Chapter Text
It was supposed to have been easy.
Neither Zexion nor Demyx were pleased to be assigned to a mission with one another. But every now and again it was inevitable. With Vexen pulled away with his mysterious and crucial projects, they were the only two people who were actually competent at reconnaissance--not that Zexion would ever admit it. As far as he was concerned, Demyx was junior to him on this mission. It was not a nice feeling.
Well. A few days and this would all be over with, and Zexion would saunter off to Castle Oblivion, and Demyx wouldn’t have to see his smug face for however long that mission took.
But this world was too large--and too important--for one person to stake out, owing to its position in the solar system. They’d just have to deal .
“I will not be writing your reports,” Zexion said coolly, setting down the bag he was carrying. “And I will have you know that they will be written adequately, and according to the style guide.”
Demyx snorted and sat down on the bed. They’d rented a small cabin, and it only had two rooms--a bedroom with two double beds, and a sitting room with a kitchenette. It seemed clean-- Demyx could smell the fresh laundry and lemon cleaner--but everything was a bit old, derelict, or threadbare. “What, or you’ll tattle on me?”
He began pulling out books and placing them on the small writing desk. It was a mark of territory as much as anything. “If that’s what it takes,” Zexion said. He examined a spine of one of the books, as though checking for wear. “Sora has been rather decimating our number of Dusks. No doubt we could use one more.”
Demyx rolled his eyes. “Roxas might believe that’s possible, but I sure as hell don’t. No. You guys need me to fill out the ranks.”
“With the spread of darkness, no doubt we can simply find a replacement.” He looked up. His eyes were, as always, cold.
Demyx scowled. “I’m not happy about this either, you know.”
Zexion ignored this. “If you don’t mind unpacking your things. I’d very much like our space to be orderly.”
“Or what?”
Demyx barely had gotten the words out of his mouth before Zexion pitched a book at him with perfect accuracy, without even turning around. It hit him right in the throat. Stupid telekinetic powers, he thought. “Alright, alright. Keep your hair on,” he spat, once he could breathe again. He opened the drawstring of the bag and began emptying out the cover clothing, the cartography paper, the food and provisions.
It was going to be a long few days.
And it did seem to be going as well as it could, at least for a while. During the days they didn’t have to see one another, gathering data. Doing what needs to be done. Demyx didn’t see what was special about this world. He tried to write his reports according to Zexion’s unattainable standards. (“What, did you grow up in a barn?” he asked, with a scowl. “Your syntax is an absolute nightmare.”) He wasn’t sure why; how much power did the other man have over him? Then again, Zexion could give him some very shitty nightmares.
But in the meantime… he started hearing… whispers. Not just from the Dancers, who he’d asked to gather what they could, but from the other people on this world. Rumors of a scourge, from somewhere in the south, one spreading towards this city.
Zexion begrudgingly admitted he was hearing the same. “A good plague happens every now and again,” he said, with a shake of his head. “Should it get much closer I’ll make the call. It would do no good for us to get sick.”
They tried to do their best to protect themselves, to keep their distance. But the governments of this world were doing almost nothing to contain the spread-- “How very interesting,” Zexion remarked gently, “it means it will fall all the easier.”
For a second, a whisper, Demyx wondered if this many people dying with their hearts still in tact was a good thing. If they should do something while they could. But then the whisper was gone. “If Xemnas still wants it.”
Zexion shrugged. “It is useful. Especially during a time like this--struggle is rife to sow the seeds of darkness.”
Demyx could feel the panic rising in the air, as he continued to scour the city… as things began to shut down, the hospitals crowded, food running short. Thankfully their Nobodies could bring them supplies from elsewhere, and Zexion’s illusions assured no soul would get close to this place.
“I’m not liking the way this is going,” Demyx admitted. “Maybe we should just go. Send in the Heartless. The cavalry. Whatever.”
“What, are you frightened?” Zexion asked, barely looking up from his lexicon.
“I’m not scared. It’s just… the anxiety. You can feel it humming.”
“All the better for our goals,” Zexion added. He shut the book with a flourish.
He had a point. “As long as this is over with soon.”
The sickness was rampant and incredibly contagious. It was only when they caught wind of the actual symptoms--blood from the orifices, inability to retain water, widespread nervous collapse--did Zexion tut softly. “This is clearly escalating beyond what it is practical to expose ourselves to,” he said. “We should leave, and quarantine back at the castle.”
“I’ve been saying that for days,” Demyx spat.
He just shrugged. “I was curious to see what the authorities had to say,” he added. “If anything… the Nobodies can watch, and wait.” The lessers seemed unaffected by all this, somehow; then again, their bodies were not made of blood and bone, but quite literally nothing. “Right. How disappointing.” He began to pack his things. “At least we’ll be rid of one another, won’t we?”
Demyx rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s just get out of here.”
But when Zexion tried to create a portal, nothing happened. He blinked; for a second Demyx thought he saw something like confusion cross his normally stoic face. He held out his hand; all Demyx could see were small flickers of darkness. “Bizarre,” he whispered.
“You burn yourself out?” Demyx asked.
“It takes an awful lot for me to lose magic,” Zexion said. “Perhaps it is some… magical ward, or something? Search for runes.”
“Oh, please,” Demyx said.
Zexion just shot him a glare. “The sooner this is over with, the sooner we can leave this godforsaken place.”
So Demyx searched, dutifully (and mostly to get away from Zexion), for hours around the cabin complex, in the trees in the nearby forest, in the car park, around and around the property line. He found nothing resembling “runes” other than some crude graffiti scratched into a vending machine. He just shrugged. “Sorry, it’s gotta be you.”
Zexion shook his head. Demyx thought he saw something in those eyes--but it was gone in a flash. “Try it yourself,” he said.
Demyx rolled his eyes. “Alright.” He held out his hand. Called.
And felt nothing.
“I’ve no time for your games,” Zexion said.
Demyx tried again, his hand flailing in the empty air of their sitting room. “It’s not--nothing’s coming,” he said. “I--I’m trying.”
Zexion’s eyebrows shot up. He reached into his bag, chugged an ether (remarkable, considering how bad they tasted), and held out his own palm. Then, he exhaled heavily.
“What’s going on?” Demyx asked.
He just put a hand to his forehead. “I’ll have to do some reading, to be sure,” he said. If it were possible for words to scowl, his did. “It’s quite possible that the virus, instead of killing us, is instead sapping at our dark powers.”
Demyx shook his head. “That makes no sense.”
“Darkness is a better host than a body,” Zexion said instead. “We are… at the moment… the best of both worlds, for it. Replicate within us… but instead of killing us and wasting all that energy, jump ship via the darkness. Leaving us unharmed… but trapped.”
Demyx blinked. “Is that possible?”
“Quite--it is very rare. Hence, my need for more information.”
“What about the Nobodies? Couldn’t we get them to make a portal for us?”
Zexion considered this, then shook his head. “Not quite. Their rules are different--instead of going straight through darkness, they also go through nothing , which compresses their bodies and what they carry. We have human bodies. In essence… we’d be crushed.”
Demyx felt a flicker of anxiety; then he groaned. “Meaning we’re--”
“Stuck here, yes, until the virus passes.”
“But if it grows within us forever--”
“It may very well be a while.” He wrinkled his nose in displeasure. “Likely Vexen will be able to come up with a solution, once I get word to him. Until then…” His eyes flicked over Demyx like he was a cockroach. “I guess we must just bunker down.”
“...Fuck.”