The Order - Castle Oblivion - [Zexion, DiZ]
His coat never lost the scent of the Islands. He'd tried to replace it when he first entered the castle, but the ones he found were so big on him he had to toss them away with disgust. The one he was wearing was worn but it fit snugly as it ever had and he tried to tell himself he hadn't lost any weight, that less than an inch of lose fabric was due to the material stretching. When he ran his fingers along it though, he couldn't deny that he felt bone the uneven bumps of his ribcage beneath the lose folds. While his mind had grown stronger, his body was undeniably weaker and though he loathed it he had no time to do anything about it anymore.
He would see the Superior while he smelled like some common island rustic and undoubtedly looked like a stray mutt begging to return to its master. In a way, it was only fitting that he return in rags. But his back was straight none the less, his posture still that of an aristocrat. His lips moved silently, forming words he'd only rehearsed in his head.
There were others in the Castle now, the only welcome one belonging to the Memory Witch. Riku who had nearly killed him - why was he in the Order? A mere child, and a dangerous one at that. Had he bought his way in by shedding the blood of the original members? There was a more powerful smell that overlapped his, one that Zexion could not deny brought a slow burning fire to his veins.
Axel. To think that he could leave that very moment, reach out and touch the traitor scum… But he'd waited three years, he could wait just a little longer.
For so long he could think of nothing but the Order and returning to its folds. Even finding it so desolate, he remembered what life had been like for him here. He was beginning to forget the torture he'd endured on the Island at the thought of seeing the Superior again, of being in the presence of others like him.
But there was a little line between his brows, so deep one might think it had been etched there. There was always the question: What if the Superior wanted him dead? And how much trust was there left between them all? He was still loyal to the Order and would be until the end, but that loyalty no longer blinded him. He had wants of his own now and he didn't wish for them to vanish as soon as he rejoined the ranks. No, he should say if he was allowed to rejoin the ranks but that left a bitter taste in his mouth.
It wasn't until he heard the voice, deep and distinct that his heart began to flutter in his chest, almost as if he were waiting for another knife to be driven through it. The scent of darkness almost overpowered him and though he wanted to fall into it and forget everything that had happened after the order but he retained control of his thoughts. There was a certain way that this must go. He could not afford to be foolish, no matter what pleasure it might grant. He placed his fingers against the door and rapped lightly against it. How strange it was to think all he had to do was knock…
"Enter." The cold, dispassionate voice was a mirror of Castle Oblivion's smooth white walls, featureless yet deep and faceted, its smooth surface reflecting all attempts to analyze it. DiZ's tone had not changed an ounce, nor had his office, clean white walls and large desk and dozens of flickering computer monitors, some showing static, others depicting grainy black-and-white pictures of different locations within the castle. DiZ's red and black clothing provided a stark contrast to the white room, its splash of colour like a slash against the background. The Superior's head didn't rise; he was engrossed in something, papers perhaps, on the smooth surface of the desk.
"You're late."
He took two steps into the room, not daring to go any further. It was like he'd never been gone - in all those years on the Island, not an inch of the Castle had changed. In the lull of Island life, time had always seemed to drag on endlessly, but in Castle Oblivion it had no meaning at all.
Despite his misgivings, he found his eyes being drawn to DiZ's form like that of a starved child witnessing an oasis in the desert. It had the subtle hints of a mirage, cracks that he'd never noticed before.
"My apologies, my Superior." He dropped to his knees, head bowed. "Had I the strength to come to you sooner, I would have done so in a heartbeat."
"Four years is an unacceptable delay, Number Six." DiZ's head rose at last, his single unremitting amber eye fixing on his subordinate. The eye was narrowed a bit, perhaps, the dark lips pressed together more than usual, but it was difficult to tell. Silence hung in the air for a moment. "Report."
Zexion flinched before he could stop himself, lips pressing together in a thin line. He did not raise his head or shrink any lower, but the Superior's disappointment weighed heavily on him.
"..." He knew the truth would not satisfy DiZ, it was only an excuse after all. "It was my own weakness that prevented me from returning to you." There was a bitterness in his tone that he could not quite mask. "I will accept any punishment you ask, my Superior."
His eyes rose for just a moment, daring to meet that one vicious amber eye. Four years ago, he would not have dreamed of doing so. It was not a sign of disrespect, but one of complete sincerity. "My life belongs to the Order, now and in the four years in which I could not return to it. My loyalty has never swayed."
DiZ's single eye closed very briefly in what might have been exasperation but also might have been approval. "A great deal has occurred in your absence," he pointed out. "We have moved closer to reaching our goal, but further complications have also arisen." His eye fixed on Zexion again, sharp and piercing. "Are you aware of the situation, or do you require a briefing?"
Zexion lowered his gauze once more, not daring to rise before he was strictly ordered. The answer to his nagging question seemed obvious now, but he had to hear it from the lips of the Superior himself. He would ask when the time was right.
"I'm afraid I know nothing of what has happened in the last four years." He paused, then added slowly. "The boy who's scent is exactly similar to yours; he's been here in the Castle recently. Are myself and Number 8 the only remaining members of the Order?"
"Riku; yes." DiZ's lips curved into a half-smirk, half-smile at the name, predatory and possessive. "He is an ally, for now, though he will not consent to join the Order. He is to be observed carefully at all times, but not interfered with. As for Number Eight and yourself," DiZ continued, rising from his desk and clasping his hands behind his back, "You are the only members currently residing in Castle Oblivion." The Superior stood with his back to Zexion, head tilted up towards the array of screens, as if watching the static and sporadic images. "I trust you have not forgotten the way to your room."
"No, my Superior." He replied automatically. Was that a spike of jealously he felt..? The feeling was gone before he could fully comprehend it, or perhaps he'd only hidden it before the Superior could notice.
He hesitated, raising his eyes again and allowing himself to watch the Superior. Though he wanted nothing more than what he had been offered, he could not ignore those hairline cracks in an otherwise perfect illusion. "If I may, my Superior, there is something I must ask you before I am dismissed."
DiZ turned at that, arms still behind his back, and the amber eye fixed on Zexion. "What is it, Number Six?"
Number six. He almost shuddered despite himself.
"Four years ago I was near-fatally injured by the Vexen's puppet. It was under number eight's command at the time." He met that one amber eye again, but not without effort. He kept his emotions at bay, a shroud of curious indifference falling over his entire form. "I must know, my Superior, did you wish for me to die?"
"Die?"
DiZ stepped forward. The intensity of his gaze increased. It was like a piece of fishing line or invisible wire, attached to the front of Zexion's coat, suddenly pulled taut. That gaze would not allow the recipient to move or to break eye contact--not in the slightest. The Superior's voice was deceptively low and soft. "What do you mean by 'die,' Number Six? Lose the shadow of a body that holds you? The soul that binds you? The heart you have already lost. What does it mean for a Nobody to die? Tell me what death means to you, non-existent one, and I shall tell you if I wished it."
Zexion's breath caught, his chest burning. He could not hold back a soft gasp. If he had ever doubted the control the Superior had over him, even in the slightest, that doubt had swiftly vanished.
"Death." He replied in a hiss, emotions coming to the surface once more. "Have you ever been so close you could feel it, my Superior? There is nothing left when a nobody dies, even if all I am now is a body that occupies space and speaks and breathes - even a shadow can disappear. If I die, it will be equally as silent and fruitless." Zexion smirked emptily, perhaps the first real sign of his insanity, the effects of all his time on the Island. "This body is all I have."
"And it belongs to you, always."
"Yes," DiZ hissed, low and sinuous. He moved closer, but silently, his gaze so riveting that it would be impossible to realize he had moved at all, only that he was suddenly closer. "A body is all you have now, Number Six--but what animates it is your soul, the last shred of consciousness that has yet to depart, because once your heart was strong. Once it beat like a war-drum, deep in that empty chest. Though only a shadow remains, that shadow is what yearns to be whole again. That shadow is why you are a part of the Thirteenth Order, and why you answer to me. That shadow is what yearns for our great mission to be complete. That shadow yearns for Kingdom Hearts." As he spoke, the intensity of DiZ's voice rose, until it was nearly all-consuming. He was only inches from Zexion now, so close that the subtle heat of his body was palpable in the castle's cold. His blazing eye bore down at the black-clad man before him, mesmerizing and terrible. "Is that not so?" The question was like a whiplash.
“Yes, my Superior." Came the automatic reply, like the jerk of a body in response to a whip. He did not dare look away, not for a moment. He didn't think that he could. If he had anything further to say, he withheld it.
"Rise." This time DiZ's voice was a thundering whisper. "And expunge all doubt from your mind. Rejoin the Thirteenth Order."
He shook a little with the effort it took to stand. Four years he had waited for this day, seen this scenario in his mind a thousand times or more. The little cracks in the illusion had either healed or ceased to be important. The Superior would have what he demanded without question - Zexion's complete trust and obedience.
"By your will, my Superior." He bowed his head. Several emotions competed for their chance to surface. Relief, pride, joy, anger, hatred...
"Dismissed." DiZ's voice was soft this time, low and almost sensual. His eye didn't leave Zexion.
This time, Zexion did not hesitate. The shadows wrapped around him, whisking him away just as he had begun to raise his head.
He would see the Superior while he smelled like some common island rustic and undoubtedly looked like a stray mutt begging to return to its master. In a way, it was only fitting that he return in rags. But his back was straight none the less, his posture still that of an aristocrat. His lips moved silently, forming words he'd only rehearsed in his head.
There were others in the Castle now, the only welcome one belonging to the Memory Witch. Riku who had nearly killed him - why was he in the Order? A mere child, and a dangerous one at that. Had he bought his way in by shedding the blood of the original members? There was a more powerful smell that overlapped his, one that Zexion could not deny brought a slow burning fire to his veins.
Axel. To think that he could leave that very moment, reach out and touch the traitor scum… But he'd waited three years, he could wait just a little longer.
For so long he could think of nothing but the Order and returning to its folds. Even finding it so desolate, he remembered what life had been like for him here. He was beginning to forget the torture he'd endured on the Island at the thought of seeing the Superior again, of being in the presence of others like him.
But there was a little line between his brows, so deep one might think it had been etched there. There was always the question: What if the Superior wanted him dead? And how much trust was there left between them all? He was still loyal to the Order and would be until the end, but that loyalty no longer blinded him. He had wants of his own now and he didn't wish for them to vanish as soon as he rejoined the ranks. No, he should say if he was allowed to rejoin the ranks but that left a bitter taste in his mouth.
It wasn't until he heard the voice, deep and distinct that his heart began to flutter in his chest, almost as if he were waiting for another knife to be driven through it. The scent of darkness almost overpowered him and though he wanted to fall into it and forget everything that had happened after the order but he retained control of his thoughts. There was a certain way that this must go. He could not afford to be foolish, no matter what pleasure it might grant. He placed his fingers against the door and rapped lightly against it. How strange it was to think all he had to do was knock…
"Enter." The cold, dispassionate voice was a mirror of Castle Oblivion's smooth white walls, featureless yet deep and faceted, its smooth surface reflecting all attempts to analyze it. DiZ's tone had not changed an ounce, nor had his office, clean white walls and large desk and dozens of flickering computer monitors, some showing static, others depicting grainy black-and-white pictures of different locations within the castle. DiZ's red and black clothing provided a stark contrast to the white room, its splash of colour like a slash against the background. The Superior's head didn't rise; he was engrossed in something, papers perhaps, on the smooth surface of the desk.
"You're late."
He took two steps into the room, not daring to go any further. It was like he'd never been gone - in all those years on the Island, not an inch of the Castle had changed. In the lull of Island life, time had always seemed to drag on endlessly, but in Castle Oblivion it had no meaning at all.
Despite his misgivings, he found his eyes being drawn to DiZ's form like that of a starved child witnessing an oasis in the desert. It had the subtle hints of a mirage, cracks that he'd never noticed before.
"My apologies, my Superior." He dropped to his knees, head bowed. "Had I the strength to come to you sooner, I would have done so in a heartbeat."
"Four years is an unacceptable delay, Number Six." DiZ's head rose at last, his single unremitting amber eye fixing on his subordinate. The eye was narrowed a bit, perhaps, the dark lips pressed together more than usual, but it was difficult to tell. Silence hung in the air for a moment. "Report."
Zexion flinched before he could stop himself, lips pressing together in a thin line. He did not raise his head or shrink any lower, but the Superior's disappointment weighed heavily on him.
"..." He knew the truth would not satisfy DiZ, it was only an excuse after all. "It was my own weakness that prevented me from returning to you." There was a bitterness in his tone that he could not quite mask. "I will accept any punishment you ask, my Superior."
His eyes rose for just a moment, daring to meet that one vicious amber eye. Four years ago, he would not have dreamed of doing so. It was not a sign of disrespect, but one of complete sincerity. "My life belongs to the Order, now and in the four years in which I could not return to it. My loyalty has never swayed."
DiZ's single eye closed very briefly in what might have been exasperation but also might have been approval. "A great deal has occurred in your absence," he pointed out. "We have moved closer to reaching our goal, but further complications have also arisen." His eye fixed on Zexion again, sharp and piercing. "Are you aware of the situation, or do you require a briefing?"
Zexion lowered his gauze once more, not daring to rise before he was strictly ordered. The answer to his nagging question seemed obvious now, but he had to hear it from the lips of the Superior himself. He would ask when the time was right.
"I'm afraid I know nothing of what has happened in the last four years." He paused, then added slowly. "The boy who's scent is exactly similar to yours; he's been here in the Castle recently. Are myself and Number 8 the only remaining members of the Order?"
"Riku; yes." DiZ's lips curved into a half-smirk, half-smile at the name, predatory and possessive. "He is an ally, for now, though he will not consent to join the Order. He is to be observed carefully at all times, but not interfered with. As for Number Eight and yourself," DiZ continued, rising from his desk and clasping his hands behind his back, "You are the only members currently residing in Castle Oblivion." The Superior stood with his back to Zexion, head tilted up towards the array of screens, as if watching the static and sporadic images. "I trust you have not forgotten the way to your room."
"No, my Superior." He replied automatically. Was that a spike of jealously he felt..? The feeling was gone before he could fully comprehend it, or perhaps he'd only hidden it before the Superior could notice.
He hesitated, raising his eyes again and allowing himself to watch the Superior. Though he wanted nothing more than what he had been offered, he could not ignore those hairline cracks in an otherwise perfect illusion. "If I may, my Superior, there is something I must ask you before I am dismissed."
DiZ turned at that, arms still behind his back, and the amber eye fixed on Zexion. "What is it, Number Six?"
Number six. He almost shuddered despite himself.
"Four years ago I was near-fatally injured by the Vexen's puppet. It was under number eight's command at the time." He met that one amber eye again, but not without effort. He kept his emotions at bay, a shroud of curious indifference falling over his entire form. "I must know, my Superior, did you wish for me to die?"
"Die?"
DiZ stepped forward. The intensity of his gaze increased. It was like a piece of fishing line or invisible wire, attached to the front of Zexion's coat, suddenly pulled taut. That gaze would not allow the recipient to move or to break eye contact--not in the slightest. The Superior's voice was deceptively low and soft. "What do you mean by 'die,' Number Six? Lose the shadow of a body that holds you? The soul that binds you? The heart you have already lost. What does it mean for a Nobody to die? Tell me what death means to you, non-existent one, and I shall tell you if I wished it."
Zexion's breath caught, his chest burning. He could not hold back a soft gasp. If he had ever doubted the control the Superior had over him, even in the slightest, that doubt had swiftly vanished.
"Death." He replied in a hiss, emotions coming to the surface once more. "Have you ever been so close you could feel it, my Superior? There is nothing left when a nobody dies, even if all I am now is a body that occupies space and speaks and breathes - even a shadow can disappear. If I die, it will be equally as silent and fruitless." Zexion smirked emptily, perhaps the first real sign of his insanity, the effects of all his time on the Island. "This body is all I have."
"And it belongs to you, always."
"Yes," DiZ hissed, low and sinuous. He moved closer, but silently, his gaze so riveting that it would be impossible to realize he had moved at all, only that he was suddenly closer. "A body is all you have now, Number Six--but what animates it is your soul, the last shred of consciousness that has yet to depart, because once your heart was strong. Once it beat like a war-drum, deep in that empty chest. Though only a shadow remains, that shadow is what yearns to be whole again. That shadow is why you are a part of the Thirteenth Order, and why you answer to me. That shadow is what yearns for our great mission to be complete. That shadow yearns for Kingdom Hearts." As he spoke, the intensity of DiZ's voice rose, until it was nearly all-consuming. He was only inches from Zexion now, so close that the subtle heat of his body was palpable in the castle's cold. His blazing eye bore down at the black-clad man before him, mesmerizing and terrible. "Is that not so?" The question was like a whiplash.
“Yes, my Superior." Came the automatic reply, like the jerk of a body in response to a whip. He did not dare look away, not for a moment. He didn't think that he could. If he had anything further to say, he withheld it.
"Rise." This time DiZ's voice was a thundering whisper. "And expunge all doubt from your mind. Rejoin the Thirteenth Order."
He shook a little with the effort it took to stand. Four years he had waited for this day, seen this scenario in his mind a thousand times or more. The little cracks in the illusion had either healed or ceased to be important. The Superior would have what he demanded without question - Zexion's complete trust and obedience.
"By your will, my Superior." He bowed his head. Several emotions competed for their chance to surface. Relief, pride, joy, anger, hatred...
"Dismissed." DiZ's voice was soft this time, low and almost sensual. His eye didn't leave Zexion.
This time, Zexion did not hesitate. The shadows wrapped around him, whisking him away just as he had begun to raise his head.