Pokemon Fan Fiction ❯ +Memory+Tower+ ❯ Pillar III: The Empty Being Died Gray ( Chapter 3 )

Memory Tower

 

Pillar III: The Empty Being Died Gray

 

Quick footsteps silently trudged through a hall of murky red. As Zexion, wrapped in a thick black cloak, rounded a corner, the peeling diamond designs and filthy carpets of his environment seemed to disgust him more than usual. But of course, this wasn't the case (though the mansion could use some cleaning). He had been assigned to retrieve and divide Reckard, a young boy brought from agent Number Nine. But to Zexion, he was much more than just a young boy. He was worth much more than that. With National's orders, he would be seeing his beloved friend's face once more after all this time. He stopped for a moment and stared into the dark air beyond, contemplating these thoughts. Beyond the darkness he would see the Iniquitous Halls, corridors laced with sinister being, and then onwards to the infamous Quarry, of which he knew next to nothing about.

 

There had been rumors that the Quarry was where all of the Department's gold was. It had the perfect setup-nobody except National and his importants could get through the controversial security corridor to even attempt a heist on the organization. That was ruled out, however, when he made a special announcement that the Quake Vault (some far off mountain in Fiore) was indeed the collection of the group's funds. Others (mostly the jealous) said that according to the number ranking (every member was given was a number by National and the lower the number the higher the rank) it was the mostly likely location of the Top Ten's meetings. The Top Ten were hand-selected the moment they joined based on pure presence alone. Only ten were allowed, and those who got in usually were given extra treatment by National's Gatherer's, and National himself. It was another obviously clever observation—the Top Ten made the Quarry to conduct their private meetings, and discuss futures (or so was thought). The Prospector spoke against it by saying he gave every member equal authority and open affection upon level. He said there were very little secrets in the Department of Annoh, and the secrets that were, were vitally important. Nonetheless, it remained a popular theory and so many had settled upon it. Zexion never had a second thought about it previously, but he did pick up a peculiar piece of information upon his first year. National never said anything about it to the public, as much he knew, but he once heard in passing of one `Gatherer' that the Quarry's magical presence had become disrupted in accordance with the Halls.

 

He never dwelled more on it until now, and nor did it last long on it before Reckard came flooding back to his mind. The pounding imminence of his unmoving body screening the corners of his eyes became more and more real. The darkness swirled around him, his body heating up every moment. He saw Reckard running towards him in a brown sweatshirt with the hood up, arms outstretched. Zexion opened his own arms unconditionally and felt a stream of cool happiness sweep away the worried feeling. He closed his eyes and expected a warm person to curl around him, to show him everything was fine, but instead heard a flurry of footsteps from the hardwood flooring ahead. A small, orange dot was running towards him and was growing bigger and bigger by the second. He saw a bit of the person's shaking face as they came nearer, and it looked like it was soaked in bottomless stress. It shot forward and revealed itself as an unknown to Zexion. She wore a pair of light vanilla caprices with three clear, white ribbons tied around one limb, a distinct, orange t-shirt and had an uncontrolled tail of auburn locks trailing down her back. She ran past him without a second thought, and his concern subsided for the moment.

 

Number Nine, he thought disappointedly as a stray ribbon floated meaninglessly beside him. She was running away from the dark regions of unknown, towards the light of National's protection, he thought sternly as her footsteps began to fade. But a third year agent scared? That couldn't be. He heard among rumors that upon the third year of an agent's time in the Department, nothing overwhelmed them. It was said they learned all the company's true originations, all it's meticulously livid powers. Apparently, these secrets horrified most, or at least put them within a deep core of solitude for a couple weeks. But all the cases were the same—never again did anyone see them flinch with the organization's walls. It was legend that those who stayed to work for the company after they had accomplished their goals did so only out of pure intimidation. Paranoia that the company was too dangerous to leave. He was sure he wouldn't stay another year here to experience such horrors, thought Zexion. How terrible could the Department be? But then a brilliant idea came to him. What if that's what's in the Quarry! Those powerful, mystifying secrets of magical sentry that aided the Department for ages! He may just be a second year, but one could only imagine what he could summon with the Quarry on his side! National made it clear that only third years could wade in this pool of knowledge, though he never said why. Many suspected it was of trust, and that since people rarely stayed at the organization for more than two years, only the scarce third years could be trusted with such ability. But that was all null and void within Zexion's narrow mind. That was why National sent him to the Quarry, to use its celestial instruments of power to sound Reckard's royal return!

 

His high of imperial glee faded at these last words. Reckard. Saulkia was charged with obtaining Reckard. Now Saulkia was running away, not even bothering to update status with him! How could he be such an idiot, to forget about Reckard in such a time of terrible worry and distress? Reckard was just sitting there like a lame duck, unprotected by his impish, cowardly guardian. His eyes narrowed to a thin amber, and he threw a fierce scowl towards the last shimmer of orange slowly being drowned out in black behind him. How dare that orangey little imbecile leave Reckard defenseless, uncared for, a still dart target, an enormous archery post, a colossal—but he stopped. Unprotected, uncared for. Hopelessness, defenselessness—what if he wandered, self-destructing along the mansion's winding corridors right at the moment! He forgot about the sinister actions of Nine for the moment and darted into the black smoke onward, desperate to get to Reckard's probably curse ridden body in time.

 

--

 

Her footsteps quickly silenced as the shaggy carpet of the mansions core routes re-established itself. Saulkia was sweating profusely as brown thickets of hair avidly swayed in and out of her vision. Today was simply not her day. This was an extremely important operation—the first of such a kind since the Rune Council incident—and so many things had gone wrong within the first couple of days. She remembered what seemed like a century ago, the date of her mission profile. She had to follow through with Thirteen and Twelve on the main dispatch, but she alone was charged with the object's arrival. National ordered her involvement specifically, apparently, and was prepared to take special attention to the entire case as well. She remembered asking him a flurry of questions just a trio of months before on the pick up particularly, with questions like `Why not twelve/thirteen too?' and `What of the Gatherers?' and was answered with the same lackluster response “It would raise suspicion.”

 

Suspicion? Even from her own teammates? The mission never seemed like that big of a deal—pick up and drop off the boy from an undisclosed location, enact the dispatch. But then again, he never told her the exact purpose of the mission. Just vague, disheveled answers that filled Saulkia with mass amounts of unsatisfaction. He never mentioned any kind of kid before in their meetings. He never talked to the Gatherers about it, for his name never appeared on the always-monitored conversation tombs. But truly, she knew she cared very little about what National wanted. Maybe that's why he chose her—she never asked too many questions to be a nuisance. But even so, it kept nagging her mind why he chose her in the first place. She was nothing terribly special; just a fairly low member of the Top Ten and a rather feisty attitude from her peer's mission reports. But then again, a determined person wasn't too rare anymore these days; everyone seemed excited about the Department's attributes now. The idea that anything could be accomplished through the Department's virtue was just becoming the new fad. But then a curious flicker of thought ran through Saulkia's head. The mission was an awfully strange one—she knew what she could get out of it, but she felt strange longing for what her future partners could get out the bizarrely unique charge. But with these thoughts, she suddenly realized how slow her walk was and what a dream-like state she was in. She burst forward in desperation, eager to reclaim lost mileage caused by her foolish musings.

 

No, no, no! She couldn't be so idle at a time like this! Her jog grew slowly into a flurry of darting steps, and eventually a lightning sprint. Treachery was afoot! Someone was trying to sabotage the mission; she had to get to National quickly! Saulkia couldn't believe her luck. First, she was forced to dash out of her communications booth with about as much as a few minutes estimation and then find that her objective was already in the possession of the other player! That's not to mention that awful Fearow—such a barbaric, reckless creature. He had to be so hostile in detention, didn't he? So aggressive she couldn't touch him with her Sunset Gloves and be forced to ignite a K.I.L.L instead, a brainwasher that almost pelt the mission's doom! She looked uncertainly down on her light cherry and golden gloves basking it's pristine aura.

 

They had been given to her long ago, three years ago when she joined the Department. Gifts from National himself, apparently. Said it might make up for her troubles. They were made of an extremely soft topaz cloth, nit perfectly to suit her wrist and fingers. They were sparkled with pallid glitter, each streak of light bouncing off them feeling significantly ancient and understanding. Its peachy thread was of the elusive granite yarn, fresh and unyielding power coursing through its stems. She thought was quite a peculiar gift at the time—a surely 100,000 yen pair of gloves given to a normally unrecognizable girl. She tried to decline, but National insisted she take them, and they remained grudgingly hers. But that was before she found out about their powers. With a streaming essence of magic from the Department itself at her fingertips, she could soothe any animal she pleased with a simple stroke of their fur.

 

A simple stroke. Just one touch! She mentally hit herself as she remembered how foolish it was to listen to the organization techs. Since when was she so recessive to listen to someone else's advice on unorthodox training methods? Now look at her, blitzing to their boss's office while those two hooligans might be reorganizing whatever sinister plots they were trying to unfold. What was National thinking, putting all these things on top of her? Not to mention she was expected to meet her equals and join the main dispatch the next day! Next he'll be asking, “Oh Saulkia, your late. Please, will you do your several hour exercise with Golem already and get on with moving that several thousand pound cinderblock to me for a footrest. Psh, sometimes I just think you're not worth the effort.” For some reason, she seemed to see this image far clearer than one should have.

 

She swiftly rounded another corridor plastered with hardwood flooring. Just down this hallway would be the route to National's study. Finally, she beamed. A shield to purge her of her worries. Her eyes began to grow weary and tired as more and more darkness faded out of view. She deserved to be tired, after what she'd been through. That was why she slightly doubted the small blurb of silver that appeared up ahead the ink-tainted hall. She rubbed her eyes with the back of her palm and it seemed to have grown ten times larger than when she saw it before, slowly forming into an open armed humanoid. But of course, she thought quickly. Thirteen. Of course, he was scheduled to meet National that day. I've got to--make a good—impression, she thought obstinately as she scrambled about herself, raking her fingers though her hair and adjusting the crinkled ribbons on her leg until one eventually fell off. She put on a glorious expression to meet her new partner, but then noticed only still darkness ahead. She passed him without even knowing it! She looked back distressed and saw the blur fade slowly fading away into the dark, unmoved by her appearance.

 

“I…I hope I looked good.” She stuttered glumly as she let her let mass trail of coffee locks fall unbinding from the tight bout of hair she prepared in such short notice. National's faded, auburn door just barely stood out in the billowing darkness ahead, it's withered opening creaking ever so slightly into the scattered light of his apartment. What else could go wrong, she thought with a sigh. This had to be the pinnacle of awfulness, the absolute worst point of sufferings. Nothing could surpass the fact she completely ignored National's advice, following a group of newbie techs instead, and that her partner probably thought she was a complete ribbon obsessed, messy and distraught third year that still managed to get scared by the dark. No, her better judgment presumed, that couldn't be the case. National had assured her that her acquaintances were overflowing with colorful personalities and would in no way look down on her. Yes. Her teammates were good, very trustworthy. At last convinced, she gave a glistening grin towards the final wisp of silver in the night, but was quickly replaced with a gaping frown by the shocking sight she received. He was scowling at her. She turned back around, and felt more anxious than ever to get to National's safety zone. Things just weren't going her way today.

 

--

 

After the several minutes of thought required to make it through the endless hallway, Zexion realized he shouldn't have been so hard on Nine. She was a dedicated third year; she wouldn't leave her mission behind so quickly and without any signs of a struggle. Going back to her image, however, he noticed her ribbons seemed quite ruffled, but stopped there with all persecutions of the agent. Nine had to have some satisfying number of qualities for National to pick her for such an important mission. Loyalty, strength, an intuition perhaps. All were needed for the day ahead. No, no! He couldn't just mull over his future teammates ability while Reckard still lay unprotected! He was still darting down the rippled black during these thoughts, despite his beloved's justified security.

 

Darkness began to fade as he gracefully skimmed the shining floors below (greatly trumping the earlier carpets). More lamps had been laced along the walls and ceilings, and soon he could see the corner ahead leering closer with every breath. The ripped, peeling diamond designs that once rued so horribly on the walls around him were replaced with smooth, glistening emblems of tangerine, the newly coned lights emanating the same glow of unrelenting safety from it's sheltered glass. Just beyond the corner, that would be it. He would be there waiting for him by the portal of destiny, clueless and unsophisticated as always. Destiny, he thought absentmindedly. He hadn't thought much of that like he usually did. He exchanged wonderings of Reckard's fate for the ignorant longing of the bliss his soft, emerald eyes would invoke. As the turn came only a few wistful steps away from him, his mind felt wiped of all feeling.

 

There he was. Draped in his glum, lilac t-shirt and crumpled jeans, his eyes sealed dreamily with enigma and leaning lifelessly onto the platinum black window behind him. His eyes flickered momentarily to the grand windows frame; a sterling bronze and silver arch of brilliance easily the size of the wall, but was quickly drawn into an intent gaze on the sleepy, innocent face of Reckard instead. He walked forward a few steps, his eyes a soft amber, and wide. Nothing changed. He was still the same age as him, by the looks of it. His shadow died locks still waved lustily in the air as quick, unnoticeable breaths slowly lifted his chest up and down. Finally, he was here. His only friend, his most affectionate guardian, lying helplessly in a cave splattered with invisible sorrows. Time moved unbearably slow, each passing minute choking him with stony heartbeats, his body standing as stiff as an inanimate statue. He couldn't stand it anymore; his feet broke loose of their chains of frozen shock and Zexion rushed forward ecstatically, so many thoughts pulsing though his heart as a desperately needy expression quickly formed on his face. Unimaginable joy soared through him despite his trips and tumbles on the way to it's epicenter, his brain stopping him for a moment to try and make logic of the situation, but easily being overwhelmed when he rammed Reckard's poorly attended shell with an unbreakable, never-ending hug.

 

After a series of several minutes he finally released from the other's tarnish-clothed chest, savoring every second his hands slid off his icy cold skin. Every one of his dreams was correct, alive at last. Nothing could ruin anything now—he had jumped into a pool of infinite happiness as soon as he saw his illustrious face. Only one more thing could make it fantastically true. One last pair of brilliant ivy green orbs, so buzzing with luscious entity, had to be met.

 

To look into those eyes would give him everything he so awfully needed. Reckard was here, overjoyed by Zexion's final rejoice, each flowing naturally with the wonderful beauty his dizzying green orbs invoked. The card of hope he had so dearly wished to draw from his inner deck was about to be drawn—Reckard was here, confused and bewildered at the least, but here with him at last. He looked up from his firm thoughts on the ground, expecting an obviously relieved and soothing expression on his beloved friend, but instead found his lids tightly bound and a sluggish face responding to Zexion's undisputed signs of glee. In his rapid charge of cheerfulness he had completely forgotten that the body before him was indefinitely unconscious by Nine's hand. Blank feelings invaded and dispersed the previous crowds of wonder in his mind to far off corners, taking up it's earlier position of untapped delight reserved for Reckard's arrival. Those eyes meant so much to him. What was locked behind those misty sheaths of skin? Death? Misery? What extraordinary mysteries those irises concentrated deep within their cores, he would never know. Acute waves of sadness echoed through the greatly disturbed patron, overcoming him so much that he barely heard the small jingle his headphone messenger activated on alert of a memo. It kept ringing, but Zexion showed no detection of its presence. A narrow screen was printed on the bud, and the name `National' appeared in small, yellow letters in a rolling marquee, accompanied by his low, slightly anxious tone of voice.

 

“Thirteen, Number Nine has informed me of me of an intruder in this operation. According to her reports, he has already breached through the Dream Frame with a well-trained Skarmory and was planning to exit through the mansion with an Iris Seal upon the objective…eh, Reckard. It seems he managed to break into our network of magical essence, a feat I believe to be quite challenging for an unknown assailant. Because of this, Reckard's core has been temporarily frozen, but I believe that once we have him secured, he shall recover in time for the dispatch. L did manage to critically injure this opponent, however, but I am uncertain to how long this peace will last. I have taken the necessary precautions—Nine shall be on the lookout in case of any more disruptions, just please get to the Quarry quickly! You may leave of your own accord for preparations of tomorrow, preferably as quick as you can.”

 

A spark of uncontrollable anger surged through him with the hearings of National's final words, magnifying his wave of melancholy to extreme levels. An intruder spotted within the vicinity of the Dream Frame, his thoughts snarled bitterly. Only one person would know how to beat the Dream Frame. The only one in the Department who managed to create such sinister inventions as the one he had locked away. The only one cruel enough to command dreams themselves. “RHODES!!!” His dark, vicious tone rose out from the child-like happiness of before like a burning arrow through a wall of smoke, echoing throughout the entire mansion. “Rhodes planned it all! He-he took everything away and now he's trying to do it again!” Hot streaks of anger burned through him as he spoke that horrible, disgusting name. `He's going to steal all that's left—every hope and dream—he'll destroy them!!” He aimed his wildly erratic eyes in total anxiety towards the other boy's supple image, and felt an overwhelming sensation of protection. He avidly cupped his cheek and stared passionately into the narrow slits the Iris Seal had created. “He'll try to-to…No-no!! N-Never again!!” He tried holding it in, but even his determination couldn't stop the tears from welling up inside him and eventually rolling down his cheeks in harsh reality. His fist grew tighter and tighter with every word, his anger sizzling hotter and hotter until a sudden burst of artic cold quickly shot through his arms, chilling his stoic heart to the vessel.

 

He glanced around with a sullen face, relinquishing the last signs of depression from his face. All the rotten stoking of fury vanished, his meaningless tsunami of sadness slowly curling into a small uplift of the soul. He gazed down emptily at his hands, and found himself clutching a familiar, diamond blue blade in which his reflection was shooting a wonderful grin at him. His mirror was walking along watery surface with this cheery attitude, full of shadows and unclear to the modern eye. It walked farther into it's enigma until it eventually found itself stopping at a grand, silver pedestal and twirling his fingers about a simplistic, golden chain and locket, dizzily staring off into space. The empty emotions fled at once and were replaced with crushing surges of fear and utter frailness towards the sword. His chest pounded like drums with stinging twinges of pain between each breath, his hand shaking violently against the barely grasped handle. Then, he could no longer bear—he let out a terrific cry and whipped the sword into the air, the blade's edge blitzing towards the seamless wall behind him. But much to Zexion's short-lived surprise, it vanished inside a cloud of glittering smoke just as its peak made contact with the chipping wallpaper.

 

He slowly stumbled back up, and stared stolidly ahead. Reckard was all that mattered. He was everything to him. He would never let Rhodes near Reckard again; he would protect him to the very end of existence. He slowly soaked up his remaining tears with the sleeve of his cloak and stood emptily in front of the black glass window above Reckard's head. It gave him an uneasy feeling as he stared back down, thought of the matters ahead. Beyond the portal lie the Halls. His eyes spoke with soft compassion. “The Quarry is waiting for us.” He said aloud, and slowly lifted Reckard up to his side, limping towards the miraculous window of black.

 

--

 

Saulkia raced down the final corridor, leaving Zexion's scowl fleetingly in the darkness. She had certain intuition about this road. The office would be up ahead, no doubt. The mystery had to be notified, discussed! She couldn't believe her ignorance today, though. How in the world was she supposed to explain this to National? Although a slight worried, she eventually spotted a chipped doorway slightly opening and placed dissolutely in-between an unceremonious fork in the path. Her face lit up with alertness (and a bit of dread) and she eagerly barged through the doorway without any second thoughts. Over in the far corner of a lighter sect of the apartment, National was slowly unfurling a deep red banner from his olive skin on top of a light brown bed. He looked surprisingly content and very satisfied with the mission so far until Saulkia's unanticipated: “Hey!” made him jump and startlingly rush into the darkness before giving an angry “Nine! What is the meaning of this!?” in counteraction. She bent down and quickly stumbled into the nearby bench in front of his desk, out of breath and her ribbons starting to droop.

 

“Glad to see you too.” She drearily responded. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a very peculiar sight for an agent of her stature. National was hunched over, scurrying together his multicolored straps back onto his face, small thatches of thick auburn hair peaking out of it's colorful restraints. Darkness shrouded all but the sides of his well-oiled skin, but Saulkia was sure she saw a small, beating red pupil stare piercingly back into her distressed orbs. She tried ignoring it, but such a mesmerizing sight made her slightly disappointed at his eventual recovery.

 

“Never come unannounced into my study again, never!” He barked loudly as he tightened his last crimson piece. “What in the world could have made you act in such an order?”

 

Upon this approval of speech, Saulkia wasted no time and immediately burst out, “An intruder! I-I didn't know what to do, sir, I just—Fearow and—destroyed the thing—and-“ But a calming had lifted by her leader injected the response with cool silence. His frown brought a certain presence of dread to her, but she quickly continued after noticing her previous speech was far too accelerated. “Well, I sent Fearow away onto the mission, and…eh, at first, everything was fine.” A distained nod nudged continuation. “And I, I mean Fearow, of course, was attacked by, um, something.”

 

National raised an eyebrow at this last claim. Fearow was where very few got to be. “What did it look like?” He asked suspiciously. Saulkia stuttered a bit before answering. She didn't realize situation; her leader would never abandon her because of one, tiny little mishap. Still, the imposing presence of her superior's judgment made her shake. “A Hyper Beam almost destroyed Fearow. I-I remember when we were passing by, the Dream Frame's Particle Wall was in critical condition on the radar chart.” His eyes widened at the end of her quickly scrambled sentence and he looked at her with sudden concern.

 

“A Hyper Beam? Did you pursue?” He questioned eagerly.

 

“Of-Of course.” She sputtered. She nervously laced fingers together as her intimidation of the Prospector grew. “Well, we got there and it turned out to be a Skarmory. We noticed it had a memo radio, and it looked very worn and out of energy—the definite side effects of a well conjured Hyper Beam.” Her racing emotions momentarily quelled their incessant anxiety after observing his lofty expression. But much more intriguing calculations were being made than his face suggested. A Skarmory! Incredible.

 

“Go on! Was there any confrontation? Did they try to lead you off the Frame?”

 

“Well, sir, a fight did ensue but they did not attempt to lure us into the blue void. We encountered a small confrontation and then something intensely strange happened. My radar map shattered instantaneously with Skarmory's sudden transportation several feet in the air, and within no more of a second's range! Surely, you-?”

 

“Hm. It outsmarted you.” He chuckled humorlessly, slowly returning to his ambiguous position among the honeyed lounge chair, interlocking his hands with a dark interest. “These charts of ours were made to register the movements of the foolish and abrupt. They stay in our field arsenal and not in our offices because one aspect of the machine makes it completely vulnerable to those specialized in stealthy practices. Why, merely move inch by inch down a radar invested hallway and you wouldn't get caught once. I believe whoever taught this little secret had to be from within. But no matter,. I assume Fearow covered this weakness, correct?” Saulkia covered her insecurity at these words with a strangely spontaneous and nervous laugh, waiting a couple breaths in un-anticipation. “No sir. I wisely ordered the…” But her voice trailed off in a fit off uneasiness as National overarching influence presided, prodding her continuation with the chilling air around her. “…The Kastryme Illicle Level Learning device to be charged on him. I had not reacted in time, so Fearow couldn't do anything until it was already too late.” National's frown suddenly evolved in a menacing scowl and he leaped out of his comfortable position on the couch.

 

“You ordered K.I.L.L for a rebel Fearow!? Do you not realize the powers I have bestowed you!' His face scrunched up with fury as he instinctively crossed his arms and walked over to Saulkia's side with an imperial glare. “Let me assume what happened next. It flew quite a bit of distance and L sat there like an idiot until you finally realized what happened, right?” His voice was choked with bitterness.

 

“Yes, sir.” She spoke carefully, keeping her head low and mumbling onwards. “We did, however, catch up. But it seems that as a result, the K.I.L.L had broken off his wing when he was charged by one of his more powerful attacks.”

 

“The same who preformed the almost soul obliterating Hyper Beam?” Hissed National iniquitously, his voiced laced with malice.

 

“Correct, sir.” She said lamely. “He acted of his own accord after he destroyed the device, leaving me blank for a substantial period of time.”

 

“He despised, of course. He must have known you were planning to charge it with one, or else I'm sure he wouldn't feel so betrayed to destroy his only landline. But really, Saulkia, why didn't you the gloves as I had recommended many times over?” He stated flatly, his tone a slight less ferocious than what she previously encountered.

 

She made a small frown, and adverted his piercing eyes. She knew National would punish her for this, she knew it! Why couldn't he just be satisfied that she and L had survived while getting the objective here on time? Just how frustrated did she have to get to pacify him! But his rather angry stomp interrupted her further complaints and she grudgingly replied, “I was told it was too powerful to get near for the glove's power to be effective. It seems it became extremely aggravated when taken back into its pokeball, no one dared recall it.” Her insides quivered with anxiousness, eager to get out of the old environment. National merely sat for a moment or two, dull, mean looking eyes glaring her down. Eventually, he slowly reached beside his desk and into a lime green duffle bag filled to the brim with a strange collection of white and red spheres, each with a light cerulean button placed firmly in the center. A tightly bound hand of scarlet and ginger quickly snatched a certain ball with a large black L painted along its dome.

 

He gave Saulkia a lowly glare, and playfully twirled the ball in his orange and pink drenched fingers. And without shifting intimidation, he aimed the blue button's tip up to the ceiling and stated calmly, “Brown Sky.” A brilliant red beam instantly shot out of the aqua switch, passing through the shadowy ceiling and out of view. Saulkia twitched her left eye as the perplexing quickly swivel back into its circle, and jumped to her feet in fretfulness.

 

“Sir, I really don't think this is a good idea!” He slowly turned to her, unchanged in his reflecting frown, before throwing her the vibrant sphere with a quick flick of the wrist. She was taken greatly off guard and just managed to keep the slippery ball in her hands as it slid up and around her palms. She distressingly looked over National's smirking apparatus.

 

“Open it,” he ordered briskly. She bit her lip and moved like a language bound by sight. You can't be serious, she whined. He'll explode. Don't be a fool. The man ruffled his brow at this last gesture. No, he didn't particularly like being called a fool. “Open it now, or be dispelled!” She closed her eyes and realized nothing could sway National at this high an arrogance level. He rarely dispelled members, but when he threatened it, he meant it. She wondered dismally what her fate would be as she gently unhinged the upper sheath of metal. After all that gruesome K.I.L.L did to it? Who knows. But it did do battle with a Skarmory recently, so it's beak couldn't be too sharp.

 

A fantastic white light spurted out of the domed device at the dull floor below. A great mass of energy was summoned out of where the beam once was, rippling with dark waves of auburn and cranberry red. Each sheet of color slowly carved itself into a keenly designed set of feathers, eventually forming the image of a robust hawk in an upright seat of power. It's glistening image looked at Saulkia with a remarkably still emotion, and a sigh of relief came over her. This was shattered as the remaining light released itself into nothingness and the collection of rich crimson and ginger wings sparkled with all it's beauty as the light that bounced off his tall, red spike amplified everything around it. The girl quickly raised her arms in retaliation. That idiot, she thought viciously. The next feeling she expected was a spear of feathered pain to break through her meager shield of defenselessness, but instead felt a soft, cottony feeling of joy brush against her skin.

 

The animal was circling her with deep, loving bows, adding a thoughtful nudge every now and again. It floated gracefully, seemingly revitalized and joyous, shocking Saulkia almost as much as the intruder did. “The pokeball…” National began in his usual gray undertone, “…Is a mere machine, Saulkia. The essence of the Celestials reach to the very heart, and by touching a pokeball, it bypasses any technical protection and whatever being that lays inside it is instantly refreshed and adoring to your heed. You've had those gloves for what, two years now?” She gazed longingly at the Fearow (the shock slowly wearing off now) for a measure of sympathy, but all he did was chirp a jolly tune. “Your ignorance disgusts me. The Dream Frame gives all this power and look at how poorly you spend it.” She wanted to scream out a series of particularly nasty things at him, but the shot of red whizzing past her head and absorbing the bird silenced her anger. It zapped back to the button on National's `pokeball' and he said, “You were blank for a substantial duration of the mission. What was shown on your home radar chart, or did you forget about that too?”

 

She glared angrily at his smooth dialogue, sparking a flame inside her ocean of doubts. Of course she remembered that, what idiot wouldn't! Look at him, she thought hotly, acting so superior. What would he do in that situation? Stay huddled up in his little trinkets, probably. “I kept a close watch on that scanner, actually. It showed Fearow igniting a very skilled Hyper Beam upon the Skarmory.” National straightened up from his seat, his eyes growing with mild interest at the fact. “It was sent spiraling down into the blue void, apparently finished. Upon my second inspection, however, I noticed that it's inner gravity spiked at the last second, enough to substantially cushion the impact. . I believe it will rise on the surface after an hour or two at the very least.” His gaze of supremacy sharply reduced to a small whimper in her wave of statistics. He was slightly surprised that Saulkia had calculated something that advance in such a tense situation. She gave a small smirk and asked, “So what do we do now, sire?” He hesitated in her sudden directness. He expected very little from her, but now he just realized they almost got caught in a raid when the mansion was most vulnerable.

 

He quickly gathered the strength presiding inside those strong-hearted and said, “We cannot leave a Skarmory within Jadiack City's vicinity. We have already inflicted too much damage.” His confidence trembled as continued the deliberation. “We shall exit the blue void immediately, and proceed to Johto as planned.”

 

Saulkia's newfound unruliness lit up with excitement and interjected with a fiery voice, “And let him go in the Kanto Pacific? We have to strike quickly, while they're still vulnerable!” She pounded her fist on his desk in demonstration.

 

The other waved her fist away and barked, “No! I will never allow any others into the void! My judgment is final, do you understand Nine?”

 

She shot a vicious scowl at his banners and grunted rudely, “Yeah, sire.” Both exchanged enraged, impending glances until National's slightly pitched voice broke the monotony.

 

“You may go, Saulkia.” He stated tiredly flickering his hand forward to signal her leave. She stood bravely, challenging his authority with a fierce glare. He put one hand to his forehand and responded jadedly, “You may GO, Saulkia.”

 

She straightened up, and asked with a provocative tone, “Do you have any idea who the assailant might be, National?”

 

The man jumped from his seat and pointed to the door instantaneously. “You are in no position to be requesting Grade J briefing, Nine! Take your leave at once!” She blinked thoughtfully, her seething complaints cooling at the sound of his overridden complaints, strangely observing the room. So in clear awareness, she smoothed her silky brown hair backwards, revealing a pair of scintillating violet orbs, quickly retreating in preparation for tomorrow.

 

-

 

Zexion carefully kneeled down, gathering Reckard's sleepy shell while staring blankly at the shadowy window before him. It was a grand site, very wide and stretching from side to side in its dazzling silver frame. He moved forward a bit, Reckard's feet dragging in somber form. He skimmed the glass slowly with the tips of his fingers and took in solemn thought. Everything turned out to be the complete opposite of what he imagined. Everything seemed hopeless, ridden with despair. But No, he had to be strong. He had to optimistic about this. But he could feel something wrong slithering behind the gate of reflective jewel. But of course, this was no surprise. Behind this would be the swarthy interval between him and the Iniquitous Halls. He shifted uneasily at its name, taking in a sharp bite of air. He remembered long ago when he first joined the Department and National gave his eerie description of it. Eternally being, a force never to be disrupted. A vortex of doubt for those whose ignorance overwhelms. Just like physical malice. Just like Rhodes. He threw a fierce kick to the plated surface in rambunctious spasm, the harmonious clouds behind the glass wall swirling in deep bounds of purple. “Iniquitous Halls, upon National's request!” He snarled angrily. The thick, swarthy air around Zexion quickly joined the whirlpool of lavender, the frame simultaneously glowing a sensational gold. It had removed the glass protection and black mist flooded the small room and the couple inside it.

 

Zexion suddenly found himself engulfed in charcoal smoke, a stream of icy wind buffeting his every move and the mansion walls slowly slid out of view. His head started aching, and his breath began to shorten by the minute. It felt like he was trapped in a tornado of strange and foreign throbs and pains. But a blitz of pure shamrock burst through the gloomy oxygen, wisping away the smoke around him until only he and the start of another corridor was left. He scoured his sides hopefully to see if Reckard had strayed, but he fortunately stayed clinging onto his robe. He fell to the ground in distress and clutched his heart in anxiety. The portal was the only way to travel through some of the more exclusive floors of the mansion, he knew that, but it's unusual teleportation techniques seemed to take a bigger toll on his health than the others. He stumbled back up and gazed avidly around him, still recovering the experience. The darkness was growing. Not a physical one, but something that seemed to extend in vile streams from each corner of the hall.

 

The floors and walls were identically coated in a shining black. The once lackluster symbols of scarlet were replaced with fantastic, gold diamond emblems, each reflecting oceans of light onto the looming mirror above. To Zexion, it's glittering symbols and warm atmosphere were all facades to the echoing pain he felt within his inner consciousness. Devastating evil beyond content vibrated thistly throughout the corridor, slightly altering his internal flow of entity. He took a deep breath, and continued onwards despite. One more trial, he thought longingly. The revival was almost here. The shimmering marks around him endlessly emanated it's pristine glow, a light, Zexion thought, just had to be conjured out of some unholy essence. As he walked closer, a small, weakly strung had revealed itself though night-like atmosphere, looming ominously above him. “Beware the Iniquitous Being,” the boy read coldly. The Iniquitous Being, Zexion thought fretfully. Had National forgotten something, something deafly important? He shuddered at the thought. But then he remembered he and National's conversation about the Halls, how they had gotten overgrown with dark thoughts. This `Being' must've been the result of all those sinister feelings, every dripping, oozing intention taking on both a spiritual and physical form. Still, the luminous white script still seemed to exude the same feeling he had about the Iniquitous when he first walked into National's study. Pure terror, another terrifying secret to add to Zexion's personal list of untrustworthy demerits. He eagerly shut his eyes to escape the uncomfortable vibes this sign was exuding. But no, no physical wall could block out the haunting voices that came attached to every unwelcome ambiance. He tried scrambling together some sort of mental dome, but they easily phased through each pointless string of worry.

 

He felt a black diamond curl around his fist and a wave of cool, glittering blue air splash onto his face. The scrambled messages held by Zexion's psyche could no longer be detained, and a daringly beautiful voice erupted a spurt of pain in his forehead. Invest within locked entity. Resound our grateful sorrows to its core, echo our fortune into its supple, unforgiving heart. Destroy its magi soul and cleanse the slate of virtue that contains its precious entity. He could sense the sword's presence; it was ringing withy something powerful and imprecise. It was deep and concentrated, slithering up his arm and pretending to vanish into its foe veil of destructive script. A spark of instinct flourished this observation into one of recognition. The sword was doing it. The sword was creeping into him, trying to deliver some kind of radical instruction. But every word sent him through stinging bouts of pain, a kind of pain that only deeply locked and hidden memories could invoke. Each small splinter of thought burned this message into his brain, finally making Zexion take notice of it. It was telling him how to obliterate the Halls, each in fastidiously chosen steps. But National never told him anything about the destruction of anyone, and he felt helpless to try and execute those painfully alluring orders.

 

Absolutely clueless, the enthralling voice spoke. Without warning, his mind felt wiped all feeling and instead felt like a window of hazy remembrances. He envisioned himself back in front of National's desk, the two speaking words that seemed so distance to him now. “Right. You don't need to tell me what to do in the Halls, I know.” But that couldn't be possible. Had he really been too mesmerized, too locked within National's disgusting interpretation of him to remember saying that? But the words felt so foreign, so ignoring of his presence; he could never imagine actually telling National what he was capable was. He just remembered waking up from his distressing illusions with the sword in his hand and an unsure decision at his side, National's approving words declaring all further instructions. The only slightly strange thing about that transaction was the barely noticeable chill he felt travel down his back, so trivial and insignificant at the time. The blade felt so at ease as he drawled about in unsure dilemma. It was like he had drained away, just hanging onto reality with the wistful silhouette his barely grasped sword gave him. It felt unnaturally familiar, like the seductive chants announcing Reckard's name had just visited him once again. He straightened up in realization, punching the air in rough frustration.

 

That wasn't him. Or not his will, at least. It was the sword's captivating, destructive tone that slid past his lips. He had just been so drenched in unawareness, so burrowed in his little fantasy he barely noticed the small trickle of retreat run down his back, completely ignoring the fact he had been utterly manipulated, his mind further drifting out into idiocy. The disgruntled boy jarred his back to the evocative blade; his face scrunched up in particular infuriation as he saw the image of his giggling self in the sword's reflection. Of course, he remembered obviously. It seemed National's warning was more literal than one might imagine. “'You must never let it consume you,'” he repeated solidly.

 

It felt so strange, considering what was happening. Worried about consumption, already falling into a powerful trance caused by his frail, weakly constructed heart. He just wanted run away, forever and ever from this horrible place. But such pathetic attachments kept him pinned to the oppressive spot like a dying bug, his unconscious traveler of which he so longed to see and comfort, gone until tomorrow. It tortured him to no end, the ripping sadness that made him hover closer and closer to the Quarry, such inquiries of the future feeling so meaningless at the moment. Whydid he have to go anywhere!? Why couldn't he just wait for Reckard to thaw here, to wait so he could finally be with him! He felt like breaking out in a cascade of tears, finally releasing all his troubled worries with every drop. But no moisture fell onto his satin gloves. Something was quickly converting all his pent up grief into pure and complete detachedness. His mouth felt dray and choked with blocked sorrow, even his thoughts feeling slightly hard to accomplish. It's doing it again. Feeding, he thought with the smallest shade of remorse. It was breaking through him, trying to take control once more. He vaguely remembered the process the dark sword took upon it's last feeding. It would scrub away all painful emotions, and try to inject him with the false feelings of either nothingness or mindless glee. He tried to refill his brooding status, but the blade's paranormal binds quickly destroyed the invading thoughts, clearly in threat of troubling its archive of control. He gave a violent stare towards the sword in short-lived anger. A pair of curious, amber eyes gawked right back at him like he was a kanga in the zoo, totally entranced by the creature's unsatisfaction after figuring out all the little puzzles and tricks that had been set up for him.

 

He wanted to hit those intruding, imperial eyes. He wanted to bounce that blasphemous sword off the ground harder and harder, only stopping to break it sharply in half with an interjection of his foot. He hoped blistering, electric shards darted out from the breach and fly out in all directions, stabbing the oppressive walls with all their sharp pointed fury. But all intentions withered away within a mater of seconds, and Zexion found himself bided by invisible chains, stolidly indifferent of his distressful situation. It forced him to the ground and placed a misleadingly sadistic frown upon him. The Halls were amplifying its power. Whatever powerful entity lay ahead in the engulfing bellows ahead could relate with the sinister force at hand, the boy suspected silently. He could feel the Quarry's power easily break away from the chalky and indistinct virtue of the Halls. It's smooth, lulling pulse slowly came into unison of his own, the two intertwining with rich, outstanding peace. For a moment, it felt extremely nice, the feeling always reestablishing itself before quickly washing away. His soul, however, felt undernourished and weak. It wanted to flourish and it struggled to divide from the lowly being of Zexion. But Zexion wanted division too; not from his soul, but the crushing light around him. Within the physical world, light scarcely stayed to dimly lift the atmosphere with its eerie presence. But on the spiritual plain, explosions of shining yellow came with every tainted cloud of darkness, the diamond sword in hand being the only thing keeping him from being washed away.

 

He wanted to harness this extreme power; maybe National would reward him for it. But he couldn't, no matter how hard he tried. The swords free, unrelenting cascade of entity slipped his train of thought, even as it stayed so tightly next to him. The Quarry felt infinitely better now. He could embrace its unnatural presence: it felt spellbound, forever blazing. He needed to join that never-ending stream; he and Reckard had to release from the awful elements around them. He grunted his way back up, and snatched Reckard's hand tightly.

 

To let something eat him up would be so easy. It would be endlessly clean, tunneled inside an unlimited supply of joy. When unwillingly trapped inside something, maybe your only scope of existence was nothing short of happiness to be alive. Maybe it replaced every painful memory with delighted, perfect healing. Yes, that was all true. Something was telling him such facts with exact precision. Facts wrapped around beautiful whispers, a long, mysterious sigh flowing after every sentence. He'd love life then; his soul would never want to escape from something so fantastic. Wasn't this all he ever asked for? This undying, forever feeling? Maybe he could release himself in a different than with the Quarry, a way in which he could personally erase all his hidden fury and despair. It feels so good, he thought with a passionate expression. So unworldly real. Like a gurgling fire that blazed quick and silkily no one would want to put out. That was just as he felt something abysmally cool slide down his back, like a refreshing quench of water, slowly engulfing his back in pleasure.

 

It sounded like a waterfall in slow motion, swiftly erasing any ounce of strength within him with its lulling essence. Another glob-like being dribbled down his side, also instilling him with that rich, irresistible sensation. His eyes blurred in ecstasy. It felt slightly heavy, but ever so glossy and soft. He arched backwards, eagerly trying to absorb more of the slime onto his noticeably unnourished skin. Every wave of luxury seemed to chip off something from him. Something harsh and clingy, but he didn't bother to dwell further into himself to figure out. Not now, never now. His wiser side vaguely why he was floating in such a monstrous pool of ash, why bright gray streaks pulsed lovingly up above his head. But the scattered memories that danced mockingly out of him made these observations meaningless and completely null of his interest. He didn't need such petty remembrances now, not when he gained something far more precious. A free, undisturbed peace he could have never obtained otherwise. It wiped away all perception, coating him in a field purged of accusations, especially the idea that this pool was in any way dangerous. A small price to pay for such a power.

 

Everything was still. Complete. He felt nothing but foreign strings of glee, and never did he wish to fall out of such a destructive pattern. Not like there was anything that could disrupt its perfect stream, utterly free of complications. Flawless, oozing drops agreed, and soaked him in indescribable love, making the next unfortunate act to happen feel much worse. A different drop of goo dribbled onto his platinum locks, an extremely stand out white compared to the color around it. For Zexion, this description could be used in more ways than one. This wasn't the pure, excruciating comfort he had come to so easily expect over the last several minutes. It was cold; cold enough to cool the ember of delight within him to a mere fizzle, quickly spreading throughout his body and chilling him to the bone. The blackness around him was no longer the soft, cottony substance he had come to adore. It was rough and scaly, nearly crushing his arms with its now ridiculous weight. He wriggled spastically, somehow expecting to regain some of the wonderful ooze he so desperately needed after such a devastating withdrawal, but it proved fruitless to his efforts. It was if he was a Cate' hopelessly trying to break from it's cage of pitiful reassurances.

 

But at that exact moment, the axis of memory began to weave itself back to its owner. There was someone waiting for him at this unknown palace…the Department's palace. National was going to wait for him near the Quarry. He felt a pang of unwelcome guilt overcome him as the oncoming pain made him cringed. He didn't want to recover these horrible, disgusting memories. He didn't want to meet National again and tell him he failed; that he completely fell victim to his mutinous gift even before he gave his warning. He didn't want to care about the orange-coated auburn that raced past just so earlier that day, nor the luxurious breezes of air she reminded him of in Johto. No! He didn't want to remember National or Rhodes or Nine or Twelve! But the flood could not be stopped. More and more recollection swept back into him; all in frighteningly crystal clear images. He reopened his eyes, frantically searching for some kind of familiar comfort. But he was shocked to find that instead of his beloved black slime, mounds of purple sand was now perfectly binding him in place. Even as it's grainy texture spread over his body like a thousand pound blanket, the excess sand behind him was quickly slithering to engulf his vulnerable and untouched cranium. He wanted to thrash about his prison like before, but strength no longer came. He felt like going insane, breaking out his furious internal energy by rapidly jabbing the sand around him into tiny piles of lavender. But instead, he felt bound and helpless, a feeling he'd been experiencing a lot lately. It felt so much like before. Just before the Memory Sword took control. No, no, no! Not the Memory Sword, not all this time! But it was too late to try and push back every undesirable occurrence. Everything was coming back, even the cruelest and most betraying of his thoughts crawling back to him for a safe haven. But he didn't want anything to come back to him, nothing to make him remember. He didn't want to remember anything, anyone!!

 

More and more memories invaded, the sand inching closer to him by the second. There was only one last terrible memory he had to face now, just one more he would have to live with and try so dearly to tame for all his life. This one seemed to make him oddly anxious, unsure himself how to interpret it as even the most devastating matches took second priority. It was a very hazy image of a boy peacefully wading next to him in the trench of misery, his eyes locked by darkness. Zexion's eyes narrowed, wondering why so many diamond-like clouds were blinding his vision, and how he still couldn't figure out the oh-too familiar personage already. He sensed another urge to rip out his binds swell over his body, but this one of a different origin than anger. He felt nothing but te utmost compassion for the boy, wishing to sprint towards him despite of any condition, and sharply bombard him with a series of questions, the most supreme degree of importance being why he wasn't moving. Zexion was so lost in this pearly vision; he barely noticed that the sand had already trailed up to his neck. But his concentration did not waver, and with his patience, the diamond clouds slowly began to vanish, and the shadow haired boy was revealed. Apparently, he hadn't been floating in anything. He was sleeping on a black floor, the purple sands swirling around him warily, as if afraid of his innocence. The chin covered boy across from him smiled happily, his thoughts drifting into weary daydreams. It was something about this boy made him very happy, to say the least. He felt like joining him in his embalming, secluded dreams; it looked like he was having a good time, despite the neutral expression. His recognition slowly melted away the barriers of heart his reclusive soul had built, also signaling the sands final engulfment of him into the ever-growing vat of violet grain. That Reckard boy seemed to make him feel like before, when there was noting to remember but him.

 

He was back into the delusive, unrestrained state he was with the flowing blackness, so of course the vortex of uprising sand he was falling into was nothing out of the ordinary. So of course, he ignored the livid blue flame that ignited out of eyesight, and the majestic, snakelike movements it made onto his chest. A brief, artic chill stung him as the wisp slithered over his front, but nothing he hadn't already withstood. Maybe this joy was deceiving him, said his better side of judgment. Feeding his eyes ridiculous illusions and fantasies. But the gaping hole in the wall of sand across from him (created in the snakes wake) was so trivial, it's typical rainbow of light gray light submerging the vortex, was there any use to worry about such an object of short-lived interest? But through its blurry haze, he saw something of a dark cellar door, littered with mysterious symbols all down it's front. But the cobra of blue quickly shot through the rapidly regenerating door before he could think anymore of it, eagerly trying to get to the door, as Zexion saw it. But just before he could see it bombard the stony gate with all its aqua invoked fury, the wonderful, silver light engulfed his every touch, sight and sound.

 

Although to Zexion it seemed like a night's worth of dreams, only a few minutes passed as the gray mist slowly fluttered out of the charcoal hall. His mind still quivered with daydreams as his hands extended gently, his body slightly sore after such extraneous stretches. He was resting languorously on his back, his arms and legs flayed carelessly in profound sleep. One eye flickered opened, quickly dispersing the blurry smoke of awareness from his irises. The other eye followed, giving Zexion a peculiar sense of anxiousness. Like he had forgotten something deafly important, like a serious appointment or schedule. He leaned up despairingly, and gazed unenthusiastically around him. The glowing, yellow diamonds suddenly felt extremely familiar, and a fragment of Zexion's previous memory came back to him. The Halls, he gaped. This was definitely not what he expected. Instead of the antagonizing, sinful vortex of hatred he had predicted to meet, it was merely a carbon copy of the hall before. No originality whatsoever. So he lazily pushed himself up, dusting off the ends of his cloak and scuffing his feet on the mirrored floor. Nothing like National said it would be. Then strangely, his head began to ache annoyingly at the heed of the previous name, as if trying to break through a roughly sealed gate. But the boy ignored I for the moment, and instead focused on his mission. Which way is the Quarry? And where is…where is… But his thoughts couldn't fill in the rest. He did know, however, that he had to protect something. A something indescribably precious to him. But what is it? He tried digging deeper and deeper into his memory bank, youthfully trying to solve his invaluable puzzle. It just had to be inside him, locked away until something triggered its eventual arrival. Far, far behind the core of obvious being, as meaningless as a sword without it's owner. The carefree Zexion chuckled at his seemingly random comparison. Comparing memory to a sword. How ridiculous.

 

But with those last shreds of thought, hid head split open with terrible pain. He tried blocking it once more, but soon it became too much, and he palmed his lobe for comfort. What kind of a headache was this? But that question, like so many others that lay unanswered in Zexion's mind, suddenly became obvious facts as the oncoming surge of memory burst through his mind's remembrance field. Disjointed images floated through his subconscious, releasing all repressed thoughts. His clueless, ditzy image wiped away in as quickly as a heartbeat, and the original, stony personality of before resumed dominant with a brutal scowl. He was in the Department of Annoh's dark Iniquitous Halls, the only wall guarding the infamous Quarry. His acquaintances, to say the most, left him without aid, National—lead prospector—dealing with an urgent precaution, and Nine and Twelve, of which he knew nothing about, apparently in the dark. What happened!? Snarled the thoughts of the true Zexion. Who wouldn't? To be blindly foolish, all this time—helplessly watching on as realization finally awakened his true self. The Memory Sword, a vicious hunk of crystal with an archive of mind-numbing enchantments, had deceived him all along. Why didn't he see it coming? Why didn't the moment in which he first closed his eyes did he see the maniacal plan start to unfold. It was just so obvious, so ingenious at the time. It all untwined its malevolent plan when it lured him into that supernatural, otherworldly glee; it's true intentions gone far beneath his radar. Little did he know at the time, it was merely the precursor to emerging completely under the sword's dominion.

 

Right when it had lured him into its bind, the trap snapped with it's otherworldly seduction. It felt delightfully familiar at the time, already experiencing it not to long before. By that time, it was only a matter of time before the infectious possession spread through his heart and soul, his body long under the waters of it's spectacular power. Zexion stopped for a moment in intense, although bitter, thought. What would the sword gain by possessing him? What would it gain out of manipulating him further? But then, it all fell in place. While his real self was engulfed, his pseudo -personage' only option as to go into the Iniquitous Halls. That was what those hideous black globs were, the exact horror he expected because his spiritual eye made it so from the undistinguishable form of darkness. Because the sword placed it's dominant effect on him, the luxurious lack of memory that came with his control knelled the horrific effect it would have on him otherwise. “But why!?” The boy roared un-approvingly. He was perfectly capable of getting through the Halls! It had given him the instructions; he could've done it perfectly! If it had just waited--! But his thoughts caught cut off by his levelheaded side of reason, supplying him with the obvious realization. The last time Zexion was in control of himself, he wanted to break the sword in several different ways. And even before then, he thought intently, I was still so confused about my non-promise that by the time I did figure it out, I would get rid of the sword as fast as I could. So of course, the sword had to control him—it tried to give him an opening to attack the Iniquitous Being, but he proved to weak to comprehend the sword's true meaning. Of course. His stray fist stopped shaking and his angry eyes slowly narrowed into emotionless slits. Of course. The white blob was his memories returning to him. The purple sand was the sword returning to its divine position of entity after destroying the Iniquitous, covering and transferring him back to the real world. And right before he awoke, it's last act was to burst open some silvery door. The door to the Quarry. It all made perfect sense. A mere weapon figured out everything. But what was he in its network of manipulations? Just a pawn, just a body to utilize for it's own goals? But wasn't it Zexion's goal to get into the Quarry as well? What exactly were this spirit's intentions?

 

He groped uncertainly for the sparkling gem at the end of the sword's fine handle. He didn't look at it, but it felt extremely warm and vibrant with energy. He wondered what could be hidden behind its serene warmth and polish. What bizarre, perhaps startling secrets would be within it's isolated core? But now wasn't the time to think about that. He laced both hands onto the whitewashed pole, and opened his eyes with wide and piercing blinks. It's feeling almost reminded him of the intense discomfort he felt as his memories flooded back to him, and the Hall's substance was no longer repelled by his joy. Was it really true that he could never have that kind of peace without forgetting everything that worried him, even his most beloveds? Did he have to submit to the diamond ghost to truly experience such pleasure? But the answer was put to the side for a moment, as the inquiry made him remember something vitally important from the vortex of sand, something that made him extremely happy before finally giving into the light. Something very familiar to when he was first overthrown, but strikingly natural and truer than that false joy-hood could ever be. Doused with long bouts of shaggy hair, that unbelievable grin wherever he was, and two shimmering green orbs to always complement. The boy's heart started to beat short, his emotionless stance struggling to be kept alive. It was Reckard. It was always him, giving him strength even at the lowest point of sanity. He couldn't help but let out a chocked laugh as his grip on the pole lessened, and he turned around to meet the ominous darkness ahead. It wasn't the time to think about the future right now. He felt a small instant of worry wash over him as he concentrated more on Reckard not being with him, but the overarching circumstances gave him strength to bear. If the blade really wanted to achieve the same goal, he knew exactly where Reckard would be. And that was where Zexion wanted to be the most.

 

--(This is where I would stop the chapter, but I really don't want the next chapter t be clogged up with Zexion when it's supposed to be centering on someone else (a main character))

 

At the end of what seemed like several minutes, a pristine, silver doorway eventually appeared through the hall's billowing mists. The boy stopped his eager footsteps, silently acknowledging the ancient doorway. It was deep silver, and covered in an ocean of unrecognizable symbols, probably from some far of language. The center of the gate had a monstrous hole in the center; tiny bits of crumbled cement twiddling down the enigmatic symbols as he skimmed the surface around it. The sword's blast, he thought as he eyed the slightly cerulean-died surface. It slowly creaked opened, and Zexion stepped through the opening without question.

 

It was an enormous sight, easily seeming too large for the mansion to handle. It curved in the shape of a humongous circle, countless gray pillars standing upright on the walls and matching the room's platinum décor ideally. A large, rectangular sky light poured gray moonlight into the space, significantly amplifying the beauty of the ancient ballroom with its ancient glow. It also revealed the frontal lobes of the pillars much clearer than before, revealing the masterful display of clipped feathers pinned onto the pilasters, some an earthy brown and others a countless collection of rainbow color. Feathers! He heard about feathers before, drawing on…no, that couldn't be it. They seemed to release a heavy incense of ginger, invisible smoke alluring Zexion into the room with a steady walk. Halfway to the center of the room, however, he stopped unknowingly, persuaded by the platinum elements. He looked around, wondering why he stopped, before finally looking down and gaping at the overwhelming sight he saw. It was the largest mural he'd ever seen, easily taking up half of the room, and coated in a dizzying pallet of red, blue and yellow. A great paragraph of text lay hidden inside its paint, still recognizable to the human brain, of course. He bent down to see it instantly, jerking reactions pulling him through the skimmed names it mentioned. Celestials, Zexion gasped as he noticed the flamboyant creatures the mural depicted. A Celestial was the name for the bizarre, otherworldly creatures that roamed the earth, or so some thought. From civilian reports, they seemed to only appear in times of great crisis, and was never completely seen; always just a stray limb, or set of inadequately described eyes. They were made famous for two reasons: their elaborate appearances and mind-numbing powers. A legendary, as some of the older trainers called them. They were extremely coveted by collectors everywhere, the ultimate prize of battling and wisdom prowess. Some independent laboratories were interested as well, pursuing the idea that even the most phenomenal powers of a Celestial could be extracted and grown inside artificial environments, perhaps controlling nature itself. But many scoffed at the idea that such magical aura could be extracted from such dainty things as feathers, and so many of these labs fell. Inspired collectors followed in their wake, their interest waning as they wished to move onto more easy prey. Who could blame them? Not a single picture of these Celestials was taken, no bit of fur or snatch of evidence left by the time more mythological experts came to the scene of the accident where the legendary appeared. No one ever caught a legend, either; or never showed it to the public, at least. It was fair to say that if you bragged about anything too rare, unwanted visitors would start coming. But those were usually the ones who actually saw the legends themselves. Many believed, sightings or not, Celestials were just figments of the imagination during intense stress, Zexion included. Some officials even gave them names! Celebi, Jirachi…completely ridiculous, he had thought.

 

But even Zexion's stubborn of disapproval of Celestials could not ignore the awe-inspiring sight below him. It depicted three incredibly majestic looking creatures, each atop a solid limestone pillar, and in angelic poses, as if bowing to the golden sky above them. Each symbolized a sacred color; the nickname from certain groups that believed the Celestials had something to do with the divine intervention of the earth. They were the most common colors civilians saw when sighting legendaries; the basic red, blue, and yellow. The first beast was slickly coated with electric yellow fur, deep, simplistic black strokes trailing down every side of its body. Mysterious silver twinges of metal sprung gracefully out of it's shadowed white mask. Raikou, Zexion thought instantly. Despite his aversions to their suppositious origins, he had memorized each of the fantastically elaborate names, his personal favorite being Mew. His younger, innocent self had once looked up these extraordinary beings and their strangely detailed descriptions on the Department mainframe. This `Raikou' fit the description perfectly, right down to the small, cottony bits of shadowy lilac clouds attached to it's back. His interest peaked, and his eyes flickered anxiously to the next animal. It was fantastically large, roaring to the glittering heavens in its massive girth of shaggy brown hair. Streaks of auburn drooped lankily over its darkened slate cuffs, one firmly locked around each of its ankles. This one also bore a shaded white drilled into its face, neatly dividing its large button nose and invigorating blue irises. But it's most mesmerizing sight was in-between the sharp, light cerulean spikes protruding naturally out of it's skin. An endless trail of cloudy white smoke followed it's commanding wake, awing the boy in his tracks. Entei. Raikou and Entei. One of the many protectors, keepers of the three central elements. Raikou, the shield of thunderstorms, and Entei, guardian of volcanoes, each defended the respective forces of fire and lightning. There was only one element left. Water. Suicune.

 

The final beast stood elegantly between the other's two pillars, diligent and content with its position, unlike its subordinates. Bright and unwavering streaks of turquoise and violet swiveled beautifully down it's body, dignified, bubble shaped blotches of white being the only interruptions along it's stirring pallet of being. Divine, otherworldly stripes of pure pallid ribbon swayed charmingly off a small prick in it's back, floating stylishly as if held by it's invisible aura. But to Zexion's preference, its most enchanting sight was the diamond shaped crown protruding heavenly from its crystal and white shaded beak. Each monster reflected a barrier of regal resplendence onto each other, miraculously lighting the mural into a world of engrossing paint.

 

Zexion could hardly believe such pure, miraculous creatures weren't real. Or maybe, thought a small corner of his brain, perhaps they could be. Such creatures of intense power could never compare to the standard fare he had back in the county. But even if, even if they really could exist, what divine beings would sully themselves in the core of such a dreary place. Sure, the Quarry seemed homey enough, but the journey to it had to be horrendous. Unless Celestials never came here in the first place. But the only one who could get through the halls is… “National.” He spoke quietly. National was the only one who was permitted to enter the Quarry. A magnificent mural was painted on the floor, and only then did Zexion truly take in the environment around him. The pillars were pinned with thousands of feathers, some gray and jaded, but others coated with millions of spectacular colors. Could it be? No, no—it couldn't. What in the world could a huddled up, disguised little possibly--? But the thought was caught short by sudden remembrance. Remembrance of the Number Zeros, National's personal raiders, and the ones he so sheepishly overheard. Gatherers. Could it be? Could this be what National had done for all this time? Would he really use his Gatherer's to collect the Celestials feathers and then deliver them to the Quarry himself? His eyes traveled up the mural with eager excitement; quickly running up to the final center axis of the room to truly examine it's mysteries. Faintly etched lines were carved all over the valley, seemingly unnoticeable to the untrained eye. They wound themselves peacefully around every bit of fur and feather, an extremely dim, blue light pulsing through out every appendage of the Quarry. Eventually, after bathing the place it's serene air, the lines collided above the painting into a single, vaguely engraved circle, small dots of red circling around it magically. One of the lines purged straight through the mural's rosy gold heavens, beckoning Zexion to follow its heed.

 

It was all true; everything was true. The actual explanation of the Quarry was so unbelievable, so foreignly strange. It extracted the fantastical energy withheld within even the tiniest bit of hide, spreading its entity through the entire Department and to the personal aid of its members. Every member had an ability to summon a derivative of magic by the Celestial's shell, such unbeknownst, undeniably pure power at their foolish fingertips. His eyes answered the call with a restrained yes, traveling up the remarkably ginger clouds with his sight alone. He wasn't going to have another `incident' today. The faint blueness grew stronger as it drew nearer to its anticlimactic core, illuminating the billows of gold with a soft aura of navy blue. What he saw next, just below the circle in a place easily overlooked, sent him gasping for breath. A feather lay daintily beneath the supreme azure glow, long and thin and struck with a sharp bronze, rippling with bold, crimson streaks. A feather so distinct could never be mistaken. Its name seemed to scream into his head, awakening the ages frozen instinct of the legendaries image. Ho-Oh.

 

It was unmistakable; the feather reeked of zealous, overflowing life. Ho-Oh's feather. By the estimated science of Celestial studies, Ho-Oh's description seemed very similar to the guardian's, raising the possibility of creation by the phoenix. He longed to touch and admire the fine stitches of red on its dainty position, to fondle it within his disgracefully tainted hands. His eyes narrowed, trying to weave through the invisible wall of holiness that masked the feather's true source. The pearly glow around it strained his eyes, but eventually he managed to see and remember the rather large paragraph of text beneath it. He fought the azure haze, not moving an inch but his irises skimming the paragraph in bullet speed. He couldn't stay in here for much longer. He had to return to reality, one with Reckard.

 

Many blessings have graced the Quarry. Whether or not out of their choosing is not certain, but the Celestial's power has been permanently bound to this cleansed valley. As the weaker, lesser legends of lore race to our fingertips, the more fantastical beasts earn an eternal sentence within the final spheres, artificially contained nothingness, purely created out of the god's preference for survival. They may only thrive in the two spheres ahead, for in complete deadness is the only other place where they may find peace. Beware your chances though, young martyr, lest a stray feather slowly seep out of its prison. If you wish to control such awesome being, act swift before it burns itself into nonexistence in the unworthy air of humanity, though this gorge will delay the process more than most shrines. Place your most desired wish atop the second sphere, and raise your sacred conductor to call upon the legend's power. Do not raise your expectations, though, for the quick of greed and faint of heart may not be able to withstand the overwhelming entity of nature itself. It may entrance and bewitch even the purest of desires, manipulating greed and manifesting a new wish, grown out of the inner shade and within a single scope of reality; to be swept back into inexistence, alive or not. Grasp hold of the conductor; bind it from escaping from the Quarry's barrier and disintegrating in the unholy winds of earth. Meld it with the purest of soul, and reject any forms of consumption.

 

Zexion winced at the last sentence. National must've written this, he thought, clearly noticing the similarities between this and their previous conversation.

 

After your wishes have been completed, to your hearts or the feather's content, you must exit from one of the twelve doors, to be cleaned of your presence in the Quarry, and all truths you've seen. It shall purify you of the darkness that generates the secrets of the Celestials, and bind your experiences with the utmost of impenetrable light. With this light, sense the correct door, and it shall release you into the most energy rich places of the spiritual earth, masked by the physical world. Leave satisfied, and your unanswered prayers may arouse their attention once more.

 

It stopped there, trailing off into a series of lopsided dots. They seemed to exude foreign strings of intimacy with National, if he did indeed scribe the passage. How had he disguised so much knowledge, such intense beliefs under that maze of false personalities and unruly childishness? He looked back down at the feather, unmoved after his readings.

It was all an act. National's true form was still hidden, so thoroughly masked by the inner workings of the department. He clutched his sword bitterly, clinging to it for some kind of inexistent support. He wasn't going to stay long enough to find out that true person. Finally, he dispelled all doubt and confusion, ailments cursed to him by the wretched Quarry, and walked the few strides left between him and the enchanting feather. He scooped it up gently, extremely careful despite his anger. It felt crisp and delicate around his palms, quivering with the utmost of heavenliness. He left the lulling, secretive gold clouds of the mural, and paced further and further with his confident bows, eventually reaching the first sphere from the paragraph. This was it; the stage was finally set. He truly did know what to do with Reckard now. He was so spiritually exhausted; emotions felt simple and abrupt compared to what he really wanted to invoke. But now was not the time be a stoic, enclosed person like National. When Ho-Oh's energy collided with his own, he would color it with all his frail sentiments, igniting the true fury that was the pokemon of life.

 

What was on the next sphere shouldn't have surprised him, but a small part inside him still managed to gasp for his appearance. Reckard, slumped over and disoriented, slept undisturbed around the frightening elements around him. The separation had to be taken, and in more ways than one. The boy looked beyond Reckard uncertainly, a childish pout overcoming him. No, Zexion. You know you can't escape from the Department. It was right. As much as he wished to escape through the eleventh door, he knew the department would easily apprehend and disable him, like a minuscule Caterpie among a thousand `Cates. No, he wouldn't betray the organization now. Not yet. His insides felt fuzzy and imprecise, devoid of hope but still brimming with energy. it was enough for him to ignore the ungrateful toss he made with feather, his mind stuck on drastically more important things. Reckard. Your almost there, Reckard. Almost.

 

He quickly raised the crystal blade up like a tray, the tip pointing directly at Reckard's heart. The feather was still floating majestically downwards, small bits of white breaking off it. The decay, of course. But that wouldn't last. Finally, it softly landed on the sword's center, and Zexion's eyes widened. This was it. Utter, fantastical release was almost upon him. The release of undeniable power, of streaming velocity and an eternal nobility for all living beings. Almost, Reckard. Almost.

 

“Rainbow Divide!!” He roared soulfully to the living darkness. A sudden flurry of bright crimson sparks exuded from the blade, falling onto the sphere below him and clinging on the sphere with a strange earthiness. At that point, the sword was no longer a carving of haunted diamond. It was a thousand, pure glass prisms reflecting millions of colors onto the angelic walls around him. Beautiful streaks of green, yellow and purple swiveled across his intensely concentrated skin, until a single blade of light grazed over his iris, and he softened his passionate grip. Then, just as his pupils dilated to an extreme, a single blue, triangled beam burst out of the weapon's tip, a mystical white aura surrounding it's lightening fast flow to Reckard's chest. “Retrieve! Yoreckard! Soreckard!” Suddenly, the beam engulfed Reckard in a stream of heavenly light, his face only barely showing any signs of disruption. Zexion, however, whose deep oversight overcame every blotch of celestial white, saw this with the utmost of distress. Rainbow…Divide? His worries lessened, though, as the white coating Reckard's body ceased for the moment, and the trail of neon blue twirled back into nothingness. Over? He stood latently like a statue, unsure of emotion. The twitches on Reckard's face slowly vanished, ebbing away the pain Zexion felt for him. It was quiet, only the faint echo of the enchantment's earthy ring. Yes. He slowly released the sword from his scarred hands, letting it fall carelessly to the floor as he stared Reckard down with weary eyes. Safe. At last. But that exact moment, Reckard's body flailed upwards, his face trembling in waves of unrecognizable fury. Unrecognizable to all but Zexion, of course. He bolted instantly, unwavering in his blitzing speed despite his shock. What was going on? National never—No! Don't move! His frantic thoughts suddenly got erratically interrupted, replaced with those of the unmistakable voice. It's voice. His sprint suddenly halted, right at the center axis between the two spheres. His feet stood frozen with the same shock he'd felt when seeing Reckard erupted, completely unchanged by its haunting appearance. What are you doing!? He thought obnoxiously, desperately trying to control the excruciatingly painful yearnings to be by Reckard's side. The process is almost complete. Follow his example, Zexion, like the scripture said. Reject all forms of consumption. Consumption? A trap—to be overtaken? Was this voice true? Would the angelic guardian, savior of light and the eternal heavens, really stoop to such lowly measures? A sharp grimace cracked across his face in anguish, one minuscule fang folding over his lip. Why did this have to happen! How did everything manage to utterly manipulate him, curbing his will like nothing more than a mere annoyance! He achingly slid his eyes to Reckard, scrounging the ground around him for any sort of inexistence support. He traveled up his non-moving body, begging him to come out and save him like before. But of course, the spasms had passed and only the occasion stutter poised uncertainly in his direction. At least he had done one thing right. Reckard was okay. His eyes never wavered, his lids slowly beginning to water after such a prolonged period of not blinking. No, he wasn't going to give such a despicable weapon such satisfaction.

 

Yes, yes! Cool your passions, boy. Your consciousness shall remain as reward for your patience. A small bit of him, the one totally swayed by the voice's majestic presence and nobility, felt eternally praised by this comment, quickly trying to extend it's gratitude to the rest of Zexion's body. But the stubborn, angrier side of him easily outweighed this perfect feeling, converting the astounding appraisal into teeth grinding insult. Reward! Just what kind of a hostage did it think he was! Just a miniscule, replaceable little pet to be rewarded from time to time!? He kept his eyes locked on Reckard, however, not bothering to bark out a probably useless quip in response. It was these times of complete fury and mixed confusion that reminded him of before, at the exact moment when all shock and frustration flooded in him with the true nature of The Iniquitous Being. Utter disgust washed over him at the time, horrified that such a heinous creature had ever absorbed him. Knowing that, one might find it difficult to empathize with Zexion when one of those terrifyingly familiar blobs of pure coal slithered down from the ceiling, and around Reckard's cradled position. No! What are you doing!! Stop it!! He demanded furiously inside him, franticly trying to escape from his binds. It is not of my hand, Conductor. Ho-Oh's spell has almost fallen into position. It crawled over his limbs, engulfing him in its dreadfully sticky being. Reckard, however, had a dreamy smile over his face, drowsily unaware of his fate. Zexion couldn't stand it any more. He had to bolt to Reckard's side, warding off that horrific gunk from his innocent stance. He lashed out with all his strength, whipping in all directions for a weak spot to slither out of. But as much as Zexion wished, no outward sign of struggle could be shown, only a twitching foot and a snarling face. Spiritual thrashing had no effect on the physical world. No Zexion, do not wear yourself out again. It will only make things more difficult.

 

He didn't respond, still wriggling violently inside for a way out of the blade's grasp. It's not working, he thought with a sudden burst, knowing it could read his sentiment. I—need a---physical struggle. He tried exerting his hands, but the most strength he could muster was the bare wiggle and pressure of his teeth, let alone any full force rebel. But then, something divine and miraculous streamed through his head, igniting his thoughts with the new passion of idea. Yes. Without a second thought, he bit down on his lower lip with a rash pressure, small trickles of searing red blood trickling down his chin in response. Yes! The broken skin, combined with the extreme spiritual spasms, shattered the barrier of control that hovered around him, his true control finally returning to him. He unclenched his jaw and bolted rapidly to Reckard's smothered location, now wading in a never-ending pool of black. Suddenly, something fast as light itself swiveled around his feet, causing him to crash to the floor in bitter defeat. On ground level, despite his wavy sight and distortion from the fall, he managed to see that it was an also devastating memorable streak of goo, the endlessly white one to be precise. It joined the vat of coal ahead of him, melting and blurring the substance until it was an undeniable gray. “Reckard!!” He gasped, scrambling up to his feet, and diving into the inky cloud without fear. But just as he was about to crash land on his slimy surface, it suddenly divided into two small oceans of gray, leaving Zexion to smash into the dim gray tiles below him. What!? Where did he go! He crawled back to his knees, curling his fist hotly. First, he would lunge onto the left one, hopefully disabling it, and then warding off the second until he could think of a better idea. Right, the perfect plan. He swerved his torso left, extending his toes in preparation for the leap, but something awe-inspiring completely, and willingly, stopped him in his tracks. It seemed they had jutted into magnificent pillars out of the corner of his eye, each slowly emitting fluttering strands of black and white. It carved itself into distant and abstract images, unable for Zexion to comprehend as of yet. His sight blurred, and swiveled its picture, constantly overlapping auras in the massive exchange of energies. Yes, of course. Them. Finally, the boy could actually make something of the obelisk; it's falling slivers quickly changing to a distinct black, and the column a bleached pallid. It was carving into something, like a blob, he thought at first. No, no a creature. A humanoid. A human! Its features had finally come into the light of recognition. A hand, looking as if made out of ice, froze exquisitely along a well-toned arm. Something trailed around its waist, light and wispy looking. A cloak. But at this point, he could no longer divert his attention to a single attribute. It was as if a pure opal statue stood before him, his clothes a variety of colors, of course, but his skin as white as any blizzard. It bore a soft neon blue shirt; his hands and arms easily engulfed its engrossing sleeves. A bright crimson line trailed along its cuffs, matching the shirt smoothly. Over it was an also sterling red jacket, it's sleeves dotted with an emerald light stroke that stretched along the back as well. Two long, protruding clover banners trailed gracefully off the coat's shoulders in strange unison. It was all held together by the most fantastic neck-guard he had ever seen. It was like the bottom of a knight's helmet, but as silky looking as the freshest spring gown. It was a dull vanilla, outlined with a thick border of blue-green and connected to the peachiness by the usually unrecognizable triangle at the end. But to Zexion, it's most noticeable attachment was the astounding garb on his head. It's eyes covered by cute streaks of auburn hair extending out of its rim, it was as if he bore the inversed colors of White Day, straight from Claus himself. A flowing Santa hat drooped merrily at its side, it's snowy white bulk outlined in a cheery scarlet, and an adorable cherry pompom on its tip.

 

Soreckard. It pulsed with that same energy. The eerily familiar energy of him. He glanced away, unattracted by the foreign pulse. The other pillar had to be reminiscent of some other energy, not one he was ashamed of at the time. He expected another performance like the first, but found that it had already changed into it's human like form, all withering white bits vanished from it's aura. It was, just as much the first, a porcelain skinned body, but it's clothes color scheme quite the opposite of the first's. Its outfit was for more simplistic than the other's, giving off a sort emphasis when compared to the elaborate designs around it. Its face was covered in long bounds of raven black hair; easily groping it's shoulders. His angelically white complexion made a sharp contrast, though it seemed to emit a far more friendly energy. Unlike the other's tightly organized costume, this one bore an almost childlike, long-sleeved shirt. The upper half was a serene, dark gray, with two radically different sleeve sizes. It's left sleeve looked far too short for the person, his hand and a bit of his wrist easily extending out of its length. It's right one, however, looked far too long for such a dainty looking creature to wear, almost treading to the floor in length. It was a darkly gray, cool shadows swirling down his sides in sweet unison. But halfway down the gothic attire, something strangely elegant wrapped around his arms and about halfway down his chest, bound tightly in an endless black. A strap of eternally black silk wound tightly around his elbows, almost acting like a border to the color below. From the chest down, it had changed from the illustrious coal to a soothingly light gray, the shorter sleeve only barely showing this transition. His pants were off the same, but ragged and chipped within their wavy surfaces. Two large cloths of black straddled around his waist, gently caressing his legs in protection. Its form was prominent, shadowy slate eyes looming over him in superiority.

 

He extended his arm towards the being, gently reaching out to skim that back of it's hand, sliding to the very tips. “Yoreckard,” he announced quietly, his eyes locked on its stony and emotionless face. Dusk. He scuffled backwards, trying to glare down the cheerfully attired column with his quickly receding confidence. They were here…they were always here. “Soreckard.” Dawn. He scraped the floor with the bottom of his slipper, pushing down on the silver plated base bitterly in his wobbly return to footing. A neutral expression expertly masked the impending dread he felt inside. Yoreckard of the night, Soreckard of the day. The eternal guardians of Reckard's entity. Zexion had once met these transforming pillars, once many ages ago. They had slithered out of him, summoned in the same fashion as what he had just seen. He was so confused when they came out, so shocked by the idea that his adoring protector actually contained two human beings inside him. But as always, there was nothing special about Reckard. Every living being had a heart, the link between the physical body and soul, and was divided into two sections, the shadows and sunlight that colored life's emotion. Hearts were usually frail and deficit. Only the strongest hearts could survive without protectors. Most guarded themselves through the human avatar, influencing drastic decisions with unexplainable accounts of misery or enlightenment. But some, as in the case of Reckard's surprisingly delicate soul indicated, needed more than just an earthbound character to manipulate. Yoreckard and Soreckard were the two physical manifestations of Reckard's divisions, usually choosing to remain dormant inside the vessel until unduly times of crisis. They had only come out once before. Yoru and Sora, as they called themselves otherwise. He sighed, fumbling with fingers slightly as he lowered his head downwards. Yes, it was all here. It was here, to be precise. Another sacred conductor, like his Memory Sword. One of unimaginable potential. It was a weapon for the twilight of Reckard's being, Yoru. Sora had lost his long ago. He would be nothing but a mere distraction. He glowered sternly at the sphere where Reckard had divide, glisteningly spotless after it's annual refreshment, as if Reckard never divided in the first place. He flung out his palm in front of the two statues with a reluctant enthusiasm, his eyes still locked on that same sphere. Force would have to be used, if necessary. But he was willing to do anything. “Retrieve.”

 

And at that signal, something stirred with vigorous life inside each of the statues. The right ones eyes suddenly flashed a luminous jade, exciting the many rings inside it with an untamed force of searing gold. The protector of light, his clearly anxious limbs wiggling with energy, slowly wisped a childish grin onto his face, eyes bursting with liveliness. His left leg suddenly burst out of its invisible bindings, the other appendages soon following. He jumped down from the small pedestal his summoning had created, and scoured the Quarry anxiously, as if searching for some kind of living organism. Things passed slowly, silencing invading and imposing in the empty space between the uncomfortable Zexion, and the dumbfounded guardian. But after what seemed like several minutes, it finally beamed in Zexion's direction, brimming with stupid realization. He jolted in front of him, a large smirk smeared across his face. “Zexion! It's been too long! Quarry, right?” Zexion nodded stolidly, secretly surprised that he was so casual after such a gelatinous summoning. “Yoru was watching it for a while, y'know, trying to clear through the dusks of the future using that whole aura divination mumbo jumbo. He didn't, for once in his life, figure out why you wanted us, though. You still okay?” He stood awestruck, unable to contain an endlessly shocked gape of surprise. What was wrong with him? Didn't he remember anything?

 

“Y-yes, Sora. I am,” he managed to cough out, still trying to get himself together. Sora was always the forgetful one. He knew that from they're very first meeting, no matter how short it lasted. He always got lost in his childish fantasies, daydreaming whenever he got the chance. He could never concentrate on something for too long when that happened; most of his assignments given to him by his superior usually being forgotten in a pool of carelessly exuded memories not too long afterwards. But still, to forget something so…he cringed, not wanting to complete the thought. Yoru, however, was always the stern, insightful diviner of shadows. He, surely, would remember such a--vital memory. Sora, unaltered by Zexion's clearly distressed composure, kept chirping along with a juvenile prattle in his voice.

 

“I guess you need us to do something? Or maybe you just wanna have a good time, huh! I hope so, `cause you know how Yoru gets about anything that doesn't involve some intense philosophical wax, or whatever.” His words felt fake and distant, as if someone trying to pose as a well remembered patron of the arts. He gave empty nods to each meaningless rant about his other half, the useless complaints of being either stingy or closed minded. Yoreckard had to come out eventually. But eventually wasn't quick enough. Come on! Get over here already! He mentally demanded. “Hm?” Asked Sora, slightly interrupted by the obvious twinge of annoyance spread across Zexion's face. “You're starting to look a little pale, Zexion. Maybe you should Yoru.” He nodded vigorously in response, eager to slip out of such a ridiculous child's grasp. Sora's smiled softened a bit, and he wandered back into the shadows near the right statue, whom Zexion knew probably wasn't anymore, un-encouraged to return. The sentinel of light was so insecure; he vaguely wondered why he wasn't already cast into nothingness by the heart's better half after that conversation. He even lost his own sacred conductor! A while ago, where things were simpler, his own weapon to defend the enemies of light was swept away from him, making him next to useless compared to Yoreckard, whose scythe was still perfectly operational. Reckard seemed to be in good hands, though, as Reckard's core seemed to be have been expertly protected by the intruder's spell. As far as I cantell, he thought with a spawn of unrelenting chills, terrifyingly frightful going down his back. He didn't want to force himself to think about that.

 

Then, standing tall and prominent in his dreary gray attire, Yoreckard stepped coolly out of the blackness, his eyes sharpened with an illustrious azure. He looked up with a distained pout rooted firmly atop his face. “Zexion. Out of all the places to call us, you choose the one valley where it's purity jarred my Sight! This had better be good.” Nothing? Nothing? This was impossible. Zexion stood frozen, placidly ignoring the greeting he prepared. Oblivion slowly seeped into him, sadness rushing out and in, constantly overlapping with small strings of hate. How could this honestly be!? He couldn't have forgotten. No, no one could have forgotten!! He tried glancing over to Sora, his vision hazy and shivering with fright. He was gawking at him with a raised eyebrow; obviously pondering why he hadn't spoke yet. If they truly remembered, they would never act like this. None would be the same after that. Yoru's face was out of sight, eerily waving shadows slowly consuming his body. Why did it always have to be him? Why did he always have to be alone? Why didn't the Celestials come and save his day!? “Stop it Zexion!” A sudden screech of a high-pitched squeak bolted through hi head, stringing together Yoreckard's words. He straightened his eyes, focusing the flowing streaks of silvery blur into one concentrated image. Sora looked like he was frozen in time, his expression the exact same as before, but not blinking. Yoru's hand lay casually on his shoulder. “I'm sorry we can't remember, Zexion. We aren't human beings, like you. Entity is memory itself. For some reason, it seems that two spectrums are pulling at our auras. Sora has gravitated towards the new one, forgetting whatever event you remember. I, too, am attracted to it, but by spiritual attainment with the dusks of the old void have allowed me too…empathize with you. I'm not sure why, but it's better if we just return to the heart now. Entity is never supposed to be drawn from such a clean field of consciousness. Especially not with that thing you summoned us with.”

 

“…” The nothingness slowly began to drain away, replaced with a certain feeling of dread. Was it all that hopeless? He met Yoreckard's sight, a satisfied smile brandished joyfully on his face. He slowly took his hand off of Soreckard, and he immediately jumped up, blinking rapidly and wiping his eyelids with his sleeve unquestionably. It was as if he had been paused in a movie, his body forced to deal wit the consequences as his consciousness stood still. Zexion couldn't help but put on a fake smile to please them. Yoru was a very talented sorcerer. He was so attuned with the shadows of the heart, his enchantments ranged from reading and implementing messages into minds, to freezing entity in it's track and seeing the future through divination. Truly remarkable, concluded Zexion with a sniffle. If only he could stay longer. Yoru whispered something into Sora's ear and with a disappointed sigh, started jogging over to the twelfth door on the end of the Quarry. “Yoru,” Zexion spoke quietly, still paranoid that Sora might weed himself back into the conversation. “I—“ But his voice was cut off by the sharp, but kind tone of Yoru.

 

“We need to go. Now.” He said attentively. His smile turned into a worried frown as he dusted himself off.

 

“Why Yoru? Why can't you just stay with me, let Sora take over for a while?” He asked troublingly. Yoru would be so much better than those two bumbling idiots he's probably have as partners. He could detach from the organization with his help, destroy the sword, and he would protect him from whatever Gatherer's might come to pick them up. Then everything would be fine. Completely, utterly fine.

 

“No.” He stated bluntly.

 

`What!?' Roared Zexion, curling up his fists in fierce determination. “It'll be perfect Yoru! You can travel with me; we can escape from the Department with your help! Reckard can be again with your help!” He drew in a sharp breath; surprised he had actually said his name. That was what Yoru was, wasn't he? Reckard. Ultimately, he would be nothing more than the heart it protects. Although his anger had not yet subsided, a bit of him prepared to comfort a shattered Yoru. But as always, Yoru was not as easily broken.

 

“No, Zexion. Entity does not belong on the human field of physicality. I must wander the heart's angelic realm, warding away the evils drawn to such a pure soul. As you know, this would be much more to ask from Sora than what would be practical. I do think, even without a conductor, he possesses an inner strength to be nurtured later on. I, as powerful as I am, cannot say the same.” Zexion sighed lowly, defeated. Of course, he knew this would be the answer. Things would never go his way under such a vile house. He glanced depressingly over to the twelfth door, where Sora was playfully skimming the patterns and deigns around it with a curious intent. If only… “I have sensed many things since arriving here. The dusks of the future here are also accompanied by light, a place where I am poorly outfitted. I cannot help but wonder whether the premonitions I seek here are real or not, whether the fates I see of you and your friends are final. I am only a product of the heart, after all. A product of existence.” He paced sluggishly over to the center point between the doors and the second sphere. “And all existence is temporary.” What was he talking about? Why did these two always have to go off into their own little world and completely forget about him? But he would never feel exact resentment for Yoru, or Sora. They were both Reckard at heart, and he would never despise any part of him. Zexion, caught once more in his daze of perpetual thoughts, didn't notice as Yoru walked calmly towards him, and a thick, unlatching noise emitted from his back. He lightly touched the boy's shoulder, instantly snapping Zexion out of his hazy daydreams. Automatically, he knew what to say.

 

“Can you tell me something, Yoru? Do you see any—any-“ He paused, trying to force the sentence out of his choked up throat. “-hope in my future? For me—and Reckard?” Yoru's calm expression did not change, and he merely turned his back to Zexion with a quick swish, something rattling in his hands as he walked towards the door ahead.

 

“I cannot prescribe a fortune to you, Zexion. To tamper with the future, regardless of the outcome, will only bring disaster.” He stopped for a moment, giving the greatly disappointed Zexion a chance to catch up with him in more than one aspect. “I cannot withstand this dominion for much longer. He must go now, Zexion. And you, with his shield.” Then, a surge of realization passed Zexion. That was why National ordered him to the Quarry in the first place. To get a certain object from Yoru, one he thought he was eternally bound to. Never did he assume that it would leave his hands without a struggle. They had reached the door now, Sora jumping eagerly beside hem, itching to get out of his intense boredom near the gate. With a swift motion of Yoru's hand, and a searing streak of acute screeching across the lightened sanctuary, he threw something long and slim at Zexion, drowned in too many shadows to be specified. That's it! The scythe of shadows! Zexion snatched it in the air with one hand, his grip unwavering with the sudden surge of adrenaline through him. He lowered it to his palms, his eyes grazing its magnificent surface. It was a long, jet-black pole adorned with many braids of white, the occasional bead of gray and silver scattered about as well. It's hilt was a large, safari green triangle, the inside carved out as if was some sort of handle. But at it's much more attractive end, a lengthy stretch of dark silver metal extended from the pole's tip, a sharp, white point at it's peak. But it's most beautiful feature, easily drowning out the rest of the scythe entirely if not for Zexion's keep inspection, was the six thick, elongated sterling gold flutes opposite of silver blade. This, Zexion thought, was surely the weapon of a dusk guardian.

 

He looked up once more, his brightly aglow with excitement and thankfulness. “Y-yoru! Thank you so—“ But the thank was cut short by the sudden observation that Yoru and Sora had disappeared. Instead, Reckard, complete and in his ever-dreamy expression, was sleeping lazily as he leaned cluelessly against the wall near the twelfth door. For a moment, Zexion was stunned with sock. But after a few moments, it became obvious about what had happened. They combined while I was looking at the scythe. There wasn't a trace of their presence left, not even a small bit of threaded color accidentally left behind from their rebirth. They—they didn't even say goodbye. He stared at the ground stonily, trying to contain the great wave of sadness that managed to breach his mental defenses. Yes, yes, it was probably better that way. It was so much better for him to be left disgraced, and shamed, clearly unloved by anyone and everyone. He walked stolidly to Reckard's spot, still struggling to keep himself together, and lifted him lovingly to his side. Reckard was all that was left. Not that he would try to salvage anything else of any other person. He kicked open the twelfth door with the heel of his slipper, an enormous flood of light soon engulfing the room afterwards. He gazed into mass further, expecting to see some kind of island or town to signal where he would be going. The only sight, however, was the endless, electric white of the void. But he really knew where Reckard was going, anyway. Johto, of course. He smiled genuinely for the first time that day, aiming directly at Reckard's completely oblivious expression. He would find Reckard again one way or another. He would never stop until he and Reckard were reunited, to continue their journey. He placed Reckard firmly in front of him, also in front of the white door. A part of him wished they could both just leap into the white washed void, to finally escape from the Department's grasp. But his better side easily won that argument, knowing fully that they would be captured, retained, and always on the run before that would happen. If they always had to dash out their presence, he might never find an antidote for Reckard. And if he didn't then, it was a good estimate that he might not ever get to do so. No, he was going to work with the Department for now. They had the resources, the people, the money. One day, he would be free of their haunting restraints. Now! His arm jutted in front of him, pushing Reckard completely into the pallid realm inside the gate, the sadness finally breaking through. He had to do it now, when he was most vulnerable and distracted, or else chances were, he never would. Reckard's shell flew majestically through the water like blankness, simple white streaks flowing around him with an almost aqua glow.

 

Separation was inevitable for him. Almost, Reckard.

 

--

--

 

“Almost.”

 

--

--

 

 

Rewrite

 

Then, standing tall and prominent, draped in his dreary costume, came Yoreckard, his eyes lit with the sharpest azure he had ever seen. A distained pout took root firmly upon his face. “Zexion! Out of all the places to call us, it was in the one spot where the spiritual purity jarred my Sight! This had better be good.” Zexion's face stuck in a frozen position, not of hatred or sadness, but complete oblivion. How could this be? How could this possibly be!? He couldn't have forgotten. No, no one could have forgotten! Suddenly, he raised his palm to his unlashing side, trying to latch onto something supportive and familiar. His wavering eyes glanced over at Soreckard, who looked as dazed and confused as ever. The shadows were consuming Yoru. Why did he have to always be alone! Why did he always be the one to suffer! “Stop it, Zexion!” A sudden blast of a vicious voice roared inside his head. He looked back up, and met the impending glare of Yoru's disapproval. “I'm sorry to say, but it's seems Reckard's entity.has frozen our memories. We weren't supposed to come out this way. Not with that—that thing you used.” His anger slowly seeped away, as if some kind of celestial force was absorbing it for him. He adjusted his eyes, and met Yoru's calm and figured state once more, clear and dominant of the situation. Suddenly, his mind flooded itself with a surge of incredible, bliss-like realization. Yoru had tapped into a new dimension of power through his expert sorcery of the dark. Using the living essence from all beings, he could slither his way into the future and predict the fate of all he wished. His power was growing, everly, constantly growing. The ability of mind reading had to be second nature by now.

 

He stumbled back upwards, meeting the confused gawk of Sora, and the happily satifisfied glac eof Yoru. “Yoru.” He spoke quietly, trying to weed Sora out of the converstion.

 

Yoru says entitycan't withstand memories. Suddenly with sees a premonition. Rushes Zexion to the door, telling them Reckard has to leave. Zexion say's But—I have to ge”. Yoru unlatches it from his back, and throws it to Zexion. They have a short conversation before Soreckard rushes over, and Zexion pushes the combined body of Reckard down to new Bark town. Almost “almost.”

 

 

 

Rewrite

At that signal, something instantly stirred inside each of the statues core. The color-drenched protector's irises glowed with a sudden flash of jade, exciting the rings around his pupil with an illustrious honey gold. A playful smile suddenly wisped onto his face, his limbs slowly begging to wiggle with an eager freedom. Suddenly, his left leg burst out of its invisible prison, his other appendages soon following. His face suddenly shrunk into a wizened pucker, eagerly scanning the room for any signs of life. His tags flowed divinely behind him, completely ignoring Zexion's presence while scouring the room for any others. Things stood quiet for what seemed like several minutes, until it finally beamed in Zexion's direction in stupid realization. He jolted over next to him, a large grin spread over his face. “Hello, Zexion. I assume we're in the Quarry.” Zexion nodded stolidly, secretly surprised that he was being so casual about their summoning. “Yoru's been watching it for a while, the whole spectrum of aura or whatever he uses in divination. He didn't see what you wanted us for, though. Reckard's still okay though, right?” Zexion stood awestruck, unable to contain a gaping mouth anymore. Didn't he remember anything?

 

“Yes he is, Sora, “ he managed to scrape together, still recovering from the shock. Sora was always the forgetful one, too lost in his childish daydreams to remember anything for too long. But to forget something so…he didn't want to complete the thought. Yoru was always the smart, insightful one. He, surely, would remember something so…vital. Sora, unaltered by Zexion's face, continued talking with a juvenile prattle in his voice. As far as I cantell, he thought with a spawn of unrelenting chills going down his back.

 

“I guess you need us to do something, right? Or did ya just call us up for a good time! I hope so, `cause y'know how Yoru gets about having fun.” The words felt fake and distant to Zexion, as if said through an entirely different than the Sora and Reckard he knew. He didn't answer his on his occasional rants about his oter half, only giving the occasional nods now and then. Yoreckard had to come out soon. Come out now! He mentally demanded. “Hm? Hey, Zexion, maybe you should see Yoru. You're getting a bit pale, y'know.” He nodded visously, eager to get out of such a ridiculous child's grasp. He disappeared into the shadows behind him, unexcited to turn back. The guardian of Reckard's light was so insecure; he vaguely wondered why he wasn't already cast into nothingness after that conversation. I mean, he even lost his sacred conductor because of that. A while ago, his own weapon to defend light inside him was swept away with the wind, making him next to useless compared to Yoreckard. It seemed to be in good hands, however, since Reckard's core was still safe. As far as he could tell. Finally, he swerved around, meeting the gaze of a completely animated Yoreckard, a hauntingly calm pair of eyes set firmly on atop his frowning exposure. His eyes were were completely black, but brightly outlined by a ring of superfluous blue light. Reality had landed.

 

“Zexion! What is the meaning of this? We can't just pop up any time you like! We have to be out when there is trouble, and I, even with al my divination, did not foresee any. I hope you have a good excuse.” Zexion's face lit up with excitement, rushing over to the goth

 

 

 

Rewrite

He extended his arm, and gently graced the back of his hand, sliding down to its tips. “Yoreckard,” He announced quietly, his eyes focused on the frozen beings face. He whirled around quickly, facing the obviously cheerful attire of the other. They're here…always here. “Soreckard.” His kicked himself back up to his feet, a silent expression expertly masking his massive dread. Yoreckard of the night. Soreckard of the day. The eternal guardians of Reckard's entity. Zexion had met them once before, many, many ages ago. He was first skeptical as to what these guardians were; how did Reckard manage to possess two human beings inside him? But of course, there was nothing special about Reckard. Everything had the divisions of the heart, the shadows and sunlight that colored emotion to it's fullest. Most hearts defended themselves through the human avatar, influencing decisions with hot anger or chilling sadness. But some, as in Reckard's surprisingly frail soul indicate, needed more than an earthbound character to manipulate. Yoreckard and Soreckard were the two physical manifestations of the heart's secret protectors, usually going by the personas Sora and Yoru. They had only been drawn out once before, in times of crisis. Zexion sighed, fumbling uneasily with his hands as he lowered his head. Yes, that it was it. He had to retrieve it from Yoreckard, or Yoru. Sora was just a mere distraction. He looked sternly down at the spot where Reckard had once been, it's glittering surface acting as if Reckard was never there. His eyes narrowed in ate, and he reluctantly flung out his palm to the two statues. “Retrieve.”

 

 

Rewrite. It was a cool, darkly gray, extending down each of his sleeves elegantly before being blocked halfway on the arms and chest. An endlessly black ribbon was tied around his arms and chest, binding them stiffly to his sides. Below it, the second half of the garment had suddenly fizzled a soothingly light gray in contrast to the stark colors above it. His ragged, but also enchantingly soft slate, slopped unevenly down his ankles, bits and pieces of chipped leather that picked off during the ages showing dramatically. A much prettier sight surrounded it; two large cloths of black curled around his waist almost like a skirt. It stood prominently, shadowy eyes out of range.

 

Rewrite. The right one, however, looked far too long for the being, almost treading to the floor in it's vanity. But an even stranger sight appeared between them, around the elbows to be exact. An endless black ribbon was tightly bound around him, not just his chest but over it's arms as well. The shirt's colors under the ribbon also changed abruptly, the cuffs the same dark gray, but the bulk suddenly changing into a soothingly light gray. His ragged, skirt-like pants trailed carelessly on the ground next to his feet, two clothes of an also impenetrable black.

 

Bibliography for personality report in Social Studies binder.

 

 

 

Rewrite.He crawled back onto his knees, expecting to lunge at the left one with a fierce enthusiasm, but instead found him self awe-struck at the sight before him. They had suddenly jutted up into two thick pillars at the corner of his eye, small bits of decaying white and black occasionally fluttering off its surface. It slowly carved itself into distant and abstract images, constantly swiveling and shaking with their past aura. Then, Zexion finally found something he could recognize on one of the pillars. A hand. A cloak. A hat. The right one's falling slivers were becoming more and more black, eventually being the only color expelled from its body, making the pillar an extremely bleached pallid. It had slowly carved itself into some sort of blob. No, a humanoid. A human! It was a fantastic sight. A pure opal statue of a seemingly lifeless person stood solemnly, dressed in the most elaborate of garbs. It had a soft neon blue, trimmed red long-sleeved shirt on, it's cuffs a sterling crimson. Over it was a jacket of red as well, but dotted with a bold, emerald-soft green stroke around the back and sleeve. Two protruding, long banners of clover trailed gracefully off each of its shoulders. It was all held together with the most fantastic neck guard he'd had ever seen. It was like the bottom of a knight's helmet, but as silky looking as the freshest gown of spring. It was a dull peach vanilla, outlined with a thick line of blue-green and connected at the end with a tiny, normally unrecognizable triangle. But to Zexion, the most astounding sight was what was on his head. His eyes covered by the cute streaks of auburn hair protruding out of its rim, it was as if someone inversed the colors of a White Day hat, from Santa himself. It was trimmed red; it's bulk being a snowy white, with another deep cherry pompom attached adorably at the end.

 

Zexion noticed its skin hadn't changed to a normal color like its clothes had, still remaining porcelain white. It pulsed with some sort of familiar energy. Some eerily familiar energy. He quickly changed views to the other pillar, quickly adverting any more sustention to the previous waves. He noticed, however, it was no longer a column—it also had changed into a porcelain-skinned human. The color of his clothes, however, seemed the exact opposite of the one before him. Rewrite. It's outfit was for more simplistic than the other's, giving off a sort emphasis when compared to the elaborate designs around it.

 

Only it's skin was opal, not it's clothes!!

 

 

 

. He didn't reply, still trying to wriggle his way out of the blade's grasp. It's not working, he thought with a sudden burst, knowing it could read his every word. I need a physical rebel. He could only barely feel around his limbs, let alone any sort of flailing. But then, a spark of miraculous divination came him, as he felt his teeth with wiggle with disapproval. Without a second thought, he rashly bit down on his lower lip, soon stemming bright red streaks of blood down his chin. Yes! The break, combined with his inner thrashes, broke through the barrier of control surrounding him, and his control came back to him. He unclenched his jaw and rapidly bolted to Reckard, who was now wading in a pool of never-ending black. Suddenly, a bright white spurt of goo blasted out of its center, finally engulfing him in a maze of rapidly swirling, mixing gray. “Reckard!!” He screamed instantaneously, darting to Reckard again. The miasma of gray suddenly stopped, and swiveled onto different directions. Zexion knelt down, reaching down to dig the slime out, but was shocked with an electric yellow stream of light on his hand. W-what! Suddenly, it split into two globs, the spot where Reckard was being completely empty. The two gray blobs quivered anxiously, the shocked Zexion too surprised to move. The blobs suddenly jutted up into pillars, and slowly carved themselves into something, something humanoid. A hand. A cloak. A hat.

 

 

White and black slime. Biting lip, blood, loss of control, inky cloud, Yoreckard, Soreckard.

 

Zexion stopped dead, his face froze with emotionless

 

 

Rewrite Over? He stood latently like a statue in that position, deeply shocked an uncertain of the situation. Reckard was still, that final twitches of the blank beam erased from his thoughts. Yes. But at that exact moment, Reckard's body flailed up randomly, his face scrunched up with a kind of unrecognizable anguish. But not unrecognizable to Zexion. He suddenly let go of his transfixed blade, letting it fall carelessly to the floor as he bolted for Reckard's location. He bent down immediately, cradling him in his arms with a greatly distressed expression. Reckard! Don't!

 

Eraser.

Rewrite

 

It stopped there, leaving the boy with a sort of intimacy he never experienced with national before. How had he known so much, disguising it so well within that maze of childishness, constantly bombarding him with false personalities? He finally took the steps forward to the feather, and picked it up with extremely careful hands. It felt delicate and crisp in his hands, as if a glass sheet swiveled with energy about his palms. The lulling, secretive gold clouds were behind him now, a renewed feeling worthiness stirring through his veins, urging him further and further. It was time; this time, he truly knew what to do with Reckard. He was spiritually exhausted; his emotions so far were merely stoic observations, never truly reaching beyond the point of perky interest. Perhaps when Ho-Oh's energy collided wit his own, the connection would result in the return of his stubborn angst-ness, though a part of him detested that side of whiny incompleteness. What he saw next, however, he would never think of detesting. He half expected it, though some small, vulnerable piece inside him was still surprised by his appearance. Reckard was lying in his usual position upon the circle across from Zexion's, which he conveniently found himself on. The separation was almost upon them, in more ways than one. His outward appearance retained its stony position, but his insides felt different. They felt arm and fuzzy, devoid of any precise emotion, but enough for him to ignore the absentminded toss he threw the feather. Reckard. Your almost there, Reckard. Almost.

 

His sword puffed out of nowhere, and he held it straight in front of him, the end pointing at Reckard like a tray. Then, the feather, with obvious bits of decaying white matter breaking off it, gently laid itself on the blades center. This was it. The time to release, Reckard. The time of undeniable power, of streaming vigilance and a ferocity towards all living creatures. Almost.

 

“Rainbow Divide!!” He roared soulfully to the living darkness, carelessly inviting the stream of sparkling red prisms that suddenly appeared on the sword. It literally did reflect thousands of colors on the wall around them, beautiful steaks of light racing across the sky. But then, a single prism of the burst white sprung out of the sword's tip and latched itself to Reckard's chest, the bottom side down.

 

It was almost time for it, almost there before exchanging goodbyes. His stolid appearance stayed in it's stony

 

ughstion ed; his emtions

 

Separation was inevitable. But he would never stop. Never.

 

 

 

His eyes strained through the pearly glow around it,

 

REWRITE REWRITE REWRITE REWRITE REWRITE_____________|

 

It was unmistakable; it spiritually reeked of the legendary being of life, Ho-Oh. By the estimated science of Celestial studies, Ho-Oh supposedly created the three guardians. He longed to touch it, to fondle it in his tainted hands. His eyes narrowed, trying to visualize the intense energy he sensed masked within the feather's core. His eyes strained through the pearly glow, and instead of finding another powerful entity behind it, there was actually a passage of text on the ground underneath (though the feather still sensed immeasurably strong). He his eyes fought the strain of the azure haze and managed to read the bold printed text, elegant in it's handwriting.

 

A blessing has graced the Quarry. Whether or not out of their choosing, the Celestial's power shall forever be bound to this shrine of fantastic magic. As the weaker, lesser legends pin to the wall in acquired rank, the most everlasting of beings reside within the two spheres ahead. If a stray feather be taken out, act swift before the utmost power the feather has burns itself out from the unworthy environment, though more holy than most. Place your most desired wish on the second sphere, and raise your sacred object to draw on the legends power. Do not raise your expectations, though. The magic of the Celestials is more real and mythic than we had ever imagined. It may entrance and bewitch even the most simple of objectives, manipulating your greed and manifesting it's self in a new wish, a wish in which it escapes the Quarry's barrier and digitigrades in the unholy winds of humanity's earth. Grasp firm control of nature's elements, meld it to your hearts content, and never let it consume you.

 

Zexion shivered a moment at the last sentence, but continued reading despite.

 

After your wishes have been granted, seized, or destroyed, you must exit through out one of the twelve doors. Using the most powerful Celestial's grace, the twelve portals beyond the spheres lie, each manifesting themselves in the most worthy and strategic poets of the spiritual earth, masked by the temporary physical world. Befit your desires, and the true door you shall see with Ho-Oh's true eye.

 

It created the three guardians according to assumed science.

 

place

room Unnoticeably

 

But as his eyes gazed the hazy gold clouds for clues, his next observation left him gaping.

 

A single, golden feather lay daintily atop the blonde light below. Crimson streaks brushed across its tips, tiny bits of red dye brushing onto the worn sky under it. A feather? Ho-Oh? Could it be? Could it really, truly be? He followed the small trail up and along the mural, and found a completely red soaked paragraph of thick black text. He read it solemnly, pronouncing each name with the utmost of importance.

 

Legends shall forever bind the construct of curiosity, amplifying their mysterious origins until it has been daring enough o be proven, or wild enough to sweep back into inexistence. But

 

Yes, it had to be. Celestials were real and that was what powered

 

 

 

 

Suicune catly silkily water like lankily

 

 

REWRITE REWRITE REWRITE REWRITE REWRITE ++++++++++NOW

But even Zexion's mild disapproval of Celestials could not ignore the awesome sight before him. It depicted three majestic creatures, each clearly employing a sacred color in their flamboyancy. They bowed nobly to the golden skies above, each on a lone pillar of limestone riddled with ivy green vines. Red, blue and yellow. The three colors most seen through civilian Celestial sightings. The first was an electric yellow, deep black strokes trailing brilliantly down it's flowing fur, mysterious silver twinges of metal sticking awkwardly out of it's shadowed mask. Raikou, he thought instantly. It matched the Department's small sect of Celestial descriptions perfectly, right down to the metal twinges. His perkily interested eyes flickered over to the next animal, a great, roaring dog-like creature, one slate colored brace around each of it's magnificently furry form, long strands of darkened hair straying over the previous metal.

a slate colored sheath around each of its ankles. Shimmering white

 

 

But even Zexion's mild disapproval of could not disregard the awesome sight the painter had conjured. It was of the single most flamboyant creatures Zexion had ever seen.

 

Cheu

 

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!STOP HERE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!STOP HERE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Or not. Look below.

Draw your strength un-guiltily from the all-forgiving Celestials.

 

At the end of what seemed like several minutes, a pristine, silver door appeared through the halls billowing shadows. The boy stopped his eager footsteps, smiling eagerly as he silently acknowledged the door. The Quarry was just up ahead. The inside looked almost illuminated, as if someone had entered before. But that's preposterous, he thought casually. National had cleared the mansion, and Nine didn't seem to be in any condition to tackle such impending terror. But it's gone now, he sighed peacefully. He destroyed it. Fortunately, a strong draft of ginger easily distracted Zexion from thinking any more of it. It smelt rich with fresh power. It was something so indescribable, only an intense ounce of ginger could compare. But whatever the smell, it was for him to ignore the slightly cracked paragraph written on the doors center, various symbols dancing around it. Zexion's next sight easily put him in awe. It was gigantic, the floor easily matching a ballroom's and it's ceiling reaching at least forty feet in the air. Pillars of fantastic heights covered the walls in the room's spiral shaped format. Next to him, great paragraphs of text were carved into their rocky ore, while straight ahead of him; twelve doors had been breached through the pillars. Everything was incredible silver, the electric yellow light bouncing off every mirrored tile, devoid of origin. He walked forward, careful not to stain the floors with his darkness tainted personage. It felt truly true here. As the bleakness of the Department was left behind, this new, platinum energy filled him with invigoration. It was unrelentingly good. The sunlight felt real. It's walls felt safe, and the door felt so far away.

Stop here instead.

He walked forward, and grazed his palm on the engrossing murals that engulfed several pillars within many shades of red, blue and yellow. Three birds were flying about a peachy, ginger sky. One was floating high up in the sky, surrounded by a pool of dark and rumbling clouds. It was a striking gold, it's spiked and jagged wings outlined in black for complement. Its beak was high in the air, as if commanding the vicious thunderbolts crashing down on the dirt brown island below. Another bird had been pushed back by something, almost crashing into the summoned electricity. It looked graceful even as its beating red eyes froze in shock. It's majestic, sapphire wings flowed silkily from the oncoming wind, bits of what seemed like ice shards breaking in the air around it. Its left wing, however, looked slightly stiffened as Zexion realized it was coated in an extremely azure coating of ice; easily matching it's skin.

 

But most shockingly of all, in the sky between the two birds, a sinister looking avian was surrounded in a whirlpool of crimson fire. This one's wings were coated in destructive embers; its piercing blue eyes coldly calculating the battle below while its beak unleashed massive strings of blaze onto the charred battlefield. It almost looked like it was enjoying the havoc below. Across from them were three jumping dogs, to Zexion's confusion. However, they looked like none of the dogs he'd seen. The first one was a bright yellow like the other, except in place of spiked wings and a grand beak, it's bore a slick hide and two cerulean bits of twine tangled behind it's skull shaped mask. Along it's sides were black lines as well, but this one seemed far less proud of them. Next to that was a fairly large lion-like being, crouched down and roaring into the skies as something viciously red came bursting out of the ground in front of it. It was drenched in long, shaggy tufts of chocolate fur, but was surprisingly white washed around the chest. By it's legs were four, iron cuffs bound tightly around its ankles. But the most miraculous quality of its form was the light blue spikes jutting out of it's back in perfect unison, unleashing an ever-continuing streak of the purest white smoke.

 

As majestic and ever flowing the smoke was, truly the most magnificent creature was the one watching over the battle peacefully on the branch of a large oak. It was a soothing, cerulean blue with white bubbles dotted along its side in divine luxury. But

 

Corporal

 

Next to that as an extremely furry, chocolate drenched

 

Long past the ages in which the ancients have acted swiftly, engaging their fury onto the humble planet of earth. Extended told Ribbons about Bubba.

 

The Axis Human-

The Quarry- Signal Room

Up in the sky between the two avians and surrounded by a whirlpool of crimson fire,

 

One was high up in the sky, surrounded by many dark and shadowed clouds. It was an exhilarating gold, it's spiked and jagged wings outlined in black, it's beak and rose high up to the clouds as if letting out a roar.

 

was an exhilarating

yellow

[Put in Zexion's recognition of the Celestials on the walls here]

 

But there was only one reason he was here today. Reckard. He had to find him quickly—it was probably for the best if he could get this over with quickly. He withdrew from the intoxicating aroma and quickly raced ahead near the twelve doors. A small, chocolate blob was slowly coming into view as the doors got closer and closer. Eventually, he saw him laying on what seemed like a roughly etched

 

The sight of the Quarry suddenly put Zexion in awe

 

 

Rhodes quest to become an Archangel

Reckard becomes Archangel

Rhodes gains Ghost Cloak

 

Ghost

Archangel

 

 

 

“What happened!?” Snarled the fierce Zexion before viciously swiping at the air with a balled up fist. How did he get caught on sleeping on the ground of such pitiful guards? How did those sands and light, and slime—but an urgent thought quickly wiped away any more of such petty worries. Reckard. He looked around him clearly shedding with sweat. He wasn't here. His head burned hotly with vivid anger, his fists whipping wildly in the front of him. What in the world happened! Had he really just taken a nap in the Department like a mindless little toddler!? Calm, his relaxed, well organized self suggested. Retrace your steps; do not run off with such a hothead. The voice was right, his better judgment declared and his angrier side grudgingly subsided with a final jab to the air. Where did his ignorant, priority displaced journey begin? He remembered feeling very happy at one point. Then something dark and cruel descended on him, but it only amplified his power. After that, it seemed to isolate into thick, lavender sand. Zexion cringed in remembrance. That was when all hope was lost, like a million shivers constantly ran up his spine. But of course, he felt startlingly better as he sank into the sand and watched the aqua sake collide with a strange, far off door. Then the light came and here he was, frustrated and confused.

 

The happiness felt very familiar somehow. Like he had experienced it once before, such a glee he could never forget. It was very unworldly, supernatural even. He boy

 

 

But the fierce personality of his earlier self had quickly blocked the last thought from finishing. “What happened!?” He snarled angrily before viciously swiping at the air with a

]balled up fist. So little Zexion decided to take a nap, huh!? Oh no, he forgot his blanket! He swiftly ground his teeth in frustration, once more jabbing his invisible troubles. Cool down, said a calm voice in the back of his head. Retrace your steps; you can handle this without any explosions. But a strong side of him despised this idea, greatly preferring a long run down the seemingly endless corridors. But his better judgment won over this side, and gave in with a final whip around.

 

 

 

As he sunk faster into the secretive pile, he thought he saw something glowing wildly on his chest. It was a livid blue, looking briefly like a flame ignited among deep, purple waves. It spread all across his body, and he suddenly felt very cold. He felt the sand stop, and the flames grow higher and higher on his frail, and endangered body. He heard the stark crackle of burning rocks, and a smell of heavy ginger fell the hole. But he also felt something slip away, slithering off his back like a graceful, cerulean serpent. Maybe his eyes deceived him, but he thought he saw a small hole suddenly open in the snake's path, something like a door in the center of it. It looked like it was made of brimstone, a light gray, cellar door with a large paragraph of script etched into it's front. Finally, the fire broke through. An extremely bright window of light poured in through, completely whiting out the walls around him, and destroying the remainder of sand behind him. Just as the light engulfed him, he saw the blue streak shoot forward, just escaping the blank consumption and bombard the gate with an aqua burst of color. Then, just as the white struck him, he remembered.

 

He was laying on his back, eagle-spread and his eyes tightly fastened. He groaned a bit as he started to feel the rough surface he had been sleeping on for so long. He gently flickered one eye open, feeling very tired and confused on what he was doing. He felt strangely anxious, like he had forgotten something drastically important. He leaned upwards and saw that he was in the middle of a spotless hall, sparkling with calm. He shifted his hands around him, vaguely trying to remember what he was expecting. Then, it all flooded back to him. He had to get through the halls! What had he been doing here, napping like a child! He needed to get him to the Quarry! He needed to get him. He jumped in shock and realized Reckard wasn't latched onto him anymore. He frantically switched his head left and right, desperately searching for any discreet clue of his departure. He couldn't lose him again! Never! He dashed forward completely unaware of what was going on and what corridor he had suddenly appeared in—he had to find him. He couldn't miss the release—they both couldn't. It seemed like very long hallway, and he felt like several minutes had passed by the time he saw the door shaped opening in the wall, strange sounds pouring out of it's billowing shadows.

 

What was this place? It seemed very different from the place he once walked, even if the walls retained the same cranberry design. It was indescribably clean. There was no more ominous gloom contaminating the air around him—it exuded something fresh, and unbelievable to Zexion's senses. The ginger smell around him was irritable, he

 

 

 

His eyes closed, and the sand finally covered the last of his sterling locks in deep waves of cranberry purple.

 

Reckard, the boy whom he assumed to be attached obediently to his back. Sand covered his eyes, and his temptations were cooled with the neutral reflection of the young lad's name. And without warning, he felt himself drifting from consciousness, and covered in a large mountain of purple.

 

To finally release him from all the scornful torment he endured inside this awful, death written wall. The light felt so warm around him, he felt like soothingly joining he stream heat into the void of endless power.

 

He felt something slimy and heavy slither over him as a stark, and lonely came breaking in through the sparkling vortex's circle. The mass of glooming noise seemed to be behind him, he thought. It sounded like a waterfall in slow motion, slowly engulfing his back with it's slick, enveloping liquid. It felt good, he thought as the slime continued. It slowly washed away all his worries, memories slowly wandering out of his mind. He vaguely wondered where he was, lazily trying to recollect the scattered memories. But the eager, god-like tone quickly soothed him into relaxation within the absorbing substance.

 

It was so nice. Things had fallen in place perfectly; he no longer had anything to despair. Life as he once knew it would be gone, and the pure veil of memory would be forever wiped away from his life. Along his relaxed, flickering eyes he spotted something like a large glob of white paint dripping from the wall. The other ooze followed, but now in sharp streaks of dark coal and gray. Before he realized it, a small ocean of white and black shades had quickly formed around his warm and fuzzy body. It grew larger and larger and larger, soon reaching up to his chest in a matter of seconds. But as it grew higher, he felt no sense of danger. He didn't care about anything right now. All he needed to do was sleep. An endless sleep, he thought with a small bit of fright, but it was easily overwhelmed by the massive reservoir of warmth inside him. Suddenly, a slight bit of ashy slime lowly drooped onto his spiky locks, and something immediately awoken him from his halfhearted slumber.

 

This wasn't the calming, lovely comfort pouring over his body like before. It was a chilling him right to the bone with freezing temperatures. He looked vaguely behind him and discovered it was a dark purple mesh of slowly consuming sand. He struggled to get away from it, the once comforting blobs around him also turning into awful patches of lavender dust. They seemed to bind him in place, slowly spreading over him as he scowled in fierce agony. They made hi feel things he thought were gone forever. He thought everything was fine, but this ruined it all! He saw one last streak of black fall down from the ceiling as he was effectively covered in a mound of terrible sand. He felt hopeless, slowly sinking into the same depression he felt painfully familiar with. He didn't want to empathize with that ugly, horrible creature he used to be. But as much as he struggled, nothing moved, and the sand quickly drew him into a sharp sleep.

 

But just as Zexion lost consciousness, so did the trickling sands above did stop motion. As if on cue, a light blue light lit itself just a the same time within the mound, and a snakelike ray of pure, electric blue slithered it's way out of it's locker chamber. Slowly, it broke through the last drip of black and quickly stroke the light cellar door behind it with a sharp cling, something like a sword slashing against a far harder surface.

 

Top Ten----

Bryce 1.Rhodes/National Flay

Glyph 2.Thread

Barret 3.Rex

Saulkia 4. Bryce/Mas

Janine 5.Cure

National 6.Twine

Rhodes 7. Dark

Zexion 8.Emily

Thread 9.Saulkia

Rex 10.Barret/Lik

Aura

Cure

Twine

Lik

 

`Consume…' If he could just be consumed, his slate cleaned of all worries. Undoubtly forgotten from the binds of hope that strung him to this mansion for so long. He smiled a bit and rleased his ate of mental blocks. A new life flooded into him. Thousands of memories filled him, and he felt like he was bein lsowly moved, backwards

 

talking, and it was the sword! It was trying to dominate, to control him!

 

How was he supposed to decipher these

 

that revealed a magnificent black sign written in white letters: “The Iniquitous Halls: Beware.” A final release, he thought harder, closing his eyes to block out the menacing words.

 

 

 

There it is! , she thought with extreme desire.

 

 

 

ghohjbjhkhkjjjgjghjhi

 

 

up his arm, through his He clutched his fists and clenched harder and harder with each pulsing, horrible tho

 

 

 

 

Gygygygygygygyg Dnomaid Latsyrc Latsyrc Shoko Dnomaid Latsyrc

 

 

 

--

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He was too excited about the Quarry than what Reckard was goin He knew that just about one corridor away, he would see the sleeping body of Reckard. Every step made him sick

 

Pillar IIXV: Disaster Shot

Pillar IXV:

Stand

I Chancellour National

The Iniquitous Halls wouldn't attack of there own accord. National was the only one to do that, and he was with me. An intruder came to mind, and his eyes began to grow wider. Flickering shots of a golden helmet sitting upon a mirror surface and a rich smell of incense flooded his mind. Quick bursts of pain pulsed through his lobe and he grabbed his head in receding terror. Nine left him there. `She left him!!!', he thought painfully. He turned around with a ferocious scowl towards the vanishing streak of orange slowly dissipating into night. He turned into a frown and started walking slowly towards Reckard's whereabouts. He was a crying baby blaming everything on other people when it all came down to him. He felt the warm handle of the Memory Sword, and he looked down at it in anguish. Without warning, he threw it over at the wall with all his strength and it vanished inside a cloud of purple smoke.

 

He hadn't realized at the time, but the sword had actually been summoned unknowingly through his massive regret. He sulked forward and pain cooled down like water poring over on a hot sheet of metal.

 

 

The Iniquitous Halls? No, national would never be that naïve to let it wander the mansion. Maybe it was an intruder. Someone coming after Reckard, no doubt. A rush of memory's flooded his mind as flashes of a golden helmet and the smell of rich incense infested his mind, and he gripped his head in terror. Sharp bursts of pain pulsed through his head with each thought, and he felt himself overriding with a sudden anger. “Nine!!” He yelled vigorously into the air as he jogged quickly towards the slowly bobbing streak of orange. She forgot him! She left him there! How dare she allow-! But a

 

National Lanoitan

 

Lan Ienzo Reckard Rhodes Silver Annette Wes

 

National

 

Her fierce, orane ribbons acted like a scarf up to her neck, dark brown locks covering up a pair of scintillating light purple eyes. Thoughts raced trugh her skull as