Chapter: 007 - You Only Live Thrice

Chapter: 007 - You Only Live Thrice

Location: Dark Forest

Characters: Vexen (Larxene, Lexaeus, Zexion, Marluxia, Axel)

Rating/Warnings: PG, none

Summary: The Chilly Academic analyzes the current situation and the past actions leading up to it as the group sets out on the bold trek downstream.

Chapter 007 : Dark Forest - You Only Live Thrice.

It was difficult to decide which was worse, Vexen decided; the clammy cool mists of morning or sticky warmth of day once the sun stood high. Granted the morning-cold itself didn't bother him much, but mists and dew were wet, unpleasant dampness seeping into clothes, boots and hair, cold in the entirely wrong way.

That, and the moist made his hair curl slightly in a most ridiculous fashion, which Larxene had been all too happy to point out.

In all honesty it had to be said, though; with only one comb between them and no access to a proper bath his was not the only hair suffering. Already the extravagant hairstyles of some of the younger members looked decidedly muddled and drooping.

Served them right, conceited bastards.

They had set out early, opting to look for food along the way, as their foraging the afternoon before had yielded just about nothing edible at all.

There was a certain relief to the notion of leaving; if they could somehow be tracked down through the Darkness, any enemies on their trail would have burst into this world practically on top of them. Even the fiercest of red ants wouldn't slow down Xemnas or the Keybearers much.

Thus walking was technically a good thing, putting several reassuring miles between them and the abandoned clearing. Or rather, it would have been a good thing if the forest had had the decency of providing roads, or at least more or less flat terrain.

They'd already had to cross the stream twice to get past obstacles in their way; though admittedly the way Larxene had slipped on the slimy underwater rocks and splashed headlong into the water had been quite entertaining. Would have been entertaining, at any rate, if they hadn't all been standing in the water at the time, and a pissed-off Larxene's instinctive reaction to shock and humiliation was, well shock.

The numbness had faded, eventually, and no-one had actually drowned. They'd probably needed that bit of rest anyway.

He knew he certainly had.

He wanted to believe that he was at least as capable as anyone else to trek the wilderness, go boldly where none had gone before as literally as he had already done many times in the more figurative sense with his research. He was beginning to find out this was not quite the case.

Even at the very end of the line, where he'd soon ended up, the accursed undergrowth would claw and grab at his long robes and voluminous sleeves, entangling his legs and tripping him up.

Climbing over massive fallen trunks, mossy and slippery, and braving boulders half again his height was also something he was quickly turning out to be exceptionally bad at.

He would have appreciated the occasional offered helping hand from Lexaeus more if he hadn't had a creeping suspicion the man was laughing at him behind that patient blank expression.

Bastards, the lot of them.

Besides, his boots chafed horribly.

He was used to walking, restlessly moving about, would rarely stand still for long even when working. The uneven forest floor turned out to be very different from smooth hard, plane floors, though, and he could feel new patches of skin getting blistered with every oddly angled step he took.

The quiet clinking of the glass-phials in his pocket seemed to mock him; a quick gulp of potion would remove all the discomfort in a matter of seconds, and yet he knew better than even thinking about the temptation. The others' potential displeasure aside, traveling a hostile land like this was bound to end up causing worse harm than a few blisters soon enough and the potion-vials were painfully few, not to be wasted.

Miserable.

Utterly miserable.

***

After several hours of walking the mood in the group had plummeted to entirely new depths, accessible only to Nobodies not only hungry but now also tired and sore.

Larxene alternately whined loudly and hissed angry curses, democratically sharing her discontentment, her hair and clothes still dripping slightly. Axel looked about ready to burn the forest to the ground and even Zexion seemed to take some spitefully malicious pleasure in letting go of the twigs and branches bent out of the way in such a manner that they'd snap back painfully at whomever was walking behind him; usually Vexen.

Lexaeus wore his usual stoic calm like a shield, but the faintest hint of a frown proved even his patience was wearing thin with the others' grumbling.

The only one remotely unaffected, or at least too aloof to complain was Marluxia, who seemed quite pleased at walking in the front, leading their way.

Stupid twit probably hadn't realized he was only walking first partly because he could persuade the worst of the vegetational obstacles to let them through, but mostly in case their chosen path led them into unpleasant places like, say, the inside of a hungry bear.

Ah, yes.

Marluxia.

Vexen had very, very carefully avoided that particular subject ever since the fall of Oblivion, not trusting himself not to pound the bastard full of 6-foot icicles in his sleep should he allow himself to dwell on the other's betrayal.

The man had ordered his execution, after all.

The memory of fire still made him break out in a cold sweat, feeling all but nauseous as the mere recollection filled him with a stark dread more profound than any other hollow emotion he'd experienced since the loss of his heart.

Axel had been all too happy to carry out his grisly orders, grinning with delight as the fire flared, and he knew he had survived only through pure luck. Without his cards it was one miraculous escape he would not be able to perform again.

Still, Axel was only the hitman, executor of someone else's dirty work. Dangerous, untrustworthy and unpredictable in himself, no doubt, but even so he had only been a tool, a pawn in another player's hand.

Marluxia.

He had known Marluxia was dangerous, had known what he was planning the moment the Keybearer drew near. He desperately wished to assure himself the betrayal had not been unexpected, that he had seen it coming, that he was not so naïve as to have underestimated the ambitious neophyte. Nor so blinded by their… too blinded to expect the blow.

But that was just the crux.

When it came right down to it, he hadn't expected Marluxia to be quite so ready to order his death.

And that, more than the betrayal itself, even more than the fear of fire, was what made him lie awake every night since their escape, nails biting into his palms, shivering with barely restrained fury and bitter disappointment.

He had been blind and naïve. Thinking himself indispensable, relatively safe from the viper's schemes, that Marluxia would at least be reluctant if not incapable to order him obliterated.

Of course the Assassin hadn't hesitated. Of course he hadn't.

And he, Vexen, had been an utter fool for actually believing he would.

***

They found a thicket of ripe blackberries in the late afternoon. It was huge, the gnarled and viciously thorny vines filling the better part of a big clearing, heavy with large, juicy berries that gleamed like precious dark gems in the sun.

They stopped, stunned with this unexpected boon in a forest that had so far been utterly unforgiving, then hurried into the clearing, tired feet forgotten, to indulge in ravenous, shameless gluttony.

As he ate, ridiculously pleased with food that wasn't only edible but delicious, he spotted utterly goofy wide grins on the juice-stained lips of the others, realized he was doing the same thing himself, didn't care.

The low afternoon sun was shining in a brilliantly blue sky, a mild breeze making the branches above sway lazily, painting the clearing with a patchwork of warm light and refreshing shade. The grass was green and soft, the sun-warm berries quite scrumptious, and for the first time in the week that had passed since their harried escape from the fallen Oblivion there was a general feeling of optimism in their mismatched little crew.

Perhaps this could actually work, after all, no-one said. Perhaps, with a bit of luck and a bit of determination, we could actually get away with this, the others did not reply.

One by one they finished eating, collapsing onto the soft grass with muffled groans of satisfaction. No-one needed to suggest staying; for once the six Nobodies were in perfect, unspoken agreement.

The air was mild, their bellies full, the sighing of the wind in the trees hypnotically relaxing. There were little birds chirping melodiously in the bushes, and Larxene didn't even try to skewer them.

It was quite perfect.

***

Dragging himself over to a nice spot in the cool shade beneath a tree, Vexen sat down and let out a contented sigh.

He was vaguely aware of Marluxia trying to catch his eye and studiously looked away. He didn't need further thoughts of bitter betrayal tainting this unexpectedly pleasant moment.

But of course, once the thought presented itself he couldn't help but follow it, like picking at a scab, jabbing at a sore tooth.

Treason and betrayal indeed.

It wasn't as though his own hands were clean.

He tiredly closed his eyes and leaned back against the tree.

Two masters he had betrayed now. Technically three, but he had never acknowledged Marluxia his master, never would.

He craved stability, thrived on routine; hardly the personification of a mutinous rebel, yet here he was, just one more traitor among others.

Master Ansem had been the hardest, the first hesitant step down a long dark road. He'd still had a genuine conscience then, heartfelt morals, not only intuitive concepts of right and wrong but the ability to give a damn. Only the knowledge that it was for a higher purpose had convinced him to turn against his master and mentor in the end.

But turned on him he had.

In some twisted way, perhaps we deserve to be damned.

Xemnas and the Organization was another matter entirely.

Unfeeling, clinically devoid of emotional loyalty he would not grieve his betrayal of an organization that had truthfully let him down first. He would however grieve very passionately, he suspected, should the Organization ever catch up to hold them all responsible for their disastrous defeat.

And a disaster it was.

Loyalties shattered might not weigh too heavily on his mind, but more basic instincts of terror and mortal anguish very pressingly did.

Not to mention that his life's work, his research, the blood, sweat and figurative tears of the past ten years was beyond his reach now. A decade's dedicated strife cast aside, leaving behind only a hollow ache as distressing as the one already resting in his heartless chest.

What awe-inspiring discoveries resting just beyond his reach would now remain forever buried, what great breakthroughs and hard-won truths would be forever denied him?

What legacy could he leave now, what proof that he had ever existed?

He sagged against the tree, worn out from more than a long day of walking. Sometimes, just sometimes the lack of a heart was all but a blessing; he could think the dejection, but it was distant, subdued, could not quite touch him.

Two masters betrayed, two deaths suffered to pay for the treachery. Two past lives irrevocably cast aside in trials of fire and darkness.

He had been certain the end had come when Even's heart had been ripped from his body all those years ago. Had thought so again only the week before, engulfed in that excruciating fire, his very being threatening to unravel.

The split-second of utter nothingness before the forgotten card still carried after the battle with the keybearer automatically activated was something he never wished to experience again, ever.

Primitive superstition claimed a cat had nine lives.

Just how many could a run-down, high-strung, notoriously short-tempered scientist hope for?

Three was probably pushing it.

Purpose was all nice and good; a goal, a drive, the yearning to return to his research, possibly even extracting his vengeance on those deserving.

But survival came first.

Staring at the setting sun without really seeing it he vowed once more to live.

Whatever it took he would not submit to the numbing cold of eternal nothingness again, no time soon.

If it meant suffering the company of brutes, brats and conniving snakes for as long as it took to escape their enemies' long shadow, then so be it.

Closing his eyes again he only wished a certain snake's bitter betrayal against himself could have been as easily overcome and brushed aside as those uncomfortable past sins of his own.