, resounding clash. Light erupted at the point of contact, a blinding flash of pure energy. Vespertinae materialized.

Dorval: Fusion? Keyblade Fusion? No... No, that cannot...

Dorval shook his head as he signaled a change of tactics. A subtle gesture of his gloved hand.

The Nobodies shifted thier approach, their movements becoming more coordinated, more deliberate, their assault now a focused, and concentrated barrage. Beams of dark energy arced towards Yen-Sid, magical projectiles rained down from above, and melee fighters closed the distance, their weapons poised to strike.

Yen-Sid struggled to maintain his defenses. He parried blows, deflected projectiles, evaded strikes, his movements becoming increasingly frantic as the sheer volume of attacks threatened to overwhelm him. A crack spidered across the upper section of his armor, a fissure opening near his left eye, revealing a narrow slit of purple as he narrowed in pain.

He knew he could not sustain this defensive posture indefinitely. He needed an opening. A moment of respite. A chance to turn the tide of battle.

Anticipating another barrage, he summoned Reflect once more, a surge of magical energy pushing outwards, creating a hexagonal barrier that shimmered and pulsed with protective light. He did not unleash a chaotic wave of reflection. Not this time. He needed something more. Something... decisive.

Yen-Sid raised Vespertinae high above his head.

With a bellowed cry, Yen-Sid swung Vespertinae in a wide circle above his head. The Keyblade, now fully attuned to his amplified power, responded in kind.

Yen-Sid: Harmonia Firetus!

From the blade's tip, a hundred streams of colorful energy erupted, arcing towards the sky before raining down upon the assembled Nobodies. The projectiles descended like a chaotic storm of fireworks, each one a miniature explosion of vibrant light and sound, randomly targeting the ranks of Organization 14th.

The sky erupted in a chaotic ballet of light and destruction. Blinding flashes of crimson, azure, gold, and emerald bloomed across the battlefield as the musical fireworks detonated, each explosion sending shockwaves outwards, ripping through the air, and tearing at the Nobodies' defenses. Cries of pain and surprise punctuated the symphony of destruction as the members of Organization 14th were caught in the crossfire, their forms battered by the relentless barrage.

Despite the intensity of the assault, the Nobodies endured. Their bodies, though visibly wounded, their cloaks scorched, their forms staggered, began to regenerate, the wounds slowly closing, the damaged fabric reknitting itself as their power of Nothingness worked to repair the damage. Only Dorval and Member One, with movements of precise anticipation, managed to evade the chaotic storm of magical ordnance, their forms weaving and dodging through the maelstrom of light and energy, emerging unscathed from the chaotic display.

The surge of power proved too much. The Keyblade Armor, pushed beyond its limits, finally succumbed to the strain. Cracks widened across its surface, lines of fracture spiderwebbing outwards across the once pristine plating. With a final groan of strained metal and spent energy, the armor shattered completely. Pieces of the once formidable protection rained down around Yen-Sid like discarded shells, clattering against the broken ground.

Yen-Sid coughed, his body trembling as he stood exposed, vulnerable, his breath coming in ragged gasps, blood now trickling freely from the fresh wounds that now marred his unprotected form.

Four members of Organization 14th, those wielding melee weapons, seized their chance. They lunged forward, their movements swift and brutal as they closed the distance, their blades aimed at the defenseless sorcerer.

Steel met flesh. Piercing strikes impacted Yen-Sid from all sides. A katana sliced through his right shoulder, a lance tore through his right knee, another blade pierced his torso where his heart should be, and then, a heavy axe slammed against his upper spine. Four wounds bloomed crimson against his flesh, four blades tearing through his already weakened body.

Yen-Sid yelled, a cry of raw agony as he was violently propelled backwards, his form tumbling through the air towards the debris of his shattered tower, his body crashing heavily against the broken stone.

Dorval watched Yen-Sid fall, a strange feeling stirring within him. Pity. Disgust. A confusing mixture of emotions warred within his core. Even he, Dorval, would have yielded by now. To face thirteen fighters at once, and still resist, still fight, after taking such a beating. It was... almost admirable. Almost.

He observed Yen-Sid's form amidst the rubble, unmoving, heavily bleeding, covered in dirt and dust, and for a fleeting moment, Dorval entertained the notion that it was over. That the cursed wielder was finally done.

But then, slowly, almost imperceptibly, Yen-Sid moved. He pushed himself up, his movements labored, his body trembling as he rose to a kneeling position. Blood streamed freely from his wounds, staining his robes a dark crimson, even his Magenta hair was now matted and red with blood.

Was that it? Was the criminal, was the destroyer of balance, was that wretch, finally about to succumb? Dorval thought, his gaze narrowed, his form floating motionless above the debris field, his mind fixed on the scene below, his subordinates mirroring his stillness.

Dorval's eyes narrowed further as Yen-Sid moved again. Slowly, the sorcerer raised his right hand, his movements agonizingly slow, yet imbued with a defiant purpose. And then, he extended a single finger. The middle finger. Upwards. In a gesture of blatant disrespect, of utter contempt. His lips curled into a grotesque smile, a psychotic display that was as disturbing as it was unexpected. Vespertinae, no longer held aloft, clattered against the debris, its form sliding uselessly down towards his knee level.

He chuckled, a wet, rattling sound, coughing up blood as he spoke, his words slurred, his voice barely audible, yet carrying a tone of dark amusement.

Yen-Sid: You... You fools. All of you. Do you even realize... what fools you all are?

He paused, his breath hitching in his throat, his words now a cryptic confession, a bizarre unveiling of a truth that defied all expectations.

Yen-Sid: Since when...? Since when did I even... fuse... a Keyblade? I... I never performed such a maneuver. Did I?

He chuckled again, a sound that was both chilling and strangely melancholic.

Yen-Sid: That... That display... That 'fusion' was always... a falsehood. A lie that I propagated, and a lie that you all so readily believed. There... There exist no fusions, you see? Never have. Never will. No second awakenings. None of it held truth. The act of so-called 'fusion'... it was merely...

His voice trailed off, his body slumping slightly, his gaze fixed on the blood-stained ground.

Yen-Sid: The truth is... We are all simply... pretenders. All of us, these so-called wielders. We are scarcely worthy of the title. Not truly. Not genuinely. For what we wield are nothing more than... cheap imitations. Imperfect replicas. Diminished reflections of a potency that we can never genuinely command. If a Keyblade can even be labeled a Keyblade at all... What is a Keyblade anyway? Just a tool, right? Or a symbol? Or... Or just another lie, in a world built on nothing but lies.

He paused, his breath shallow as he trembled.

Yen-Sid: No... No fusions. Never existed... Never will exist. It is all... just... one. One... broken thing. Reconnected. Patched back together. Perhaps that is enough. And in the end... I suppose I was never truly... alone. Not truly. Not for all those years spent locked away in that accursed tower.

His voice finally faded away, leaving only a strained silence in its wake.

The members of Organization 14th exchanged bewildered glances, their earlier anger now replaced by a stunned silence, their minds struggling to decipher the meaning behind Yen-Sid's cryptic words. Gibberish. It had to be. The ramblings of a madman, a desperate attempt to sow confusion in the face of certain defeat.

Member Two: What... What in the hell is he even talking about?

Member Four: Is he trying to... to confuse us? To distract us? Is this some kind of... trick?

Member Eight: Enough! I have had enough of his nonsense! Just... Just silence him already! We have wasted far too much time listening to his meaningless blabbering!

Dorval: Silence him. Now.

The Nobodies nodded in unison, their earlier confusion replaced by a focused intent. They raised their weapons, katanas, lances, scythes, and various other armaments, each one crackling with dark energy, their forms now radiating a unified purpose, their collective will now focused on a single, and terrifying objective. Annihilation.

Beams of dark energy coalesced at the tips of their weapons, forming a concentrated barrage, a torrent of raw power that was aimed directly at Yen-Sid, a final, overwhelming assault that was meant to obliterate the cursed wielder, and the shattered remnants of his tower, from existence, forever.

His gaze fixed on the approaching attack, Yen-Sid allowed a small, almost peaceful smile to spread across his blood-stained lips. He closed his eyes for a brief moment.

Yen-Sid: Do not worry, Blizzard. I know what I have to do now. And I will do it. For you. For the future.

His voice was a soft murmur, almost to himself, a final, whispered promise, a quiet acknowledgment of a friendship that had, against all odds, managed to bloom even in the darkest of times, a quiet acknowledgment of a debt that he was now ready to repay.

Yen-Sid: There is no need to be...

Yen-Sid's breathing grew shallow, ragged gasps, he pushed his torn hands against the rough stones beneath his feet, his fingers scraping against the debris, his body trembled, his form swaying precariously as he fought against the pull of gravity, his knees buckling slightly before he managed to regain some semblance of balance. He stood, or rather, staggered to his feet, his broken bones and torn muscles screaming in protest, his legs barely supporting his weight as he swayed unsteadily. His blue octagonal hat, dislodged during the brutal assault, fell from his head, tumbling to the ground and landing silently amidst the dust and debris.

His left hand moved, reaching into his robe's pocket, his fingers fumbling for a moment before grasping something small and angular. He withdrew it, his hand extending outwards for all to see, regardless of the impending doom that now loomed large before him, or the indifferent gazes of his enemies. His palm opened, revealing a six-faced cube-shaped die, its surfaces worn smooth with age and use. A faint smile touched his lips, a fleeting curve of his mouth that was a mixture of bravery and an undeniable sadness.

Yen-Sid: Well, let's see then. Shall we?

His fingers closed into a fist around the die. He shook it once, twice, a barely audible rattle in the tense quiet before releasing it, casting it upwards, the cube spinning in the air before descending back towards his outstretched palm. It landed with a soft thud, the top face now visible, a single number marking its surface. Six.

Yen-Sid: A critical hit. How... fitting.

He reached out with both hands, grasping Wisdom and Enlightenment, his fingers tightening around the hilts. With a sudden, almost convulsive motion, he hurled the small cube high into the air, casting the die upwards with all the strength he could muster, the ivory object arcing against the wounded sky then lost to the distance.

Dorval felt it then, a tremor in the fabric of reality that resonated deep within his core, a sensation that was both unsettling, and strangely familiar, a subtle warning that something profound, something irreversible, was about to occur. His gaze narrowed, his attention snapping back to Yen-Sid, just as his subordinates were about to unleash their devastating attack, their weapons charged, their energy focused, ready to obliterate the fallen sorcerer.

Yen-Sid shifted his grip on Wisdom and Enlightenment, his hands moving with a deliberate, almost ceremonial grace as he raised the Keyblades, his arms extending outwards, away from his body, the weapons now positioned on either side of his chest. And then, with a brutal, unrestrained motion, he plunged the Keyblades inwards, their sharp points piercing through his flesh, tearing through his already wounded body, driving the blades deep into his lungs.

The Keyblades pierced through him, their forms vanishing into his body, only the hilts remaining visible, protruding from his chest and back, dark shapes against the crimson stain that was now spreading rapidly across his robes. His form shuddered violently, his muscles convulsing as a final cough of blood escaped his lips, a wet, rattling sound that reverbated through the stillness.

Yen-Sid: Ban... Kai...