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My goodness, what is going on with Mikey? I would love to hear more of his backstory. Anyway, this story is getting really great; I am hooked. Can't wait until the next update.
Fanfiction ► A Fragmented Tale (Rebirth)
- Thread starter Essence of Elegy
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Damn! Even I didn't expect that outta Mikey. Another awesome chapter, Sorrow. :3
Likewise. I did make the basis of Mikey for the original Role-Play, as he is my character, but this is a whole new Mikey from what I had him as. It really is interesting.
Chapter 7: New Faces, New Fates
Let us take a break from the unfortunate tumult taking place within the vicinity of Radiant Garden and Mikey’s unnerving transformation, so to speak. New destinies emerge, and with them, new people. One of these people, although he is unaware of it, shall play a vital role in the fortune of the worlds. Chosen by Fate to impact the very essence of the universe and its inhabitants, this man seemed like the perfect one for the job, someone worthy of Xeron’s notice and this particular person is only just beginning to formulate his plans for his destiny, involving his duty to this tale’s outcome.
It’s a pity that this particular man was so wicked.
In a secluded part of interspace was a world untainted by the Heartless. Eloquently named Oracknus, the world had splendor written all over it. The buildings were made completely out of silver-laced gold that shone brilliantly in the yellow sun. The sluggish traffic consisted of fancy cars with unique designs, not to mention amazing horsepower. Trees and parks dotted parts of the central area, allowing a bit of nature to seep in. The roads and streets winded and twisted and overlapped each other, forming a suave labyrinth of pavement. People walked about, chatting leisurely, eating, working, and doing whatever their duties demanded. It was a metropolis in every way. As it is with such cities, crime was abundant.
In a rather tall tower shaped like a pen with an arrowhead at its apex, there lay the condominiums of all the big shots in the city: government officials, dukes, duchesses, nobles, celebrities, mafia, and crime lords. Percival Urqhart was none of these things, however. Actually, even he wasn’t sure what he was, albeit “lunatic” might have fit the description. Living in the condo below the penthouse, his home was elaborate in nature, complete with a rosewater fountain and gargoyles. But “below the penthouse” was certainly not enough. It is in a villain’s nature to want to be “king”. Kings prefer higher elevated lodgings (it comes with the job). But it wasn’t just the altitude.
Percival had always wanted to be more than just a rich, successful individual with mysterious powers. How can you get better than that, you ask? You must remember that Percival was a villain, even though he didn’t consider himself one. Villains have the tendency to want more. His “slight” tinge of madness didn’t help things either. So you could easily see his hunger for more than what he was.
What was Percival, exactly? A strategist. A manipulator. And a very skilled pianist. Piano was his doorway to thinking, his mind’s fuel, and was what sparked most of his devious, deceitful plans. In fact, piano was his life, and was the main theme in his home.
Percival was a thin, tanned individual of average height. His attire consisted chiefly of expensive suits, boots, and gloves. But there were no ties; ties were a sign of negotiation, and he could care less about negotiation. Percival’s face was hawk-like, with thin lips and a nose that had a slightly sharp point. His eyes were a shade of misty grey and aided with spectacles. Percival’s hair was shaggy, in a neat sort of way, dark hazel, and extended below his ears. A signature appearance, in a nutshell.
The light of the dying sun reflected orange light off the brilliant buildings of Oracknus. People began to head home, weary with the burden of their duties and glad at the thought of a comfortable couch, explicit movies, and a touch of hard liquor. It was the last day before the weekend, what we would call Friday. But many people continued to go about their business, and a few would stay up all night. It was to be expected.
Percival sat at his grand piano in his condominium, playing a song. The melody was bold and daring, and gave off vibes of bravery and recklessness, and a hint of insanity. Each note was played with precision and synchronized in harmony. Percival was truly a master pianist.
There was a knock at the door to his music room, an expanse littered with pianos, heaps of sheet music and a large computer. The knock was faint compared to the music, and therefore was ignored by Percival. The knock was repeated, this time with more intensity. Still no response. Apparently becoming impatient, the visitor promptly opened the door. A short stocky man in a tailed suit entered. He was forty and balding, with a curled moustache. Palo, the new butler. Percival hoped he would last longer than the last.
“Sir,” Palo interrupted. Percival continued to play.
“Sir,” Palo repeated, this time more sternly.
The song ended with final notes that faded out. Percival rose slowly and cocked an eye at his butler. Palo was unperturbed.
“Sir, the specimen has arrived as you had requested.”
Percival lightened up considerably and clapped his hands together. Excellent! He’d been waiting for the specimen for many weeks, and he was just about to withdraw his investment. The creature had been bought from an anonymous benefactor in a place called Castle Oblivion, a peculiar world of freaks, no doubt. A creature made from pure darkness. Living darkness! The implications of it all!
“Bring it in, Palo, before I stick my dagger up—“
“Yes, yes, sir, I am well aware of that. I will be back shortly.” Bowing, Palo left in a hurry, for more reasons than one. Percival sighed. That man was annoying. He would have to die soon, he decided. Percival went over to a shelf in the corner, where he kept his musical manuscripts. At the bottom shelf, there was a tome that had nothing to do with music. Withdrawing it with some effort, he blew the dust off its cover, revealing its title.
A Compilement of Magicks
A book that had been auctioned off at a local auction house, sold by a man who claimed to have been to other dimensions. It contained just about every mystery the universe had to reveal, and Percival needed it. His powers of telekinesis and telepathy needed honing. But there were also other chapters of interest, so exciting that Percival’s notorious juices began to boil.
He sat down at his desk and began to thumb through it, past the section about the Keyblade or something, into the back of the book, where newer amendments had been made. There was the chapter called, “Beings of Darkness”. He began to read it for the hundredth time.
More commonly known as the Heartless, these creatures come in a splendid variety, although are lethal. They spawn from the darkness in people’s hearts, and proceed to manifest themselves in the form of a monster, so to speak, holding the heart captive. They then seek, by instinct, to capture other hearts, which weave into Kingdom Hearts (see Appendix C-3.2). They have a natural weakness of light, and are easily destroyed by the Keyblade (see page 957).
Heartless were first created in the labs of An—
Percival yawned and closed the book. It did get dull at times, and Percival was not interested in the creators of the Heartless. He wanted the Heartless themselves, and their powers. Then he’d unleash himself amongst the worlds, and of course kill people. Lots of people.
The sound of rapid footsteps approached, and Palo entered. He carried with him a steel crate, reinforced with other metals and sealed with chains and locks. Crudely made, but efficient. Inside there should’ve been a glass sphere (glass was one of the few substances Heartless could not escape from with unconventional means). And the particular Heartless in the sphere was a Shadow, the weakest of all Heartless.
Palo dropped the crate clumsily.
“You imbecile!” Percival shouted angrily. “I knew you were incompetent from the start!” He grabbed his dagger from his coat, jumped onto Palo, and slit his throat mercilessly. Then Percival began to laugh. That felt good! He hadn’t done that in such a long time! Actually, he had done it yesterday. To the last butler.
Percival got up from the fresh corpse and walked over to the box. He picked it up and examined it before crying out in frustration. Where the hell were the keys?
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Xeron was propped on one knee. He was bruised and cut, and a trickle of blood cascaded from his mouth. He wiped it with his forearm, rose, and stared at the new Mikey.
Mikey had transformed even more during their battle. His skin had turned coal black and pebbly, with magma cracks in various places. His eyes were replaced with two circles, a pair of impassive furnaces. His mouth was naught but a gaping maw, with nothing but lava within it. Long ears like that of some beast had replaced human hearing body parts and a tail composed of fire had grown from his rear. His hand possessed deadly claws that had already ripped through Xeron’s clothing and flesh several times. And Mikey’s entire form was completely engulfed in an aura of crimson energy and tendrils of greedy flames. And only recently had Mikey gained superhuman strength.
Mikey roared again, and it was like hell on earth; a demonic screech from another world, nay, another dimension. Xeron was unperturbed; he knew fearsome creatures like this used sound to intimidate their enemies and in turn cloud their focus, and he wasn’t about to let that happen. But what the hell was he? The boy had a hidden power, and Xeron wanted it now.
------------------------------
The other duels had momentarily stopped when Mikey had screamed the first time. In mid-swing, the fighters looked over at Mikey and Xeron with mixed feelings of shock and apprehension. Voran stared in awe and fright, his jaw dropped. Incor was impassive, but maybe all that armor was concealing his true reaction. Elvn backed away a few steps and glanced at Ren, who was equally as astounded. They winced as Mikey roared again.
“Wha—What…the hell?!” yelled Voran. Elvn was thinking the same thing. Something was going on.
Suddenly Xeron began to laugh. He straightened up and brandished his Keyblade. It flared with a red glow before it faded away. He fixed a malevolent yellow eye on Mikey, who stared back with eyes flooding with anger and hatred.
“Such intriguing power. The power of fools. What man would want power that slowly drained him of life so long as he utilized it? Your strength is flawed, fiery demon. I can see the beast within you eating away at your soul. Pitiful.” He grinned widely, and from his mouth clouds of darkness began to drift into the sky. That was true potency: power that was your slave, to do your every bidding without ever hurting their host. That was what Xeron sought, and why he was no normal power-hungry individual; he was to become a legend, a man worthy of the sages’ fear.
The clouds of darkness that had come out of Xeron’s mouth grew in mass. Xeron was still grinning widely, and one could compare him to a nefarious wolf. The dark clouds abruptly changed direction and gradually made their way towards Mikey, as if they had all the time in the world.
Mikey growled as the clouds of darkness finally surrounded him. He swiped at the clouds, which were not disturbed (the transformation had dulled Mikey’s intellect a bit). The clouds began to rapidly distort, expand, and contract, before shooting into the cracks between Mikey’s skin, his eyes, his mouth, and his nostrils. Xeron hissed like a serpent, and his yellow eyes flashed.
Mikey began to twitch and one of his eyes closed. He made a deep noise in his throat and snarled irritably. The darkness within him was fighting his inner strength, and seemed to be winning. Xeron began to steadily walk in Mikey’s direction as his transformation, bit by bit, retained human characteristics. The tail dispersed into sparks and blazing remnants, as did the ears and the red aura. The skin turned to normal as well as the hands and feet. Mikey’s hair grew back to its fullest and his face returned to that of a teenage boy. Soon, he was back to normal, except for the fact that much of his outer clothing had burned off and he now lay unconscious on the floor of the dragon’s back.
From his ears the clouds of darkness hovered out of and glided towards Xeron’s palm. In his palm was a small glass orb, and the darkness entered in and was immediately compressed. Within the orb, the darkness began to wildly twist and warp in an effort to escape. In its center was a piece of red energy.
The orb disappeared in a column of black flames, and Xeron smiled. A small souvenir of his skirmish; he had stolen a sample of the boy’s power for inspection and perhaps transplant into his own body. He snapped his fingers, for there were more important matters now, and he, Incor, and Ren were instantly whisked away in a spiral of darkness and blue fire.
Let us take a break from the unfortunate tumult taking place within the vicinity of Radiant Garden and Mikey’s unnerving transformation, so to speak. New destinies emerge, and with them, new people. One of these people, although he is unaware of it, shall play a vital role in the fortune of the worlds. Chosen by Fate to impact the very essence of the universe and its inhabitants, this man seemed like the perfect one for the job, someone worthy of Xeron’s notice and this particular person is only just beginning to formulate his plans for his destiny, involving his duty to this tale’s outcome.
It’s a pity that this particular man was so wicked.
In a secluded part of interspace was a world untainted by the Heartless. Eloquently named Oracknus, the world had splendor written all over it. The buildings were made completely out of silver-laced gold that shone brilliantly in the yellow sun. The sluggish traffic consisted of fancy cars with unique designs, not to mention amazing horsepower. Trees and parks dotted parts of the central area, allowing a bit of nature to seep in. The roads and streets winded and twisted and overlapped each other, forming a suave labyrinth of pavement. People walked about, chatting leisurely, eating, working, and doing whatever their duties demanded. It was a metropolis in every way. As it is with such cities, crime was abundant.
In a rather tall tower shaped like a pen with an arrowhead at its apex, there lay the condominiums of all the big shots in the city: government officials, dukes, duchesses, nobles, celebrities, mafia, and crime lords. Percival Urqhart was none of these things, however. Actually, even he wasn’t sure what he was, albeit “lunatic” might have fit the description. Living in the condo below the penthouse, his home was elaborate in nature, complete with a rosewater fountain and gargoyles. But “below the penthouse” was certainly not enough. It is in a villain’s nature to want to be “king”. Kings prefer higher elevated lodgings (it comes with the job). But it wasn’t just the altitude.
Percival had always wanted to be more than just a rich, successful individual with mysterious powers. How can you get better than that, you ask? You must remember that Percival was a villain, even though he didn’t consider himself one. Villains have the tendency to want more. His “slight” tinge of madness didn’t help things either. So you could easily see his hunger for more than what he was.
What was Percival, exactly? A strategist. A manipulator. And a very skilled pianist. Piano was his doorway to thinking, his mind’s fuel, and was what sparked most of his devious, deceitful plans. In fact, piano was his life, and was the main theme in his home.
Percival was a thin, tanned individual of average height. His attire consisted chiefly of expensive suits, boots, and gloves. But there were no ties; ties were a sign of negotiation, and he could care less about negotiation. Percival’s face was hawk-like, with thin lips and a nose that had a slightly sharp point. His eyes were a shade of misty grey and aided with spectacles. Percival’s hair was shaggy, in a neat sort of way, dark hazel, and extended below his ears. A signature appearance, in a nutshell.
The light of the dying sun reflected orange light off the brilliant buildings of Oracknus. People began to head home, weary with the burden of their duties and glad at the thought of a comfortable couch, explicit movies, and a touch of hard liquor. It was the last day before the weekend, what we would call Friday. But many people continued to go about their business, and a few would stay up all night. It was to be expected.
Percival sat at his grand piano in his condominium, playing a song. The melody was bold and daring, and gave off vibes of bravery and recklessness, and a hint of insanity. Each note was played with precision and synchronized in harmony. Percival was truly a master pianist.
There was a knock at the door to his music room, an expanse littered with pianos, heaps of sheet music and a large computer. The knock was faint compared to the music, and therefore was ignored by Percival. The knock was repeated, this time with more intensity. Still no response. Apparently becoming impatient, the visitor promptly opened the door. A short stocky man in a tailed suit entered. He was forty and balding, with a curled moustache. Palo, the new butler. Percival hoped he would last longer than the last.
“Sir,” Palo interrupted. Percival continued to play.
“Sir,” Palo repeated, this time more sternly.
The song ended with final notes that faded out. Percival rose slowly and cocked an eye at his butler. Palo was unperturbed.
“Sir, the specimen has arrived as you had requested.”
Percival lightened up considerably and clapped his hands together. Excellent! He’d been waiting for the specimen for many weeks, and he was just about to withdraw his investment. The creature had been bought from an anonymous benefactor in a place called Castle Oblivion, a peculiar world of freaks, no doubt. A creature made from pure darkness. Living darkness! The implications of it all!
“Bring it in, Palo, before I stick my dagger up—“
“Yes, yes, sir, I am well aware of that. I will be back shortly.” Bowing, Palo left in a hurry, for more reasons than one. Percival sighed. That man was annoying. He would have to die soon, he decided. Percival went over to a shelf in the corner, where he kept his musical manuscripts. At the bottom shelf, there was a tome that had nothing to do with music. Withdrawing it with some effort, he blew the dust off its cover, revealing its title.
A Compilement of Magicks
A book that had been auctioned off at a local auction house, sold by a man who claimed to have been to other dimensions. It contained just about every mystery the universe had to reveal, and Percival needed it. His powers of telekinesis and telepathy needed honing. But there were also other chapters of interest, so exciting that Percival’s notorious juices began to boil.
He sat down at his desk and began to thumb through it, past the section about the Keyblade or something, into the back of the book, where newer amendments had been made. There was the chapter called, “Beings of Darkness”. He began to read it for the hundredth time.
More commonly known as the Heartless, these creatures come in a splendid variety, although are lethal. They spawn from the darkness in people’s hearts, and proceed to manifest themselves in the form of a monster, so to speak, holding the heart captive. They then seek, by instinct, to capture other hearts, which weave into Kingdom Hearts (see Appendix C-3.2). They have a natural weakness of light, and are easily destroyed by the Keyblade (see page 957).
Heartless were first created in the labs of An—
Percival yawned and closed the book. It did get dull at times, and Percival was not interested in the creators of the Heartless. He wanted the Heartless themselves, and their powers. Then he’d unleash himself amongst the worlds, and of course kill people. Lots of people.
The sound of rapid footsteps approached, and Palo entered. He carried with him a steel crate, reinforced with other metals and sealed with chains and locks. Crudely made, but efficient. Inside there should’ve been a glass sphere (glass was one of the few substances Heartless could not escape from with unconventional means). And the particular Heartless in the sphere was a Shadow, the weakest of all Heartless.
Palo dropped the crate clumsily.
“You imbecile!” Percival shouted angrily. “I knew you were incompetent from the start!” He grabbed his dagger from his coat, jumped onto Palo, and slit his throat mercilessly. Then Percival began to laugh. That felt good! He hadn’t done that in such a long time! Actually, he had done it yesterday. To the last butler.
Percival got up from the fresh corpse and walked over to the box. He picked it up and examined it before crying out in frustration. Where the hell were the keys?
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Xeron was propped on one knee. He was bruised and cut, and a trickle of blood cascaded from his mouth. He wiped it with his forearm, rose, and stared at the new Mikey.
Mikey had transformed even more during their battle. His skin had turned coal black and pebbly, with magma cracks in various places. His eyes were replaced with two circles, a pair of impassive furnaces. His mouth was naught but a gaping maw, with nothing but lava within it. Long ears like that of some beast had replaced human hearing body parts and a tail composed of fire had grown from his rear. His hand possessed deadly claws that had already ripped through Xeron’s clothing and flesh several times. And Mikey’s entire form was completely engulfed in an aura of crimson energy and tendrils of greedy flames. And only recently had Mikey gained superhuman strength.
Mikey roared again, and it was like hell on earth; a demonic screech from another world, nay, another dimension. Xeron was unperturbed; he knew fearsome creatures like this used sound to intimidate their enemies and in turn cloud their focus, and he wasn’t about to let that happen. But what the hell was he? The boy had a hidden power, and Xeron wanted it now.
------------------------------
The other duels had momentarily stopped when Mikey had screamed the first time. In mid-swing, the fighters looked over at Mikey and Xeron with mixed feelings of shock and apprehension. Voran stared in awe and fright, his jaw dropped. Incor was impassive, but maybe all that armor was concealing his true reaction. Elvn backed away a few steps and glanced at Ren, who was equally as astounded. They winced as Mikey roared again.
“Wha—What…the hell?!” yelled Voran. Elvn was thinking the same thing. Something was going on.
Suddenly Xeron began to laugh. He straightened up and brandished his Keyblade. It flared with a red glow before it faded away. He fixed a malevolent yellow eye on Mikey, who stared back with eyes flooding with anger and hatred.
“Such intriguing power. The power of fools. What man would want power that slowly drained him of life so long as he utilized it? Your strength is flawed, fiery demon. I can see the beast within you eating away at your soul. Pitiful.” He grinned widely, and from his mouth clouds of darkness began to drift into the sky. That was true potency: power that was your slave, to do your every bidding without ever hurting their host. That was what Xeron sought, and why he was no normal power-hungry individual; he was to become a legend, a man worthy of the sages’ fear.
The clouds of darkness that had come out of Xeron’s mouth grew in mass. Xeron was still grinning widely, and one could compare him to a nefarious wolf. The dark clouds abruptly changed direction and gradually made their way towards Mikey, as if they had all the time in the world.
Mikey growled as the clouds of darkness finally surrounded him. He swiped at the clouds, which were not disturbed (the transformation had dulled Mikey’s intellect a bit). The clouds began to rapidly distort, expand, and contract, before shooting into the cracks between Mikey’s skin, his eyes, his mouth, and his nostrils. Xeron hissed like a serpent, and his yellow eyes flashed.
Mikey began to twitch and one of his eyes closed. He made a deep noise in his throat and snarled irritably. The darkness within him was fighting his inner strength, and seemed to be winning. Xeron began to steadily walk in Mikey’s direction as his transformation, bit by bit, retained human characteristics. The tail dispersed into sparks and blazing remnants, as did the ears and the red aura. The skin turned to normal as well as the hands and feet. Mikey’s hair grew back to its fullest and his face returned to that of a teenage boy. Soon, he was back to normal, except for the fact that much of his outer clothing had burned off and he now lay unconscious on the floor of the dragon’s back.
From his ears the clouds of darkness hovered out of and glided towards Xeron’s palm. In his palm was a small glass orb, and the darkness entered in and was immediately compressed. Within the orb, the darkness began to wildly twist and warp in an effort to escape. In its center was a piece of red energy.
The orb disappeared in a column of black flames, and Xeron smiled. A small souvenir of his skirmish; he had stolen a sample of the boy’s power for inspection and perhaps transplant into his own body. He snapped his fingers, for there were more important matters now, and he, Incor, and Ren were instantly whisked away in a spiral of darkness and blue fire.
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Wow, that was so awesome. Your Percival character seems really interesting; I would love to see where you take this character. And what is with Mikey? The whole transformation thing was just insane. Anyway, great job again, and I look forward to your next update.
*jaw drops open* The hell? Incredible piece of work. Where'd Mikey get that power? How will Percival fit in with the story? He sort of reminds me of the guy from the story Cicero did (I don't remember the title of it). Great chapter, btw.
Dammit Sorrow... took my breath away again.
I have nothing more to say.
I have nothing more to say.
Actually, Cicero's character's was part of what inspired Percival. But Percival doesn't engage in physical activity much, just extremely clever plans.
=D.
Chapter 8: Normalcy?
Blurtooth was one of many bodyguards who went by the standard-issue motto: if there’s no profit involved, don’t take the job. In this case, Blurtooth took the job anyway, even though Percival’s total refusal to pay him violated what his life dictated. It could have been for one of two reasons: a) Blurtooth was far too stupid of a person to know better or b) Percival Urqhart had quite a large and abundantly supplied kitchen. The latter was probably it, for at this moment Blurtooth sat at the kitchen table, nibbling at a drumstick.
That was an understatement. He was actually devouring an entire turkey with one massive hand. Blurtooth was what you would call an elephant of a man; over seven feet tall, very broad-shouldered, and beady, witless eyes. His head was shaven, and light shined off his dark complexion. Currently he wore a white shirt smothered with gravy and grease and equally stained jeans. The only thing about him that didn’t look like an over-nutritioned animal was his nose; aye, that little pudgy tidbit of flesh in the center of his face.
He had just finished his fourth turkey as well as a few cups of wine when from the next room he heard Percival cry out in what seemed like frustration. Out of pure instinct, Blurtooth abruptly rose, knocking away his diminutive chair and sprinting into the hallway. He crashed through the door to Percival’s music room, sending large splinters spiraling in all directions. He stopped, apparently thrown off by the lack of danger. Blurtooth grunted, puzzling.
Percival was holding some sort of strange, chained-up box, irritably turning it this way and that. Blurtooth stared on, waiting to be noticed. Percival threw the box on the ground and swore loudly. He then fell to his knees next to Palo’s body and began to beat his fists on the late butler’s dead stomach.
Blurtooth was confused beyond what was to be expected. Palo was dead. Dead means danger. But there was no danger. But Palo was dead. Blurtooth grunted and gripped his temple: thinking hurt his head. Oooh that rhymed!
Finally Percival managed to notice him. He growled and a nearby table was lifted off its legs and sent hurtling towards Blurtooth. The bodyguard roared and opened his mouth so wide that it was nearly as large as the soaring object. His fist sized teeth crunched down on wood, chewing quickly and hungrily before swallowing it down, with excess pieces of saliva-covered shrapnel falling to the floor. Percival’s telekinesis powers often ended with a snack for Blurtooth (you can very well guess his namesake. Take note that the entire spectacle of table-eating took place within two seconds).
“You thrice-accursed tenth-wit!” Percival cried jumping up. “That was a table I bought at auction for ten thousand klanks!”
“But—“Blurtooth began slowly, in a ridiculously deep voice.
“No excuses, there’s absolutely no excuse for such an act! For that, desserts are cancelled!”
“What’s a dessert?”
Percival ignored him and once again picked up the box. He’d have to pry it open somehow, but not too violently. Closing his eyes, Percival began to concentrate. It wasn’t too hard. Soon the metal creaked and snapped, with bits and pieces popping. Blurtooth looked on, impressed. Finally the box was broken open. Exhaling, Percival opened his eyes excitedly.
Inside was a glass sphere a little bigger than a basketball. It was translucent, and a blob of darkness could be fairly seen moving about frantically. Percival licked his lips. Blurtooth did likewise. Licking lips meant food. Percival started to laugh.
“This is a Heartless, eh? Doesn’t look too hard to decipher and understand!” Percival scuttled out of the room and hurried down the hall, past the living room, the kitchen, the bedroom, the torture chamber, etc. He went over to his window and stared downward. Not too much wind, which was very convenient. He deftly opened it and promptly jumped out.
As gravity took hold of him and sent him hurtling hundreds of feet downward, he stared again into the glass sphere. The Heartless seemed to stare back with what appeared to yellow eyes. Fascinating. Percival turned so his back was facing the ground. He landed with a loud crack. Moments past where he was still, clutching the sphere to his chest. Then he leisurely got up on his feet, leaving the cracked sidewalk in his wake.
As he entered the lobby of the building, he paused. The clerk behind the desk was eyeing him strangely. Percival stared back with annoyance. He then withdrew his dagger. With a flick of his wrist it landed in the clerk’s throat. Gurgling, the clerk crumpled to the floor, blood gushing out in considerable amounts. Percival walked past the bewildered lobbyist, threw him a candy bar as a tip, and said curtly, “Bring my dagger back to my apartment, will you?” The security guards didn’t bother to stop him; they knew better.
He got into his private elevator (yes they have those) and pressed the L button, for laboratory. He stared into the sphere once more. The Heartless was no longer looking at him, but staring downward and clawing at the bottom of the sphere. Raising an eyebrow, Percival stared downward as well. There was nothing but a maroon tile floor. Bleh, no wonder. The Heartless must hate maroon as much as he did.
“We have so much in common,” Percival commented as the elevator silently opened its doors. He walked out onto a metal walkway that was suspended over a long ravine that appeared to be bottomless. Thick cables hung loosely from the dark ceiling. The walkway ended with two metal double doors, probably titanium. He couldn’t remember. The doors led into the laboratory, which was where he was headed. Percival casually headed forward, stopped in the middle of the walkway, and leaped into the ravine.
After fifteen minutes of freefall, Percival landed lightly on his feet on the smooth floor of his laboratory. Various strange instruments were scattered around the vast chamber, casting an eerie blue glow across everything in sight. There was no other light source in the vicinity. Percival grabbed a nearby vial of poison and downed it in one gulp. He clicked his tongue; delicately strong. He’d have to tone it down a bit. He grabbed another vial, the antidote, and downed it as well. Ugh, it was disgusting. Why was everything good for you have to taste so bad? Books, for example. They tasted terrible.
He strolled to the end of the lab, where a strange device was situated. It was a heavy-set tripod, about five feet in height. At the apex where the three dense rods met was a small dish-like object, with four thin, pointed bars protruding from it in a curved shape. The pointed ends all faced the center of the dish. Above the tripod was a conical machine with green glowing veins and an orb at its point. Percival placed the sphere onto the dish object, stepped back and smiled.
After a moment, he fingered his chin. Where did he put that remote? Impulsively he withdrew a candy bar and bit into it, but forgetting to unwrap it first. He gagged and spit it out. He hated it when that happened. He hastily ripped off the wrapper, popped it into his mouth, and threw the unwrapped candy bar into a vat of acid.
As he vigorously chewed on the aluminum, he suddenly remembered where he had placed the remote. He went to the far wall on his right, where a refrigerator was stationed. He opened it and reached in, past the tomato sauce and decapitated fish heads to the back, where the remote leaned against an icy stalactite. He pulled it out and pressed a button as he strode away. The refrigerator instantly detonated, with magnetic pieces of iron scattered for yards into the air and then crashing into the tables crowded with poisons and wine.
Percival frowned and swallowed the wrapper. For some reason he had the strangest idea that he needed a new refrigerator. Ah well, he’d blame it on Blurtooth.
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“Mikey! Mikey, man, wake up!”
Mikey’s eyes bolted open. He was staring into the faces of two kids. Looked around his age, he thought drowsily. Holding some weird thing in their hands. A doughnut? No, wait…a Keyblade! Suddenly all the happenings of before rushed back to him: the dragon, Xeron and his lackeys, the futile battles, and then…blank. Eh?
For some reason, there seemed to be a gap between being defeated by Xeron and waking up just now. It made perfect sense that the two events would simply connect as easily as two corresponding puzzle pieces, but he was certain that something was missing. But Mikey was too exhausted to think, and he had sores all over. It also looked like he had a fever.
Voran looked mildly concerned. “You okay?” he said, trying to sound like he meant it.
Mikey grunted and tried to sit up. He cried out as pain struck his ribs. He clutched it tightly, gritting his teeth as the agony faded away steadily.
“I need…” Mikey began, “to get to a hospital.”
“Love to take you there,” Voran commented sarcastically. “I’ll just kindly ask this gigantic dragon to take us to what’s left of the clinic.”
BOOM!
The dragon let out a deafening roar as it was struck by a dozen explosive projectiles. Voran and Elvn were knocked over, looking around anxiously. They were shaken once more, and the dragon bellowed again, clawing at an invisible object. Suddenly it came into view. A silhouette black against the dimming sky. It was a ship, and its pilot was shouting over a built-in loudspeaker.
“Not so tough now, ya piece of Heartless varmint! Missed, sonuvabitch!”
“He sounds like a redneck,” Voran muttered.
“What’s that?” asked Elvn.
The ship swerved to the right, looped, and twirled before alighting on the dragon’s back. The dragon growled and turned its head, searching for the aircraft. A rope ladder dropped from the ship’s entrance hatch, where the face of a middle-aged man with a toothpick in his mouth could be seen.
“Hurry up, kiddies! Ain’t got all day!”
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A\N: Won’t tell you what Xeron is up to just yet, but Percival’s misadventure should entertain you nicely. I have to admit, he’s one of my best creations.
Blurtooth was one of many bodyguards who went by the standard-issue motto: if there’s no profit involved, don’t take the job. In this case, Blurtooth took the job anyway, even though Percival’s total refusal to pay him violated what his life dictated. It could have been for one of two reasons: a) Blurtooth was far too stupid of a person to know better or b) Percival Urqhart had quite a large and abundantly supplied kitchen. The latter was probably it, for at this moment Blurtooth sat at the kitchen table, nibbling at a drumstick.
That was an understatement. He was actually devouring an entire turkey with one massive hand. Blurtooth was what you would call an elephant of a man; over seven feet tall, very broad-shouldered, and beady, witless eyes. His head was shaven, and light shined off his dark complexion. Currently he wore a white shirt smothered with gravy and grease and equally stained jeans. The only thing about him that didn’t look like an over-nutritioned animal was his nose; aye, that little pudgy tidbit of flesh in the center of his face.
He had just finished his fourth turkey as well as a few cups of wine when from the next room he heard Percival cry out in what seemed like frustration. Out of pure instinct, Blurtooth abruptly rose, knocking away his diminutive chair and sprinting into the hallway. He crashed through the door to Percival’s music room, sending large splinters spiraling in all directions. He stopped, apparently thrown off by the lack of danger. Blurtooth grunted, puzzling.
Percival was holding some sort of strange, chained-up box, irritably turning it this way and that. Blurtooth stared on, waiting to be noticed. Percival threw the box on the ground and swore loudly. He then fell to his knees next to Palo’s body and began to beat his fists on the late butler’s dead stomach.
Blurtooth was confused beyond what was to be expected. Palo was dead. Dead means danger. But there was no danger. But Palo was dead. Blurtooth grunted and gripped his temple: thinking hurt his head. Oooh that rhymed!
Finally Percival managed to notice him. He growled and a nearby table was lifted off its legs and sent hurtling towards Blurtooth. The bodyguard roared and opened his mouth so wide that it was nearly as large as the soaring object. His fist sized teeth crunched down on wood, chewing quickly and hungrily before swallowing it down, with excess pieces of saliva-covered shrapnel falling to the floor. Percival’s telekinesis powers often ended with a snack for Blurtooth (you can very well guess his namesake. Take note that the entire spectacle of table-eating took place within two seconds).
“You thrice-accursed tenth-wit!” Percival cried jumping up. “That was a table I bought at auction for ten thousand klanks!”
“But—“Blurtooth began slowly, in a ridiculously deep voice.
“No excuses, there’s absolutely no excuse for such an act! For that, desserts are cancelled!”
“What’s a dessert?”
Percival ignored him and once again picked up the box. He’d have to pry it open somehow, but not too violently. Closing his eyes, Percival began to concentrate. It wasn’t too hard. Soon the metal creaked and snapped, with bits and pieces popping. Blurtooth looked on, impressed. Finally the box was broken open. Exhaling, Percival opened his eyes excitedly.
Inside was a glass sphere a little bigger than a basketball. It was translucent, and a blob of darkness could be fairly seen moving about frantically. Percival licked his lips. Blurtooth did likewise. Licking lips meant food. Percival started to laugh.
“This is a Heartless, eh? Doesn’t look too hard to decipher and understand!” Percival scuttled out of the room and hurried down the hall, past the living room, the kitchen, the bedroom, the torture chamber, etc. He went over to his window and stared downward. Not too much wind, which was very convenient. He deftly opened it and promptly jumped out.
As gravity took hold of him and sent him hurtling hundreds of feet downward, he stared again into the glass sphere. The Heartless seemed to stare back with what appeared to yellow eyes. Fascinating. Percival turned so his back was facing the ground. He landed with a loud crack. Moments past where he was still, clutching the sphere to his chest. Then he leisurely got up on his feet, leaving the cracked sidewalk in his wake.
As he entered the lobby of the building, he paused. The clerk behind the desk was eyeing him strangely. Percival stared back with annoyance. He then withdrew his dagger. With a flick of his wrist it landed in the clerk’s throat. Gurgling, the clerk crumpled to the floor, blood gushing out in considerable amounts. Percival walked past the bewildered lobbyist, threw him a candy bar as a tip, and said curtly, “Bring my dagger back to my apartment, will you?” The security guards didn’t bother to stop him; they knew better.
He got into his private elevator (yes they have those) and pressed the L button, for laboratory. He stared into the sphere once more. The Heartless was no longer looking at him, but staring downward and clawing at the bottom of the sphere. Raising an eyebrow, Percival stared downward as well. There was nothing but a maroon tile floor. Bleh, no wonder. The Heartless must hate maroon as much as he did.
“We have so much in common,” Percival commented as the elevator silently opened its doors. He walked out onto a metal walkway that was suspended over a long ravine that appeared to be bottomless. Thick cables hung loosely from the dark ceiling. The walkway ended with two metal double doors, probably titanium. He couldn’t remember. The doors led into the laboratory, which was where he was headed. Percival casually headed forward, stopped in the middle of the walkway, and leaped into the ravine.
After fifteen minutes of freefall, Percival landed lightly on his feet on the smooth floor of his laboratory. Various strange instruments were scattered around the vast chamber, casting an eerie blue glow across everything in sight. There was no other light source in the vicinity. Percival grabbed a nearby vial of poison and downed it in one gulp. He clicked his tongue; delicately strong. He’d have to tone it down a bit. He grabbed another vial, the antidote, and downed it as well. Ugh, it was disgusting. Why was everything good for you have to taste so bad? Books, for example. They tasted terrible.
He strolled to the end of the lab, where a strange device was situated. It was a heavy-set tripod, about five feet in height. At the apex where the three dense rods met was a small dish-like object, with four thin, pointed bars protruding from it in a curved shape. The pointed ends all faced the center of the dish. Above the tripod was a conical machine with green glowing veins and an orb at its point. Percival placed the sphere onto the dish object, stepped back and smiled.
After a moment, he fingered his chin. Where did he put that remote? Impulsively he withdrew a candy bar and bit into it, but forgetting to unwrap it first. He gagged and spit it out. He hated it when that happened. He hastily ripped off the wrapper, popped it into his mouth, and threw the unwrapped candy bar into a vat of acid.
As he vigorously chewed on the aluminum, he suddenly remembered where he had placed the remote. He went to the far wall on his right, where a refrigerator was stationed. He opened it and reached in, past the tomato sauce and decapitated fish heads to the back, where the remote leaned against an icy stalactite. He pulled it out and pressed a button as he strode away. The refrigerator instantly detonated, with magnetic pieces of iron scattered for yards into the air and then crashing into the tables crowded with poisons and wine.
Percival frowned and swallowed the wrapper. For some reason he had the strangest idea that he needed a new refrigerator. Ah well, he’d blame it on Blurtooth.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Mikey! Mikey, man, wake up!”
Mikey’s eyes bolted open. He was staring into the faces of two kids. Looked around his age, he thought drowsily. Holding some weird thing in their hands. A doughnut? No, wait…a Keyblade! Suddenly all the happenings of before rushed back to him: the dragon, Xeron and his lackeys, the futile battles, and then…blank. Eh?
For some reason, there seemed to be a gap between being defeated by Xeron and waking up just now. It made perfect sense that the two events would simply connect as easily as two corresponding puzzle pieces, but he was certain that something was missing. But Mikey was too exhausted to think, and he had sores all over. It also looked like he had a fever.
Voran looked mildly concerned. “You okay?” he said, trying to sound like he meant it.
Mikey grunted and tried to sit up. He cried out as pain struck his ribs. He clutched it tightly, gritting his teeth as the agony faded away steadily.
“I need…” Mikey began, “to get to a hospital.”
“Love to take you there,” Voran commented sarcastically. “I’ll just kindly ask this gigantic dragon to take us to what’s left of the clinic.”
BOOM!
The dragon let out a deafening roar as it was struck by a dozen explosive projectiles. Voran and Elvn were knocked over, looking around anxiously. They were shaken once more, and the dragon bellowed again, clawing at an invisible object. Suddenly it came into view. A silhouette black against the dimming sky. It was a ship, and its pilot was shouting over a built-in loudspeaker.
“Not so tough now, ya piece of Heartless varmint! Missed, sonuvabitch!”
“He sounds like a redneck,” Voran muttered.
“What’s that?” asked Elvn.
The ship swerved to the right, looped, and twirled before alighting on the dragon’s back. The dragon growled and turned its head, searching for the aircraft. A rope ladder dropped from the ship’s entrance hatch, where the face of a middle-aged man with a toothpick in his mouth could be seen.
“Hurry up, kiddies! Ain’t got all day!”
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A\N: Won’t tell you what Xeron is up to just yet, but Percival’s misadventure should entertain you nicely. I have to admit, he’s one of my best creations.
Last edited:
- Joined
- Aug 2, 2008
- Messages
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- 4
Wow, your Percival character is absolutely insane; I would really hate to see him obtain some ultimate power. Also, I am really glad to see Cid is in the story; he is one of my favorite characters. Anyway, great job, and I look forward to your next update.
Sorrow said:
That's the most beautiful thing in the world.
Sorrow said:
LOL
Sorrow said:
LOL squared
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Applause for the debut of Blurtooth!! *yay* XD
And of course, Cid too. Let's not forget 'im.
Ah, this is certainly turning out nicely. I impatiently await your next chapters.
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Sorrow said:
Well then I'd have to agree with you. :3
Holy crap I is laggin' on dis.
I'm not done with the new chap. yet, though.
Lol, such demands Jet....
I can't wait to the next one, thought I must have a pleasant talk with you Sorrow....
*hides kunai knife*
I can't wait to the next one, thought I must have a pleasant talk with you Sorrow....
*hides kunai knife*
Okay, to compensate for my month of no updates, I'm providing part of the new chapter. It'll go on in part 2 when I finish it.
-------------------------------------
Chapter 9 – Part 1 – The Inferno Clan
ACCESS DENIED.
Xeron was sitting in his study in front of his wide screen computer. The supercomputer had one giant screen, and two smaller ones on either side of it. It sat in an adorned, spacious room which would make any king weep. Expensive rugs covered the floor with their intricate designs. The chestnut walls gleamed in the firelight from the fireplace, which had just been recently lit. And there were chairs and tables everywhere, of every shape and kind. But the most unique feature of the room was that it didn’t belong to him. In fact, it didn’t belong to anyone—it was over a century old, yet it had a supercomputer decades ahead of its time period. Very interesting, but to be expected. Because this room once belonged to Xehanort I, great-grandfather of the Xehanort who was now gone.
Unperturbed by the computer’s rather snotty message, Xeron inputted a few more digits. He got the same reply. Certain that the computer’s encryptions would not allow him in, he snapped his fingers and a disk materialized in his hands. Its surface was black and veined with lines of pulsating red light. He pushed it into the drive, and the effect was immediate. Xeron watched as the denial message was dissolved into trillions of bits of information. The blue screen faded out, and rows of 0s and 1s flowed downward, their red hue intense. The disk would have to travel to the very source code of the OS and erase all five million lines of encryption. It would take at least fifteen minutes.
“Master Xeron.”
Xeron swiveled around in his chair to face his new apprentice, Ren. The boy bowed forcefully, retaining his infinite look of slight scorn. There was blip from the computer, and when it was silent again, Xeron spoke.
“Well? What have you found?”
Ren’s eyes darted to his feet, glinting with a hint of self-frustration instead of contempt. “N-Nothing, Master.”
“And why do you suppose that is?”
Ren turned a little pale. “I-I have too little c-concentration.”
“Wrong.” Xeron turned back to the flowing numbers on the big screen. “You have too much, on the contrary. You focus on everything around, and not the specified target. And that is why you fail.” He said it so sharply that Ren winced with discomfort. Fail? He couldn’t fail. He wouldn’t fail! He was to be a master of the Dark Realm, an entity to exceed even Master Xeron, and therefore there was no space for—
“Leave my presence,” Xeron interrupted. “And do not return until you have discovered what you need.”
Ren hesitated, his fingers half-clenched. Then he made a spastic bow and disappeared in a effortful conjuring of a portal.
The computer blipped again, this time louder. The numbers on the screen vanished from view, and for a few moments everything was blank. Afterwards, the screen faded in, revealing the login window, encased in silver pixels. Xeron eyed the warning that read: COMPUTER SHALL LOCK AFTER THREE FAILED LOGIN ATTEMPTS—and decided to ignore it. He typed in the username calmly and then the seventeen-character password. The computer whirred as the the remaining bits of encryption struggled to fight off Xeron’s virus. Eventually, the virus was victorious, and the main screen was exhibited—an array of windows, buttons, and tabs.
Xeron found the search engine and began to input his query:
THE INFERNO CLAN
…
…
…
Two windows slid into view: one discussing the clan’s history and background, and the other displaying miscellaneous information concerning it.
Many sects of old existed throughout the expanse of the worlds, boasting prowess of acrimonious power shrouded in a veil of ambiguity. None were quite as accomplished as the Inferno Clan, however. Founded by Hector Fair…
Xeron moved on.
THE INFERNO
The essences of their potency were directly linked to the Inferno, an incomprehensible force with a shaded origin and a obscure past…
He moved on once more until he found what he had sought out for.
THE EXPEDITION OF RICHARD E. FAIR - THE SEVENTH GENERATION
This section has been removed.
Xeron frowned. He’d anticipated it, but he was still vexed by the impudent statement. What further scattered the puzzle pieces was the fact that the expedition was even mentioned in the archives. Xehanort’s great-grandfather had died long before dear old Richard’s adventure. The only possibility was if someone else had been updating the data. Perhaps Xehanort the apprentice himself?
TO BE CONTINUED
-------------------------------------
Chapter 9 – Part 1 – The Inferno Clan
ACCESS DENIED.
Xeron was sitting in his study in front of his wide screen computer. The supercomputer had one giant screen, and two smaller ones on either side of it. It sat in an adorned, spacious room which would make any king weep. Expensive rugs covered the floor with their intricate designs. The chestnut walls gleamed in the firelight from the fireplace, which had just been recently lit. And there were chairs and tables everywhere, of every shape and kind. But the most unique feature of the room was that it didn’t belong to him. In fact, it didn’t belong to anyone—it was over a century old, yet it had a supercomputer decades ahead of its time period. Very interesting, but to be expected. Because this room once belonged to Xehanort I, great-grandfather of the Xehanort who was now gone.
Unperturbed by the computer’s rather snotty message, Xeron inputted a few more digits. He got the same reply. Certain that the computer’s encryptions would not allow him in, he snapped his fingers and a disk materialized in his hands. Its surface was black and veined with lines of pulsating red light. He pushed it into the drive, and the effect was immediate. Xeron watched as the denial message was dissolved into trillions of bits of information. The blue screen faded out, and rows of 0s and 1s flowed downward, their red hue intense. The disk would have to travel to the very source code of the OS and erase all five million lines of encryption. It would take at least fifteen minutes.
“Master Xeron.”
Xeron swiveled around in his chair to face his new apprentice, Ren. The boy bowed forcefully, retaining his infinite look of slight scorn. There was blip from the computer, and when it was silent again, Xeron spoke.
“Well? What have you found?”
Ren’s eyes darted to his feet, glinting with a hint of self-frustration instead of contempt. “N-Nothing, Master.”
“And why do you suppose that is?”
Ren turned a little pale. “I-I have too little c-concentration.”
“Wrong.” Xeron turned back to the flowing numbers on the big screen. “You have too much, on the contrary. You focus on everything around, and not the specified target. And that is why you fail.” He said it so sharply that Ren winced with discomfort. Fail? He couldn’t fail. He wouldn’t fail! He was to be a master of the Dark Realm, an entity to exceed even Master Xeron, and therefore there was no space for—
“Leave my presence,” Xeron interrupted. “And do not return until you have discovered what you need.”
Ren hesitated, his fingers half-clenched. Then he made a spastic bow and disappeared in a effortful conjuring of a portal.
The computer blipped again, this time louder. The numbers on the screen vanished from view, and for a few moments everything was blank. Afterwards, the screen faded in, revealing the login window, encased in silver pixels. Xeron eyed the warning that read: COMPUTER SHALL LOCK AFTER THREE FAILED LOGIN ATTEMPTS—and decided to ignore it. He typed in the username calmly and then the seventeen-character password. The computer whirred as the the remaining bits of encryption struggled to fight off Xeron’s virus. Eventually, the virus was victorious, and the main screen was exhibited—an array of windows, buttons, and tabs.
Xeron found the search engine and began to input his query:
THE INFERNO CLAN
…
…
…
Two windows slid into view: one discussing the clan’s history and background, and the other displaying miscellaneous information concerning it.
Many sects of old existed throughout the expanse of the worlds, boasting prowess of acrimonious power shrouded in a veil of ambiguity. None were quite as accomplished as the Inferno Clan, however. Founded by Hector Fair…
Xeron moved on.
THE INFERNO
The essences of their potency were directly linked to the Inferno, an incomprehensible force with a shaded origin and a obscure past…
He moved on once more until he found what he had sought out for.
THE EXPEDITION OF RICHARD E. FAIR - THE SEVENTH GENERATION
This section has been removed.
Xeron frowned. He’d anticipated it, but he was still vexed by the impudent statement. What further scattered the puzzle pieces was the fact that the expedition was even mentioned in the archives. Xehanort’s great-grandfather had died long before dear old Richard’s adventure. The only possibility was if someone else had been updating the data. Perhaps Xehanort the apprentice himself?
TO BE CONTINUED
Nice. I feel sorry for Ren... Even if he's a pompous jerk that would scorn his friends for the sake of dark power that he most likely will not obtain...
Anyway.
Glad to see that this is being continued. Waiting for part 2. =)
Anyway.
Glad to see that this is being continued. Waiting for part 2. =)
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Holy cow, Sorrow, part of me thought you fell of the earth for some time there. Now, with that being said, I'm glad to see you back and updating. So, the Inferno Clan huh? Who or what were they? What is there connection to Xehanort? Who is Richard Fair? Does this have something to do with Mikey and his insane power? So many questions, so little time. Anyway, great job, and I look forward to part two of the chapter.
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