Hello. I'd like to begin by saying thanks for just clicking on my story. This is my first KH fanfic, so any interest shown makes me happeh. I posted it on deviantART, but it's been a week and I have a grand total of 0 page views and 0 comments -_- Hopefully I'll get a better response here. If I get alot of good response, I think I'll start work on a prequel. In the meantime, please read, leave comments, and above all, enjoy! 
End! For now at least. Feel free to comment. Tell me what you think. Did you like it? What sucked? What glowed with sheer awesomeness that is second-to-none? Don't flame (don't see why you would though) One last thing: I don't usually write stories this serious. Tell me if I'm any good at it.
Return Unto Oblivion
There were no stars in the twilit sky. Below, an endless grassy field stretched from horizon to horizon. A solemn hooded figure in a black trenchcoat walked along a dirt path weaving through the eternal plain. He, or it, seemed to be radiating various emotions: Love, hatred, guilt, and a sense of aloofness that contradicts the feelings. The hooded man slowed to a stop momentarily, glancing up at the rapidly blackening sky. There are no stars here, he thought. I've never noticed that. He averted his eyes from the lightless heavens and continued along the path, his pace now more than a walk but less than a run.
As he continued along the path, the plain began to slope into a gentle hill under him. The man paid no notice to this and ambled along. As he reached the top, he could begin to see a single landmark, the only out of place object for miles. Ahead, the dirt path split; one path stretching forwards, and one veering off to both the left and right. As the man approached the center of the crossroads, a freezing gale sweept over him, blowing his hood off and revealing his face. Without his hood, it was plain that the figure was actually very young, likely in his mid-teens. His hair, which reached to the middle of his ears, is the darkest brown, nearly black, with faded lines of silvery gray. Yet the gray somehow didn't seem to be a result of stress. His eyes were a startling, vivid electric blue, with flecks of orange. Despite their bright colors, the eyes were hard, too hard for one so young; they looked like the eyes of one thrice his age, someone who had recently lost a great love. His face was calm and solemn, slightly more handsome than average.
The powerful wind ceased. As the boy reached to pull the hood back over his head, he flinched and his hand shot to grasp the side of his head. A voice that was not his flashed through his mind. Ahead lies something you hold dear- but to claim it, you must lose something first. it says. Panting slightly, he lowered his hand back to his side with a single, mirthful laugh. "Hah. I have nothing left to lose. Your silly riddle does not apply to me." He deigned to keep the hood down, and ventured onwards down the middle path. The miles melded together, depraving him any way to measure the distance he had traveled. The bland fields soon began a drastic change. The farther along he walked, the more the grass seemed to die and merge with the dirt trail. Soon, the land to either side of him had sharply droped into a seemingly endless valley of nothing.
Almost instantly, a castle appeared looming in the distance. Its structure was a marvel of architecture, with towers and spires shooting out every which way. The boy basked in a momentary sense of satisfaction for reaching his destination, then remembered his reason for coming and neared the castle doors. The intricately carved doors seemed to open on their own when approached. As he walked into the castle, the boy flinched and raised his arm to shield his eyes, for the inside of the castle was a brilliant, glaring white. The color gave it a medical-like sense of coldness and sterilization. At the far end of the entrance hall was a single staircase ascending farther into the castle. The boy strode across the hall and walked under the archway into the staircase
Strangely enough, the staircase materialized to another room on the first floor instead of having him walk. This room was immensely less impressive than the first. Scorch marks and scratches were all over the floor and walls. There had obviously been a battle of some kind. Another thought not of his own mind flashed. This one seemed damaged, though. ...hogging the hero...my show now, Keyblade Master...dying on me! An image accompanied this memory, showing a kid with spiky brown hair with a giant key fighting a spiky red haired man with flaming chakrams. The image faded as the boy recognized one of the names from the memory. "Keyblade...Master?" A brief but powerful burst of hatred overshadowed the boy. An enormous boom of thunder sounded outside the castle. The boy quickly recovered himself and continued to a staircase identical to the last. The next floor was clean and pure like the first. No memories followed the boy's entrance. Steadfastly, the boy crossed the room and entered the staircase again.
Once again, the third floor was perfect, identical to the second. And again, the boy crossed the room and entered the staircase. The fourth floor passed with no battle scars. No outside memories or visions. Why aren't these floors damaged like the first? he wondered. His mind shrugged it off as he entered the stairs leading to floor five. This is beginning to irk me. The fifth floor was pristine and untouched, almost as though it was immune to the trials of time. Annoyed, the boy crossed under the archway and up the stairs again. He entered the sixth floor. "ARRRRGHH!" The boy let out a scream of fury. More thunder is heard outside. The room was white and deceivingly innocent looking. Robbed of his senses, the boy dashed across the room, nearly tripping on his overcoat multiple times.
He scrambled up into the stairway, and just as he entered the seventh floor his heart stopped. The room was in shambles. There were craters everywhere, which look to have been caused by lightning strikes. More memories came flooding to him. They seemed broken up, but it was because they came quickly, as if fast-forwarded, not because they were broken. ...The name's ---...Castle Oblivion...peel all the worthless memories away...forgetting...important thing...poor girl...forgotten name...heartbroken...hero...go save her...there's a catch...I'M a bad guy...free the memory...luck charm...forgot her name...heartless...smash...piece of junk...spare me!...heartless hero... Then came the visions. Another one of the spiky haired Keyblade Master. The next one was new, though. A trenchcoated girl with blonde hair and what seemed like antennae was throwing kunai-like weapons and casting thunder spells at the other kid. The boy recovered from his memory-receiving state. He was panting heavily, and tears were slowly streaming down his face. Something caused him to speak aloud instead of keeping the words inside. "How...why am I crying? She didn't die...I don't even know her name...it's like it was supposed to be there, but it was taken out...I feel like...I miss her...how can I feel for her when I don't even know who she is...?"
He took a few minutes to collect himself and continued up the stairs. This floor, the eighth, showed signs of a battle, too. Large ruts in the floor implied it was mainly fought with swords. No memories came to him, and only a single image: a teenage boy with shoulder-length silver hair. He ignored the image. The silver haired guy didn't seem to be of any importance to him. He had been questioning his reason for coming. Why did I come to this godforsaken castle? I remember it was something important...and I get this feeling it has something to with the blonde electricity girl. He groaned slightly and shambled slowly up the stairs. The ninth floor. Another scarred room. This one had the same damages as the last. The Keyblade Master had most likely fought the silver haired teen again. Pointless. Hungry for more memories of the blonde girl, the boy climbed yet another staircase.
The boy was becoming desperate. The tenth floor yielded nothing but a memory of the Keyblade Master and his friends discussing how many memories they had lost. The boy thought he had lost but a single memory, the memory of why he had come here. He had all but abandoned rediscovering this, in order to concentrate more fully on the blonde girl. He did not understand what drew him to her; some unseen force, an emotion buried deep within his being, perhaps. He had considered the idea that it may be love, but he soon dropped this theory. How can I love someone I've only seen in a memory? One that isn't even mine, for that matter?
The eleventh floor was more fruitful. The boy saw a memory of a fight between the Keyblade Master and someone he actually recognized: Vexen. No way to greet a stranger, --- ...collect a debt...brought Riku to you...why...final moments?...splendid! don't die...easily...crafted...memories...other side of your heart... He wasn't sure where, but the boy was positive he knew Vexen. Why is the Keyblade Master's name blocked? Why can't I stop thinking about that girl? Deep in thought, the boy continued to the twelfth floor.
Upon reaching the twelfth floor, the boy could immediately tell something was different. Only a single memory came through: The Key Bearer striking down the blonde girl. The boy was immediately flooded with insurmountable hatred. His teeth clenched and his hands curled into fists. I hate him. I will kill him. I will avenge that girl. The entire floor was a hellhole. Enormous craters and scorchmarks covered nearly every inch of the floor and walls. Everything seemed to vibrate with electrical energy. The source of the energy was also the only part of the room untouched by combat. Something was protruding from the corner of the far side of the room. As the boy approached it, his eyes widened and he gasped. It was a grave. Sparks traveled along the edges of it, bouncing to and fro across the face of the tombstone. Upon closer inspection, it appears to have been carved by someone with amateur stoneworking skills. The name, however, was a work of art. Perfectly chiseled in a spiky font was a single name. Larxene. At the instant he sees the name, the boy slumped to his knees in front of the tombstone. Tears were flowing freely and heavily from his eyes down his face to the floor, and it took every ounce of his willpower to keep from sobbing. "W-...why? I don't know you. I've never met you. I don't KNOW you. This...is this why I came? To visit the grave and mourn the death of a stranger? There must be some higher reason...THERE HAS TO BE!!!"
"As a matter of fact, there is a higher reason for your being here."The boy was on his feet instantly. The left sleeve of his trenchcoat dissipated, replaced by a giant gauntlet covered in blades that covered his entire arm. His fingers crackled with electricity. There was a man wearing an identical trenchcoat to the boy's standing at the entrance to the staircase. The boy faced the man and verbally lashed at him. "How dare you defile Larxene's final resting place? Begone at once if you value your existence." The man chuckled slightly. "Big words for someone who was bawling like a baby over someone they've never known...or have you known her? I think you have." The boy's eyes narrowed. "I gave you fair warning." He raised his arm and lightning struck through the wall of the castle and crashed into the spot where the cloaked man was only seconds before. The boy wrenched his head from side to side, searching for his opponent. A voice sounded from behind him. "Hm. You never were a good shot, Dewxarn." The boy was confused. Dewxarn? Is he talking to me? "What are you talking about? My name isn't Dewxarn, it's...it's..." His eyes widened. I don't remember my name.
The man laughed a cold, heartless, merciless laugh. "Of course that's your name. Number XIV, Dewxarn, the Sovereign of Storms. Although you DID take to calling yourself 'The Savage Nymph's Avenger' soon after Larxene's...tragic demise." The boy burned with hatred again and prepared to attempt another lightning strike. "No, no, no. We wouldn't want to harm...now what was it you called her? Larxy? No...ah! I remember. Lar-Lar. You wouldn't want to harm your dear, sweet Lar-Lar's grave, now would you?" The boy stared with a strange mix of hatred and the utmost befuddlement. The man scratched his chin as if thinking, then spoke. "Oh. I understand now. You weren't ranked high enough in the Organization to recieve immunity to the leftovers of this castle's spell." The boy looked, if possible, even more confused. "Rank? Organization? Spell? You're speaking nonsense. What do you want with me?" The man sighed. "You're hopeless in this condition. I'm feeling generous today, so I suppose I should cure you." The man warped directly behind the boy, placed both his palms firmly on the back of his head, and smirked. "This might sting for a moment."
His memories came flooding back. Everything that the castle had stolen from him, the boy was getting back. But not without compensation. The pain was excruciating, like hot lead being siphoned through a pipe into his mind. He writhed beneath the force at work restoring his damaged mind. Just as he was reaching the threshold of pain, it was over. The boy crumpled to the ground, breathing heavily. "Zexion. I thought Axel and Riku blew you to tiny little pieces?" The cloaked mad harrumphed. "Nonsense. That was merely a Dusk that I formed in my image. A copy." The boy turned his head. "I should thank you." Zexion stepped back a foot or two. "It was necessary. I have things to tell you, Dewxarn." The boy, who shall henceforth be called Dewxarn, rose. "That's all well and good, but I have to do what I came here to do first." Dewxarn walked over to Larxene's grave, reached into his trenchcoat, and pulled out a bouquet of flowers. Black snapdragons with a single yellow rose, to be specific. Kneeling before the grave, he gently placed the flowers against the tombstone. Zexion, his hood now removed, raised his eyebrow. "You have strong feelings for her." Dewxarn sighed. "I suppose, but...how? I'm a Nobody. Number Fourteen of the Organization. I can't feel." Zexion smirked again. "See now, you've just contradicted yourself. You have strong feelings for Larxene, yet you claim that you can't feel. And do you know why you can feel?" Dewxarn shook his head. "Because you have a heart."
Dewxarn's jaw dropped as Zexion went on. "Haven't you ever stopped to question why? Why can't you summon Nobodies at a moment's notice? Why do the Heartless flock to you? Why do you have feelings, whilst the rest of us have only memories of feelings?" Dewxarn's eyes were twitching slightly and his mouth was still gaping. "But...no...impossible...it...no..." Zexion continued. "Not only do you HAVE a heart, but according to Vexen's notes, it's strong. Strong enough, in fact, to wield this." Ending his sentence, Zexion pointed his finger at Dewxarn. Almost instantly, a bright light appeared in Dewxarn's hand, stretching until it had grown three and a half feet long. It then began to take shape, glowing and swirling in Dewxarn's hand, when at last it's final form became apparent. Shining brightly in Dewxarn's left hand was a Keyblade. His face stared in horror at the thing in his hand. Gritting his teeth, Dewxarn threw it across the room then grabbed at his hand as if it were on fire. "That...that thing...I won't have anything to do with it. That damned key was the bane of Larxene's existence. It is an insult to her memory to have it in the same room as her grave."
Zexion crossed his arms and got an annoyed look on his face. The Keyblade reappeard floating in front of Dewxarn. "Stop bitching about it and think using the mind I graciously repaired for you. Wouldn't it be ironic for the Keybearer to die at the hands of the same weapon he used to kill the one you love? Well?" They were both silent for a moment. Sighing, Dewxarn reached for the Keyblade, stopped as if reconsidering, and then grasped it and stared at it. He then slowly turned around and knelt in front of Larxene's grave once again. "Larxene...I will use this wretched thing only as long as necessary. As soon as the Keyblade Master's blood stains this weapon, I will cast it into the deepest pit of darkness. This...I swear to you. I-...I love you..."
Hundreds of light-years away, that very Keyblade Master gasped.
"Wak!? What's wrong, Sora?"
"Huh. I dunno. You ever get the feeling that something bad is gonna happen to you?"
"Aw, shucks, that's prolly just normal paranoia."
"I guess so." He shivered. That was weird. And it didn't seem like paranoia. Someone wants me dead...but what else is new?
`````"Wak!? What's wrong, Sora?"
"Huh. I dunno. You ever get the feeling that something bad is gonna happen to you?"
"Aw, shucks, that's prolly just normal paranoia."
"I guess so." He shivered. That was weird. And it didn't seem like paranoia. Someone wants me dead...but what else is new?
End! For now at least. Feel free to comment. Tell me what you think. Did you like it? What sucked? What glowed with sheer awesomeness that is second-to-none? Don't flame (don't see why you would though) One last thing: I don't usually write stories this serious. Tell me if I'm any good at it.
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