Prologue:
Day 4: In Which Struggle Becomes Battle
For the first time in what felt like forever, Roxas woke slowly. His head didn't hurt, and his body didn't ache, and he deserved it, after the chaos and the distress of yesterday. Reveling in the quiet, he allowed himself the luxury of staring at the ceiling for a few moments before finally pushing himself up and starting to get ready to face the day -- or, afternoon, as the case may be. He'd slept in a little again, Roxas noticed, looking out the window as he stretched lingeringly. Maybe there was something to what Olette had said (what felt like a year ago) about him getting sick.
Although that wasn't the only thing wrong with his view, actually. Roxas frowned at the house across from his. Poor Shione, the wall of her house directly beneath his window was plastered with posters for the upcoming Struggle tournament. He could scarcely see the paneling.
She's going to be pissed when she gets home, he thought, and then squinted at the posters.
Wait. Hayner said... Crap that's today!
Roxas dressed and got ready in record time, then raced down to the Sandlot. It had been utterly transformed since last night: there was a large dais in the center, banners and streamers, and there were people crowded to the brim in the usually-empty square. Roxas shoved his way through the throng to the north end of the square, where the other finalists were already breaking apart from the familiar pre-match lecture on the rules -- Seifer returning to the corner where his friends were waiting, Hayner to his, and Vivi (of all people) heading to the side of the ring to wait.
The referee waved him over cheerfully, but Hayner didn't even look at him. Roxas swallowed and started to head over there, only to be blocked by Thom, the ice cream merchant.
"How's my favorite customer doing?" he said cheerfully. "All psyched up for the big match?"
Roxas mustered a small smile. "Yeah, I guess. I haven't had much chance to practice, though." Or breathe, or think...
Thom glanced over his shoulder at Hayner, and for a moment Roxas thought he was going to let him go, but then Thom turned back around and said urgently, "Practice is important, you know, Roxas. It's good to have... practice, and... practice makes life better. You know?" He paused for emphasis. "Some things are more important than a trophy, Roxas. And practice is one of them."
Roxas stared at him, trying not to look as dubious as he felt. "Okay. Don't worry. I'll take care of it."
Thom sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, starting to say, "All right, my euphemisms aren't the best--"
Hayner was already at the equipment rack, shrugging on his vest, and Roxas couldn't hear anything Thom was saying because he was thinking, If I don't get over there while he's still putting on his gear he might try to avoid me. He ducked around Thom, mumbling an apology vaguely, and headed over to his friend.
Of course, now that they were both there, he had to find something to say. For lack of anything better coming to mind, Roxas said awkwardly, "Hey."
"...yo." Hayner wasn't looking at him, stubbornly dedicated to adding the fuzzy balls to his velcro suit.
Roxas felt a little deflated. It was all his fault, he knew now -- well, not all his fault, he hadn't asked for -- but he was the one who'd forgotten about the Tournament and he was the one who'd chosen to ditch the beach outing. He wasn't very good at apologizing, but, "...'m sorry. About yesterday."
"Yesterday?"
"Uh, yeah." His vest now thoroughly in place and no more fidgeting with it possible, Roxas began gathering balls from the bin. "I didn't mean to, but-- What happened wasn't fair to you guys. So. I'm sorry."
Hayner straightened and made a dismissive sound, almost a laugh. Roxas turned to him with surprise to see that Hayner was smirking at him. "Are you still worried about that? I went to bed last night and forgot all about that crap." He pointed his Struggle bat at Roxas. "You gotta learn to let these things go."
Roxas stared at him, uncomprehending, for so long that Hayner relaxed his posture and asked suspiciously, "What, do I have food on my face?"
"N, no, you're--" Retarded or something. A little desperately, Roxas demanded, "You really don't mind? At all?"
Hayner rubbed the side of his neck a little, as much a giveaway as if he'd admitted it, but then he shoved a few more of the fuzzy balls onto Roxas's back and then turned him around firmly, pushing him towards the ring. "Don't get all mushy on me, okay? We promised we were going to win that trophy, so you can't be mushy."
He propelled the bemused Roxas right up into the ring and followed behind him. Roxas thought to ask, "Did you put those posters up on Shione's house?"
"What?" Hayner flushed, just a tiny bit of color rising in his face, and looked around warily for Shione. "No. What do I care if you zone out and forget the most important day of the year?" He folded his arms over his chest, somewhat awkwardly around the Struggle balls.
Roxas fought to keep himself from grinning. "Well, thanks anyway."
Wait, which of us is in the first round? He looked around for the whiteboard that showed the tournament tree, and then winced. Crap, the first match is me and Hayner?
He hoped the taller boy could take some damage to his pride with as good a humor as he took Roxas forgetting their promise.
"Hmph," said Hayner, and smirked at him. "May the best me win."
Roxas matched the expression with one of his own. "Any you is going to come up short against me," he said blithely.
For just a little while, it was like the last few days had never happened.
"When did you get so good, Roxas?" Pence asked with a grin.
"I've always been good," Roxas told him. "Hayner just didn't know how good." He had to duck a playful punch for his head, but Hayner was in a remarkably good mood, all things considered.
Olette skipped up with two corndogs in each hand and distributed them proudly. "To our Struggle champions," she said, politic, and they all toasted each other, laughing.
Roxas took a small nibble of his, watching as the last of the preparations for the next match finished up. It wouldn't be long before it was his turn again, probably. He asked idly, "Why do you think Vivi is even in this competition?" It was unpleasant just looking at him; even counting his tall hat, the little boy scarcely came up to Seifer's belt. How he'd made it through the preliminary matches was a mystery.
"Maybe it was Seifer's idea-- Two bites at the apple, right?" Pence suggested.
"So he picked Vivi?" Hayner siad, snorting.
He had a point -- Fuu and Rai were both pretty decent Struggle players, easily good enough to place in the preliminaries. Either seemed like a more natural choice than Vivi; he was just a little kid, and Roxas hadn't even known he knew what to do with a Struggle bat until they learned that he was one of the four finalists.
Thom stepped into the ring and cheerfully started to announce the match, waving Seifer and Vivi to step up. Seifer's expression was black -- staring at Vivi, flat-lipped.
"This is going to be brutal," Roxas predicted.
"What could Vivi have done to make him so angry?" Olette murmured.
But they still weren't expecting it when the whistle signaled the start of the match and Seifer hurtled across the ring, raising his bat for a swift and vicious blow. Roxas and Hayner were on their feet in an instant, crying out over Pence's awed exclamation and Olette's gasp, but the startled crowd didn't faze Seifer in the slightest. His features were set, as if determined to end this in one strike -- regardless of what happened to his opponent.
Roxas was riveted to the sight of Seifer bearing down on Vivi (an elementary schooler!) (his friend) like a train-wreck, but he couldn't have said exactly how it happened. One moment Seifer was ready to land the decisive blow that would have sent his opponent flying...
The next moment Vivi leapt nimbly into the air, and the Struggle bat in his right hand flung out almost casually. There seemed to be no force behind the blow -- it shouldn't even have bruised Seifer -- but when it connected, Seifer was the one who went flying, crashing to the dais so hard that all the fuzzy balls went flying off his velcro gear. He just laid there for a moment, motionless.
This was met by dead silence, and whole seconds passed before the referee managed to weakly sound the whistle ending the match.
"What the-- What the hell just happened," Hayner said numbly over Thom's weak narration.
"How did he do that," Roxas muttered. He was so positive that they'd have to take Vivi out of the sandlot in a stretcher.
Pence glanced at them sidelong, and suggested, "Maybe he's been possessed," much to Olette's amusement.
After the last few days, possession suddenly didn't seem to implausible. Roxas glanced up at Vivi, and found the little boy staring at him beneath the brim of his floppy hat.
The eerie eye contact was broken quickly as Seifer passed in front of them, on his feet again and shaking off his friends and no less grim than he had been at the start of the match. One side of his face was scratched and bleeding.
Roxas and Hayner both backed out of his path quickly, but Seifer didn't stop. As he passed them, he said darkly, "That's not Vivi."
Pence choked on his corndog.
"Kick its ass, Roxas," the older boy commanded, and then headed into the alley without ever pausing in his stride.
It?
"What a sore loser," Hayner said under his breath. "He can't take the guy, so he wants you to beat him up?"
It was just like Hayner to be more concerned with Seifer being a jerk than the obviously strange things that were going on here; Roxas said mildly, "I am fighting him next, whether he likes it or not."
Something was going to happen. He could feel it in the air. This again, he thought.
"Be careful, Roxas," Pence said, and Olette nodded, frowning. "Vivi's acting weird -- and he beat Seifer so easily."
"If only beating him weren't part of the promise," Hayner said, slinging an arm around Roxas's shoulder casually.
Roxas was nodding his agreement, and it took him a moment to process that statement and turn to laugh at Hayner. "You'd have me lose on purpose just to spite Seifer, wouldn't you?" As if he'd ever throw a fight; he mimed punching Hayner in the stomach, and the taller boy staggered dramatically.
"You're up again, Roxas," said Thom, looking rather pale. "And, uh--"
"Be careful, I know."
Roxas climbed into the ring and walked out to meet Vivi. The boy looked up at him, gold eyes bright, and giggled -- a high, strange sound that Roxas had never heard from him before. It made his skin crawl a little.
"After Vivi's incredible upset in the last round, I'm sure we're all eager to see what he'll do next!" Thom was saying, rallying the crowd back to their earlier enthusiasm. "Who will emerge victorious, and move on to the title match with Setzer?"
Who cares about that guy? Roxas thought, not lifting his eyes from Vivi. It was hard to believe anyone could think that his match was going to matter in the least.
Thom waited until the crowd was jumping and cheering before he finally cried, "Let's Struggle!"
At once Vivi was on him, not content this time to play defensive, and Roxas was barely able to get his Struggle bat up to parry the swing. He staggered, startled by the force behind the apparently effortless swing. Vivi landed nimbly and then hurled himself forward again, swinging not for the vest or the helmet, but rather for Roxas's legs, confirming his growing suspicion that this had nothing, nothing to do with Struggle. Roxas braced himself and swung directly for Vivi's body, knocking the smaller boy back. He yelped as he hit the ground.
That's not really him, Roxas reassured himself, trying to chase away the quick guilt of playing so roughly with someone who was hardly old enough to enter the tournament -- but as Vivi climbed back to his feet, Roxas suddenly realized that he couldn't hear anything but his own breathing. They don't think--
But they weren't thinking anything. The crowd was frozen, caught in mid-cheer, not moving or even breathing.
Just like Pence and Olette yesterday!
Except that Vivi was still moving, straightening in jerky little motions as if he didn't quite have control of his body. Sensing Roxas's attention, his head tilted up, again that glimpse of gold within the darkness created by his floppy hat, and then in a burst of static Vivi was gone entirely, replaced with one of the strange silvered creatures that had haunted Roxas over the past few days.
"You!" Roxas cried, and then clamped his lips together as the one silvered creature became three -- and then those three became five.
Crap. Roxas glanced at the Struggle bat in his hand and shook it hopefully. Come ooon, keyblade--
Like magic, it worked, a rush of numbers spiraling out and transforming the bat into the now-familiar silver and gold length of the keyblade. Roxas let out a relieved breath and sank into a ready posture, waiting for the first one to rush him.
It came from beyond, lunging and wrapping its long limbs around him, and for a moment he almost panicked, flailing about to try and reach it before his mind took over. Roxas threw himself forward into a tight, acrobatic roll, crushing the creature against his back and feeling its grip on him loosen in response. He sprang free easily while it twisted in pain, just in time for the remaining four to circle in on him, as if planning to make a net of themselves. Roxas swung at their joined hands and darted for the opening, racing past them to the still-dazed creature that had tackled him earlier and finishing it off in a clean strike.
Maybe he was getting good at this; maybe he was just stronger than he'd thought he was a few days ago, but it seemed that he finished them off much quicker now. He slid low to the ground and came up with keyblade already in motion, and finished off two of them before they had recovered from the dizzying move. One of the remaining two immediately lunged for him -- it seemed to simply land on the shaft of the keyblade, as if the keyblade had been meant to bury itself there all along, and then the creature, like the others, vanished in static.
Roxas faced off against the last one, a little shaken. Were they suicidal? Monsters couldn't be suicidal, he thought -- they had to be unhealthy or otherwise dying or something before they would do something to deliberately injure themselves.
But they didn't act like monsters. This one was hesitating now, reluctant to come at him, surely knowing that he would win. It was intelligent.
It was making Roxas feel like -- an executioner.
One of them had even spoken to him, once, he remembered suddenly. The fight to defend himself against their relentless attacks had sort of driven that out of his mind. He snapped, "Well?"
The creature quivered uncertainly, but instead of an answer it lunged at him: slow and not terribly vicious, as if it had no other choice.
Roxas gritted his teeth and swung, and in a burst of static, the last of them vanished.
NEXT >>> Prologue (Part 9)