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All right here is the next chapter in my fic. This chapter follows a different format sort of and shows seperate view points from the different characters. You will see what I mean. It is not one of my super long posts, but I hope you like it none the same.
There was silence. Dead silence. The great rumbling had stopped as almost instantly and the winter wonderland was frozen in time yet again. The only sound Haerthos could hear was the quiet slithering of Ira’s Heartless as it squirmed away into the dark snow. It had been beaten like a sledgehammer batters a thin piece of tin and it had slunk away, bruised and defeated. Haerthos couldn’t even move, the white snow compressing him into the deep blankness so he couldn’t move a muscle. He winced in pain as he tenderly tried to move an arm, and agony lanced through him like a bolt of electricity, and he gasped, which wasn’t smart as he quickly received a mouthful of snow. Sputtering, Haerthos forced his hands to move, brushing the snow around away from him until he cleared an air pocket around his head. The bruising pain still stinging his frozen arms like icy wasps, throbbing dully as he slowly, painfully, scraped away the snow around him until we was standing in a small sphere of air, with whiteness all around him like the white pod Sora had slept in. Small bits of light were now filtering through the semitransparent snow and he could see a little bit up into the distance. He guessed he was a couple hundred feet under snow fall.
“That’s one big avalanche,” he muttered, pulling his minicomputer out of his pack and brushing snow off it roughly before flipping it open. The battery was low and the signal was weak, but it was intact. He activated the user profile and was glad to find Sora’s vitals were alive and well, if a little battered. Unfortunately he didn’t have access to the others statistics, so he contented himself with a little thought for their wellbeing before looking upward. The snow was thick, but a good burn with the flamethrower should get him through. Slowly, he activated his Airwalker shoes, small invisible cushions of air alighting beneath him as he slowly stepped onto the air, walking up an invisible staircase until he reached the top of the podlike crevice he had created. He pulled his flame thrower out from his pack and with a twist of the nozzle, let loose a short burst of flame at the snow dome around him. The snow fell down and sent a torrent of rain down on him, which passed clean through him as he knew it would. He grunted and lowered the flame setting a bit to a dull ember, and slowly, he melted a tunnel upward as he walked on air up to the surface of the white snow.
When Sora opened his eyes slowly, and instantly closed them again. There was whiteness all around him and he was instantly brought back to Castle Oblivion, with its white rooms, each reflecting a memory unchained from his mind and reconnected to different strands, creating a whole new mind in his body. It seemed as if the snow was doing that as well, his face reflecting color into the whiteness around him, as if he was surrounded by slightly tinged snow. He suddenly felt tired and cold, and he gasped painfully as he tried to move. The avalanche had ripped his arms and legs to shreds, and with his suit at zero power, he wasn’t going to get fixed any time soon. But suddenly he heard a grinding noise above him, and he barely managed to keep absolutely still as Ira’s Heartless slowly slithered above him, wandering away to lick her wounds before returning for her assault. Shards of ice and snow broke above him and the toppled lightly on his head as the Heartless released a deep growling noise as it slinked off.
Soon there was silence again, and the tunnel the Heartless had made allowed slight rays of light to filter down, and a single light ray landed on his suit, and instantly it lit up with energy. A single ray of light was all it took to activate the suits emergency power system. The light grids lit up, and the Keyblade sprung to life in his hands.
“C-cure,” he managed to spit out, weakly, and the green light shown for a second, and he felt his wounds healing, his cuts shrinking, and the bruised feeling leaving his tired limbs. Slowly, he felt his body returning to normal, and when the green light faded shortly, he slowly brought his Keyblade up and slashed forward. A scattering wave of ice fell on him again, but he slashed again, hacking forward and sideways until he was free of the icy prison that bound him. Kicking his legs free, he stood, staring up at the tunnel where the Heartless had vanished. “I wonder where you’re going,” muttered Sora, and he leapt into the air and landed in the tunnel above, where shadowy tendrils of darkness still flitted on the ground. Sora could still make out its wheezing breath rattling in the distance, and without another word, he walked quietly down the hall after it.
Riku couldn’t move. He was pinned against something sharp, hard, and very painful. He didn’t even move his head because he was afraid it would snap off. He kept his eyes closed, forcing himself to take slow, and painful breaths as he gather himself. Just keep yourself calm, he thought, feeling around with his mind to feel his environment, Think about what to do before you act. He slowly moved his fingers, and they hurt like hell, but they still moved, which is good. He slowly brought his fingers painfully to a small pack at the side of his belt and pulled out a potion, which he crushed beneath his fingertips. Haerthos had forced him to carry at least one, saying that it was an Army Recon version. If one was in trouble, and couldn’t lift the potion to their lips, this version simply had to be crushed beneath the fingertips to release the healing gas to be absorbed by the pores. And boy, was he glad for it now. He felt a glowing sensation rise up his body, and he felt the pain ease up a little. He moved again slightly, and felt he could do it without breaking anything. Slowly he reached for his pack and brought out a dark grenade. This little baby didn’t affect him, but it sure blew a hole in whatever it came near. He pulled the pin out tenderly with his teeth and stuffed it into the snow in front of him.
The snow shot away in a five meter radius, and Riku slumped to the ground in exhaustion. The potion was a temporary solution, unlike that handy Cure thing Sora had, and it had only healed him enough to get by. His ankle was still sprained, and his wrist hurt like hell, and he could barely crawl, let alone walk. He lay there for a moment, just listening to the quiet sound of his beating heart echo off the snowy walls, a thumping throb that reverberated with every solemn pound. Slowly, he forced himself up, and he ripped of a piece of his shirt, rapping it around his hand to keep it steady. He couldn’t do anything about his ankle for now, but he summoned his darksaber and extended the length to maximum capacity. He then activated his V2 and stuck it in the slot before pushing it into the ground like a crutch and tenderly putting weight on it. It held, so he began limping toward the snowy wall and with a grunt, pulled a dark grenade out of his pack and hurled it into the snowy wall with his good hand. It sunk about five feet when it exploded, sending snow hurtling toward him like icy missiles. He raised his hand and a dark hexagonal shield rose in front of him, blocking the frozen shards. He slowly limped toward the newly made tunnel, and pulled another grenade out of his pack, priming it before getting ready to hurl it, the darkness swirling around him until all one could see was his pale silvery hair, lighting up in the explosions of darkness.
Wyrda groaned inwardly, breathing agonizingly as every breath sent wracking pains through his body. He was guessing he had lost a couple of ribs… He slowly forced himself to roll over, and sharp pain ripped through his chest. Apparently, one had pierced his flesh. Grunting in pain, he followed routine agent injury check and pulled a recon potion from his pack. Normally if you crushed this thing between your fingers, it would heal you minimally, but through his days in the Force, he knew that applying it directly to a wound had more effect. Crushing the glistening green crystal between his fingers, he pressed it against his punctured rib, gasping as the pain was replaced by a hot sweetness that spread throughout his body, and he saw his white, bloody rib bubble like boiling wax before sinking like an iceberg beneath his skin with a small pop.
Wyrda sighed, and slowly propped himself up with his lance, staring at the stony walls around him. It looked like he was inside some sort of underground tunnel. He shook snow from his trench coat and stumbled suddenly when a rocking explosion shook the tunnel.
He grunted as he threw himself to the side, pieces of rock falling around him, and snow tumbling down where had stood a few seconds ago. The rumbling faded and in a few seconds another explosion rocked the tunnel, this time quieter, like it was farther away. Wyrda breathed a sigh of relief. Whatever it was, it seemed like a grenade of some time. He recognized the pop of a grenade anywhere. Either a B117 Dark grenade, or a A9 Auto-Priming Disposable mine. Or maybe it was one of those Mini-Nuke Replicator type things. He always got confused with the latest weaponry teens bought these days. And with this grunting thought, he turned to face the tunnel, the mysterious stony depths welcoming him.
“If it goes away from that maniac with the grenades,” muttered Wyrda aloud, and he turned around, to look at the snowy hole had apparently fallen through, “And I’m not getting back up through that way…” He turned abruptly back around and strode purposefully down the stony aisle, his footsteps echoing in the long forgotten chambers.
There it is. I am aware that I did not include all the characters, and that is for a reason. I thought mixing it up might be a little more interesting. Anyway I hope you like it and I eagerly await your responses.
WAHOOOOO!!! Truely great! I only am SLIGHTLY worried about Sora walking off without Haerthos, but I am VERY worried about the King and Kairi! WHAT HAPPENED TO THEM??????!!! Next chapter please, the suspense is KILLING me! (and it might be killing Kairi and the King!)
Argh, twelve days to post, I think that's my new time slowest. I'm sorry it took so long, but I was getting ready for Christmas and stuff, but here it is anyway. I hope you like it, and tell me what you think.
Suddenly, a jet of bright crimson flames shot out of the white snow, breaking the surface of the pale white blanket like a scarlet larva, wriggling free of its cocoon of whiteness and dissipating into the air instantly. A disheveled Haerthos slowly slumped up from the tunnel of snow in the ground and emerged, panting from his icy prison. The walk had been a good mile up to the surface, and he could feel his ectoplasmic body eating up the energy inside it fast. And if he didn’t have a physical body and had a tough time getting up here, the others weren’t going to be making it any time soon.
He stared around slowly at the eternal whiteness the cold air passing harmlessly through him, tiny flakes of snow drifting in currents of whipping air. Haerthos turned, to look the other way, and sighed as the snowflakes passed through him silently, their soothing cold touch never playing on his cheek like they did five thousand years ago… Maybe, if they beat the Ultima, he could finally do it… But that would only happen once he found the others. He started walking steadily across the snowy field of ice and frost, his spiritual feet leaving no mark upon the unblemished surface of the avalanche, except for the gaping hole burnt in the pale snow by the metal barrel of his flamethrower…
King Mickey awoke with a start in the darkness, as a sharp pain shot through his small, frozen body. He was curled into a ball and felt like a glass marble in a freezer. He slowly unfurled his frail iced body and a blast of pain shot through him. He gasped and doubled over in pain, curling himself into a ball again and counted the dizzying seconds until his brain registered the pain had stopped. His small body could never have taken the pressure the avalanche had blasted him with, and if he had not curled himself to shield his vital organs, he would have been flattened completely. He slowly unraveled himself again, carefully as to avoid the wracking pain that had shot through him previously. Slowly, slowly, like a shriveled bud blossoming into a flower, the small King stretched outward, until he was right side up finally. He sighed as the cramp coldness that gripped his spine cracked, and he felt better as warmth swept through his frail body. But the shot of pain swept through him again, and he winced, quickly scouring his body for something that might be causing his pain.
But he didn’t have a lot of time, and the cold was creeping up on him again. He now was thankful for that Keyblade upgrade Haerthos had talked him into getting. Sweeping a space clear of snow around his arm, he summoned his Keyblade in a flash of gold light, which lit up the darkness around him like a spark, before it faded into its dull gold metal. He cleared his throat, and concentrated hard. Haerthos would have told him something about the nerve signals in his brain activated special sensors that would translate themselves into data, which in turn would activate the Keyblade’s special ability, but Mickey always got tired of all the science and computer mumbo jumbo of Government. The way he thought of it, it all came back to concentration and a touch of magic. No matter what Haerthos insisted about flamethrowers, clones, and portable projectors. He felt a bubble of energy rise inside him, and he grasped at it, and a shout escaped his frozen mouth,
“Ahhhh!!!” The energy shot through him in torrents and he felt the golden light blast through his small frame and flow into the Keyblade in violent torrents of power. The Keyblade lit up once again like a lightning rod struck by heaven’s fire, and instantly, the Snow around him was filled with a score of levitating, slashing, golden Keyblades, which thrust and hacked every snow particle in the area. He heard the clashing of steel and metal, as the shredding tornado of Keyblades thrashed in figure eight configurations before mincing the surrounding snow in instantaneous teleportation. The distinct sound of the Keyblades screech through the air was like a chorus of angry birds, their wings ripping through the air like knives, and their talons curved for one goal only, to free their Master. The Keyblade danced a final dance of victory, dicing the coldness around them, and suddenly Mickey sensed the snow beginning to fall. He concentrated hard, and the Keyblade all suddenly connected in a beam of light, crisscrossing like a web of pure energy before erupting in a cataclysmic explosion, golden flames erupting in a crescendo of noise, the light exploding outward in a sphere that was perfectly round, yet chaotic and unplanned. The light shot outward, eating up the falling snow like a monstrous black hole, and as instantly as it shot out, it shrank into a pinpoint of light that hung at the King’s fingertips before vanishing into his palm.
“Wow,” the King whispered, looking around at the perfectly circular dome housing him, “Gosh, talk about a Keyblade!” He let his Keyblade go with a flash, and noticed the small filters of light were coming down from the top of the dome. He started to move toward them, and noticed two small figures encased in the ice above him. “Ahh, my two friends…” he sighed and leapt up to free the frozen figures of Donald and Goofy.
Haerthos heard a rumble in the ground, and thought he saw a golden light shine up from the ground like a miniature sun. But it vanished instantly as he ran toward it, and without the light, he was lost again in the endless sea of whiteness. He sighed, and walked forward again, his eyes ever conscious for the others. He thought he spotted one of them once, but it always turned out to be a random Nobody, trekking aimlessly though the white snow, almost invisible in the mountainside, wandering without a purpose now that their leaders were gone… He sighed, halting for a moment, his smoking flamethrower barrel tipping into the ground, the heat melting a little patch of snow around it. When would this end? The world-saving, the evil-beating, and the bad guy-catching? When would he have a chance to die a normal life and have a normal afterlife?
“You gave that up when you became a spirit,” voiced Haerthos aloud to the empty snow, “You forfeited that right when you broke federal law.” He spat out a wad of spiritual spit contemptuously. He was quoting the Judges lines to him when he had complained about his sentence five thousand years ago... Stupid government… But suddenly he glimpsed movement ahead, and he dismissed it as another Nobody. But he realized it was a black coated being moving intelligently through the snow like a black jaguar stalking its prey through the white jungles of the avalanche. “Riku?” he called hopefully, leaping over the edge, “Your majesty? Sora?” But as he leapt over a pile of snow to confront the figure, he realized it was neither Sora or Riku, nor the small King Mickey. Standing before was an inky black figure, whose red rimmed eyes were bloodshot and demonic. The figure’s skin was pitch black, silky and inklike, like that of a Heartless, and the last time he had seen it, it had been naked. It was now clothed in a dark black robe, with a shining white Keyblade in one hand. Haerthos could only gape as Zuki turned his blood red eyes to him, and smiled a cracked dark smile.
I hope you like it, and I know, I'm really bad with ending lines, but I hope you enjoyed it anyway. Please, leave your comments like you always do, and I hope to be up with the next updart soon. Have a nice holiday season!
All right here is the next update, and I hope you all like it. Also, it didn't take me twelve days to write this one, so YAY! Anyway, here it is.
It seemed like everything else in the godforsaken abyss of snow had disappeared, and the black Zuki was the only thing left in the whiteness of his vision, a thorn in his side that had destroyed everything he had ever loved in five thousand years. Haerthos felt the Ultima Virus suddenly rise up in a giant swell of anger and hatred, a burning crescendo of utter evil that had consumed Ira rising inside him like forbidden beast unleashed from its prison where it had slumbered for so long. Haerthos leapt at Zuki, his eyes instantly shifting into deep, crimson slits, gateways to the realms of hell for all that turned against him, and his skin sizzled with such a heat that the white snow melted around him, and parted like the Red Sea before Moses as he shot toward Zuki like a white hot bullet from a smoking barrel. It was very dramatic indeed. Or it would have been if Haerthos hadn’t suddenly snapped to a halt mid-flight and crumpled to the ground in twisting pain, all rage vanishing instantly as the spiritual pain of five thousand years punched a whole in his gut.
“Ahhh!” Haerthos gasped, doubling over on the ground, and invisible chain strangling his entire being as the pain stretched his body and cracked his spiritual body with a silent snap.
“That was a very nice attempt,” laughed Zuki quietly, his inky black lips spitting out the words like silken thread laced with poison, “Unfortunately for you, Sora has been taken out of your range for now, and is getting farther away every second. Your host always had a knack of getting in the right place at the right time.”
“W-what do you want now?” spat out Haerthos, gripping his sides in agony as he sank to his knees in uncontrollable pain, “S-shouldn’t you be with your Ultima?”
“Ahh, jealous Haerthos?” asked Zuki, his fiery eyes glaring with contempt and satisfaction, “It turns out I am the one with the girl yet again. It must be hard, always playing second fiddle to the spirit who is more man than you.”
“Look whose talking, man,” choked out Haerthos, the pain growing stronger every second until it was hard just to breath, “Last time I saw you, you didn’t have much left to be called a man.” Suddenly his head exploded in stars, and the pain in his heart was matched by the blows to his spiritual head. He tried to scream in pain, but he couldn’t take breath as the blasting hammers of agony thrashed his body until it felt like it turned to mush.
“I didn’t come here to waste time on your filthy body,” whispered Zuki dangerously, pulling his Keyblade back from where he had blasted Haerthos’s head with it, “I come because my Wielder has a message for you.” Haerthos heard, but could make no response, the consciousness left in his brain slipping in and out with every second. Zuki didn’t wait for a response however, and continued with his flat voice. “Xehanort,” he spoke the word with a slight edge, “Has asked me to tell you it is pointless to take down the Heartless and Nobody of your former love. The Ultima is impossible to destroy, and you are wasting your time in this matter. You would do better to go meet your death at the Ultima’s hand already and not let the worlds be destroyed while you wallow in the snow here. Observe…” Zuki reached into his pack and pulled out his slim minicomputer, which he clicked open with a distinct pop. Haerthos heard a few keystrokes and suddenly he felt the probing thorns of a mind message. He groggily opened it, gritting his teeth through the pain, and an image popped up in his mind, and for a second all his pain was forgotten as he stared at the destruction that he was watching before him.
The smoking ruins of Radiant Garden reminded him of its former name, Hollow Bastion. Fires raged everywhere like a monstrous vision from hell, and the once glorious castle was cracked once again, looking like the perfect replica of a destroyed heart. He could here people screaming, and the patters of running footsteps in the mix of the roaring of flames making him want to shut his eyes and block out the destruction. But although his eyes were closed, his mind was open, and nothing could stop him from seeing the gigantic white behemoth standing over all the destruction like a monstrous moon eclipsing the sun.
It was she. The Ultima. Haerthos could only watch in horror as the gleaming white leviathan that had once been Ira stood above the world and wreaked destruction upon the once radiant city. The once beautiful and valiant Ira was no more, and instead in her place stood the inner demon that lurked within all spirits, now unleashed without restraint.
The white being that stood amongst the flames was bristling with spikes and thorns, which hung in the air like threatening spiderwebs hanging in the dark, ashy air. Ira’s pure, creamy legs had mutated in hatred into gigantic tree trunk-like limbs, which crashed into the ground with every step, white ice spreading with every movement and freezing the flames in their path, spiked icicles protruding from the massive legs before wiping out all in their path. The white hardness of the Ultima’s legs than softened as it met the remains of her torso, her abdomen slightly cut open and transparent so Haerthos could see the destruction beyond. Her back had split open to reveal row upon row of thrashing snake-like tentacles, which were tipped by silvery teeth that gnashed at the ground like tornadoes, like the town itself was in a blender.
Ira’s arms were no longer the pearly, soft ones that had touched his face on the gummi ship what seemed like ages ago. They had been replaced by long claws, which melted like wax and shot toward the town like a flood of white snow that had hit his friends a few moments ago. But it was worst when he looked to see Ira’s face. Ira’s heavenly, angelic face, now stripped of all that was good and right, and replaced by all the evil located in a spirit, was pale and sickly. It showed no trace of Ira’s laughter, or goodness, and was flattened, almost pointed, elongated like a snout, with fanged jaws that dripped acidic slobber onto the already destroyed town. Its eyes glowed with malevolent power, the gleaming redness of the Ultima Virus overcoming everything inside of her, and her gleaming chestnut hair had turned from its beautiful softness into a raging gorgon-like tirade of tentacles, each thick white rope of destruction lashing out at the air, taking down whatever air defense the world was sending against it.
Haerthos could stand it no longer. He screamed and tried to shut down the mind-message, but Zuki forced it on him, so that he saw a shouting Leon lashing out with his Gunblade, Yuffie, Aerith, and even the con-man Merlin by his side, trying their best to strike out against the Ultima, but it was no use. Nothing alive could stop an Ultima… Nothing…
“That’s right Haerthos,” whispered Zuki, mercifully cutting the mind-message to a halt, and Haerthos gasped back to reality as the pain of Sora’s distance cut him to the bone, “Look what your girl is doing now…” He clicked slightly with his tongue in mock disapproval, and grinned as Haerthos coughed, “Well, then again, I’ve always preferred the naughty ones...” Haerthos felt the rage building up inside him, and stood a ferocious movement of effort, the Ultima Virus raging viciously inside him, overcoming any pain inflicting on him from his distance from Sora. “Ahh, getting angry now Haerthos?” laughed Zuki, apparently amused at Haerthos’s struggle, “You know, its kind of ironic; Not only do we have the Keytaker’s girl, but now we also have the Wielder’s girl as well.” The words hit Haerthos like a bullet, bringing him back out of his rage for a moment.
“What did you do with Kairi?” said Haerthos, worry creeping into his brain for the brave Kairi, “If you hurt her, I’ll…”
“Do what?” laughed Zuki, waving his Keyblade, “Scream with pain on me? Seriously Haerthos, I’ll let you in on a little secret. Sora and that Keyblade of his, meaning you, are the only possible way of taking even the slightest hit against the Ultima. Not that even with you and Sora you would stand a chance. But the Keyblade Wielder and his Keytaker represent hope for the world, no matter the odds. And we are not going to let the hope survive this time.”
“Shut it, Zuki…” coughed Haerthos the pain of Sora’s long range racking his body, and Zuki just laughed again.
“I’ll leave you to writhe here in pain,” he grinned, sheathed his Keyblade with a flash of white light, “Just remember this; Every second you waste here is a second that another world is collapsing to Ira’s wrath. Every second you waste here is another second of pain for Kairi. And every second you waste here is another moment closer to our ultimate victory. Remember that…”
“That’s not Ira…” whispered Haerthos, his vision slipping in and out of focus as he stared at the ground.
“Ira or not,” Zuki shrugged, opening a portal of darkness behind him, “It doesn’t matter. If I can’t have Ira, Kairi is beautiful as well…” And with those menacing words, he backed away into the darkness, vanishing into the air, leaving Haerthos fallen on the ground in pain, Sora’s connection with him stretching far beyond its limits, staining the white snow with invisible blots of ectoplasm and spiritual blood.
Sora suddenly stopped, his footsteps halting immediately as he followed the dark tunnel made by the Heartless down the icy depths of the avalanche. Something wasn’t right. He didn’t know what it was… What was this strange tugging at his heart? He summoned the Keyblade and stared at it thoughtfully. What was it? He had felt this way only once before; when Riku had taken the Keyblade from him many years ago…What was it? Could it be…
“Haerthos?” he whispered to the empty tunnel, turning to look around at the blackness before him, and than at the glimmer of light behind him at the entrance of the tunnel, “Haerthos?” There was no answer, not that he expected to hear one, but the Keyblade suddenly felt cold and dead in his hands. He lifted it experimentally, and called out a simple Fire command, but the white tunnel didn’t light up with a single spark. “Haerthos?” he repeated more urgently, turning around, and running down the tunnel, “Haerthos?” He felt the tugging sensation increasing, and gasping with an unusual pressure on his heart, he turned to face a snowy wall and stabbed at it with the Keyblade. Instantly the pressure lessened, and he slashed again and again at the snowy tunnel side, the snowy flakes flittering around him like sparks from a white fire. “Don’t worry Haerthos,” he muttered, through gritted teeth, as his new suit kicked in, and he began unleashing combo after combo, boring through the icy wall, “This time, I’ll save you.”
Yeah, I know, the Sora part was kind of cheesy, and I know I spent a while on the Ultima destruction. Just to let you know, that is not the Ultima's 'true form' since technically the Ultima is just power. I will elaborate on that later. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it and have a good life.
Merry Christmas by the way to all who read this fanfic, especially Keyblade Smitey and sh im playin kh2!
YESH, ATLANTICA MUSHT DIIIIIEEEEEEE!!!! OMFG that was awesome! Whata Christmas present! Just one problem: how will Sora know when he's found Haerthos? He can't see him. What if he just goes straight past? XD that would just be too funny.
Hey, first of all I am sorry I haven't posted in like, 19 days. My record low, but I have head so much homework later. Anyway here it is, and this is the beggining of something interesting. Here you are go.
Haerthos felt the pain slacken just as Zuki stepped back into the portal He screamed, and leapt forward to strike him, his pain forgotten as the flames from his flamethrower seem to slow down like he was in a Time Stop, but he was too late. Zuki smiled and disappeared into the darkness, and Haerthos’s flames leapt in a dance of sparks onto the empty snow, melting it in great steams of hot air. Haerthos stared at the snowy patch where Zuki had stood, and sank to his knees in frustration, staring hopelessly at his spiritual hands, the ones that had not gripped the physical world for five thousands years. He pounded the frozen snow in anger, his hands passing through the whiteness like it wasn’t even there. Why did every woman he cared about end up getting destroyed?
“Haerthos!” Haerthos heard a familiar voice sound behind him. Well, it had better be familiar after five years of listening to it. He sighed, standing slowly in the snow, latching the safety catch on his flamethrower as he turned to face the coming voice, and he turned to see Sora running toward him, gasping for air. “Don’t worry Haerthos, I’m coming,” he gasped, breathing for air, running toward him his Keyblade flailing wildly, “Don’t give up yet! I’m coming…”
“It’s all right Sora,” muttered Haerthos, forgetting Sora couldn’t here him for a second, and rubbings his eyes with tiredness, “Zuki got away, and wait until you here who he took with him…” Haerthos opened his eyes again as he continued to speak but stopped suddenly in confusion. The frosty air where Sora had stood was empty in the pale sunlight, his shoeprints empty where he had last stood. “Sora?” he said loudly in to the crisp winter mountainside, his eyes glancing around quickly in front of him, and beginning to search frantically for the missing Keyblader, “Sora?” He frantically began scraping at the snow with his hand, as if to dig up some evidence of his disappearance, when he heard a coughing noise behind him. He turned to see a weary Sora trudging up the mountainside path.
“U-uh… Don’t worry Haerthos… I’m coming…” he breathed heavily, his Keyblade waving wildly at invisible ghosts, “I… will save you…”
“You keep saying that Sora,” muttered Haerthos, getting up heatedly from the snow and following the Keyblade wielder, glad for once no one could see his crimson face.
Wyrda limped slowly down the stone tunnel, his lance clicking softly against the pale grey floor, echoing slightly off the darkness covering the cold, grey walls, singing a apathetic chorus of taps and scrapes with every step Wyrda took. He had gone deep into the tunnel now, all light vanishing from the entrance, and now his only beacon was the emergency flare he had broken a while back. As he gripped his lance with one hand as the crutch for his twisted body, the other hand holding the dim emerald green flare above his head, his squinting eyes piercing the darkness with his Third Eye band, the battery running too low for anything other then basic functions. He stumbled for a second on an invisible crack his scanner hadn’t picked up, his whole body twisted as he lost his balance and fell.
“Ahh!” he grunted in pain as his body fell to the ground, his injured frame crumpling as it hit the stony floor. Wyrda swore as the pain ran up his body when he hit the ground, his lance clattering the floor beside him, and the small flare skidding across the ground, casting emerald green shadows around the tunnel, the green shapes dancing on the grey stone. “You had to make a mountain collapse,” he muttered, slowly stabbing his lance into the ground and pushing himself up off the ground, his legs splitting in agony as he heaved himself back onto his two feet, “Why not a melee attack? Or a simple whirlwind maneuver? You had to go with the flashy explosion technique…” He slowly limped over to the flickering flare and picked it up, the glowing greenness switching gently to crimson red, indicating it was running out of energy. Wyrda sighed, and flicked the switch to mode two, and the flare slowly flickered back to green. The flare would now draw energy from the oxygen in the cave, and could be used as a last minute power source if no other light was available. But suddenly his eye caught where the green light was spilling, and he slowly limped over to the cave wall and touched the grey stone.
The green light was shining on a strange marking, like the stone had been chiseled away thousands of years ago. The light cast shadows on the inscriptions, but the meanings were clear. Wyrda slowly cast his eyes down the wall, lifting his light to see dozens of other inscriptions running down the wall, the drawings ranging from figures, to ancient writing, and even the occasional dark plant growing between the cracks, which retreated as the green light fell upon them. “This must be some kind of underground temple,” mutter Wyrda, holding the flare up higher and coughing as he walked down the pathway, his lance clicking with every other step, “These markings must have recorded history.” As he slowly made his way down the aisle of stone, his eyes fell upon a certain depiction. “That’s interesting…” he muttered, activating the camera function of his third eye band and snapping a few photos when suddenly a gurgling sound arose from the rear of the tunnel. Wyrda snapped his head up, and stared down into the blackness, his emerald light creeping toward the darkness before dissolving into the never ending blackness.
“Who’s there?” Wyrda spoke, his training with the Force kicking in, his voice reflecting the authority of the most powerful government in all worlds with every syllable. There was no reply, and the silence cut through darkness more than any reply ever could. He slowly stepped forward, the green light piercing through the darkness further, and he leaned forward, trying to see ahead. The gurgling sounded again, and this time he was sure of where it was coming from. With a shout, he leaned himself against the wall, and flung his lance forward, the shining white light momentarily flooding the tunnel with daylight as it shot like an arrow from heaven through the blackness, the stony walls lighting up with symbols before the lance clattered to the ground many meters away. There was nothing there.
Wyrda sighed and summoned his lance back with another flash. Whatever it was, it wasn’t there. “All these electronics mess with your head sometimes…” he thought to himself, tapping his Third Eye band experimentally, putting his head against the wall to steady it. But suddenly he heard a sound again. This time it wasn’t the same gurgling that had spat up from the tunnel in front of him. This time, a rumbling ran up the walls of the tunnel, the floor suddenly vibrating and causing Wyrda to stumble slightly as the rumbling grew louder. The same rumbling he had heard before he had landed in the tunnel. It was a grasping, grinding soon, like something wet being dragged over damp stone. He barely had time to leap aside, throwing aside his lance and flying to the edge of the tunnel as Ira’s Heartless smashed through the tunnel, debris flying like stone bats around the cave as her piercing scream cut through the silence like the blade of his lance, her inky black tail smashing its way through whatever got in the way. Wyrda shouted as he lay on the ground, his hands over his head protecting them from the falling debris, ready with one hand near his lance in case the Heartless noticed him. He was in no position to fight that thing though, and as he lay on the ground with rocks falling around him like Doomsday, he gave a silent sigh as the Heartless crashed through the other side of the wall and disappeared into the white snow. It was gone.
But suddenly the gurgling sound screamed out again, bubbling up from the depths of silence, and as Wyrda tried to get up on his feet, a sudden tremor knocked him back on the floor again.
“What the…” Wyrda muttered as the floor beneath him began shaking again, the stone beneath him actually cracking in long spiderweb lines as steam burst from the earth and blew drops of boiling water onto his face. “Ah!” sputtered Wyrda, wiping the water droplets from his face and forcing himself to stand, summoning his lance, and staring in horror at the dancing cracks opening in the stone floor, hisses of steam and water bursting out of the ground like the earth itself was boiling. “What is…” he asked nobody in particular when the last fading light from his fallen floor glared upon a picture next to the gaping hole the Heartless had made. There was an image of a figure, its plain hand raised in a halting sign, the other pointing to the image of a crack in the ground, a spewing carving of water appearing in mushroom type propulsion. There was a large block of bold carved text in the stone wall next to it, and even with Wyrda’s limited knowledge of ancient text, and his Third Eye band translation mode, the meaning was clear. “Fun…” muttered Wyrda just as the ground beneath him exploded in scalding water, a thousand pounds of crushing pressure blasting out of the ground and forcing everything upward instantaneously, every rising faster and faster from the ancient tunnel, away from the text on the cave wall which read in the ancient language,
“DANGER: GEYSER AHEAD”
Anyway, there it is, and I hope you like it. The continuation will be up soonish. I hope you like it.
Coolio! It's so hard to post critically when the chapters are this good! All there really is to say is to beg you to hurry up with the next one! I CAN'T STAND THE SUSPENSE, THIS IS BETER THAN A TV SERIES!
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