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mimiplaysgames · 6 years

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Strength to Protect the Things That Matter (Ch. 25)

Pairing: Terra/Aqua Rating: T Word Count: 5,631

Summary: Terra has prayed for years for relief from having no one to talk to in the dark, except with the monster of a man who stole his life. One day, when two boys chase a lead, he gets his chance - less than a week - to set things right before he loses everything again.

AO3 FFnet

A/N: I had a flashback scene of Terra interacting with Ventus that was supposed to appear in Ch. 15, “Confession,” toward the end. It seemed like a footnote after the flashback with Aqua in that chapter, so I removed it. I then moved it to Ch. 17, “Vacation.” Terra was supposed to think about this scene right before he helps Sora stand up, finding out where Ventus has been all along. But it lengthened it too much (in a chapter that was so damn long anyway), that I moved it to the beginning of this chapter. And it stuck out like a sore thumb. So this scene will not appear in this specific fic at all and will have to find a place somewhere else, lmao! I can’t believe I am at this part now. It’s almost done! Also, I will be posting WIP updates on Mondays and Thursdays (with the occasional extra Saturday). I put up a dated schedule that you can access here.

Fall

“You have to admit,” Terra said as Aqua dipped two fingers into a small tin of black paint, “you’re having fun.”

Swirling them into the paint, Aqua attempted to muster some strength to keep herself from grinning. But she failed.

“When the Master said we needed to restore the natural balance by retrieving a living boy from the Land of the Dead,” she said, “I don’t think he ever expected us to be doing this.”

She finished painting his eyes, and moved on to his nose.

The last time they made such a colorful mess together, they finger-painted goblins dancing on flowers, on a corner wall tucked away in the castle by the piano. Eraqus spared them the lecture and actually kept their mural all these years.

The last time they touched this much, they were young, long before Terra had developed blood-pumping feelings at the feel of her skin, or from being so close to her. They used to play-fight and wrestle, before he avoided such activity with her nowadays.

Two months until their Mark of Mastery exam, they were now in the Land of the Dead, where she was tracing his nose cartilage. They were on a mission, but Terra admitted he was grateful it gave him the allowance to enjoy so much contact with her.

It turned out that the Land of the Dead had gorgeous streets full of light and vibrant color. It featured buildings for homes, festivals, art shows, museums, and anything designed for entertaining all types of personalities. It was like a tourist attraction, and it had everything a person looking for fun and adventure would expect. Except rain. It didn’t rain here. The dark belly under a bridge where they were hiding for now harbored no puddles.

The people here, of course, were all skeletons. It didn’t take much effort to find the boy, Miguel, the person of interest in a world he didn’t belong. Which brought another problem – Terra and Aqua, too, had warm skin and pulses.

Aqua was against Miguel’s wish to reconnect with one of his famous singing ancestors, believing it too much of a risk for his own life. (She was very sympathetic to his need to pursue music, for she, too, adored it.) When Miguel’s family members, who were his ticket back home, didn’t approve of his obsession, she believed that they could be reasoned with.

Terra agreed with Miguel, believing that the boy had a right to follow his passion no matter what anyone said. He was aware that Miguel had a very limited time in this realm, which could be fatal, but they had enough time, and this created a similar dynamic to all the times Terra and Ventus tag-teamed against her. Essentially pushed into a corner, Aqua went ahead and agreed to do it their way.

The plan was to blend in. A dead friend of Miguel’s, Héctor, went off to find them some clothes large enough to hide their breathing bodies.

Aqua was painting a calavera on Terra’s face to make him look like a skeleton. She traced one finger to make lines across his lips. The paint felt goopy and thick, but her touch was brisk, graceful, yet determined. It was so like her to move this way, and he had to keep reminding himself to stay calm and not let his mind wander on the touch. There were definitely some things he’d like her to do with his lips, and tracing them was not a typical thing best friends did together, right?

Neither was touching the neck this much, but she had to give the illusion that he didn’t have flesh anymore. She was careful enough not to push onto his laryngeal prominence, at the very least. But no care could be given to ease how he was feeling anyway.

Terra, if anything, felt immensely grateful when Miguel, who already had his calavera finished and was wearing a red hoodie to hide the rest, arrived to check up on her progress. An empty, cool feeling lingered on his collarbone as she finished her work.

Miguel burst into a fit of laughter. “I think you would even scare away la parca… the Grim Reaper.”

“What?” He picked up a cracked and foggy mirror laying on the ground next to him.

Aqua had traced and covered his brows with black paint when she hollowed out his eyes. What looked back at him was a very angry skeleton, where the black color gave the impression that his eyes were even darker.

“What gives? You made me look so scary,” Terra told her.

She covered her mouth with her wrist as she giggled, careful not to mess her bare face up. “I’m sorry, I was trying to trace your face to make it look natural,” she said.

When Terra attempted to swipe the tin can away, she evaded – which was usual. Ten years growing up and sparring together, she became a master at dodging him.

“I’ll fix it, I’ll fix it,” she said, swatting his hand away.

“You can add loops and dots.” Miguel traced his finger in the air as an example. “Or maybe something cute to trick the children,” he said with an impish grin.

She dipped her finger into the tin again and quickly went over some lines on his cheekbones and forehead. The mirror showed that she drew some loops around his imagined eye sockets, and a heart right above the bridge of his nose. His chest skipped a beat, careful not to read too much into why she picked a heart for him. But it didn’t make him look any sweeter.

“Now I look like the Evil Lord of Love,” Terra said.

She snorted and Miguel held his stomach, out of breath from his laughter.

“It’s the best I can do,” she said. It was most likely far from the truth. She was probably way too entertained to fix it for real. “My turn now.” She pushed her hair off her face and handed the tin over to Terra.

Ten years growing up and sparring together didn’t prepare Terra for this, but he became a master at hiding his emotions anyway. Each time he traced a brow or a cheekbone in black, or rubbed white onto her cheeks, he consciously breathed out of his nose. It made him look more relaxed and focused that way.

Which proved to be difficult when he finished painting her eyelids. She opened them, and the darkness gave just enough contrast to make her bright, beautiful eyes pop. They might as well be jewels. He wasn’t even aware he was staring until she asked him if something didn’t look right.

Calm and collected, his voice was smooth enough that there wasn’t an ounce of shake to it. “I was checking to see if everything was even,” he said simply.

He was aware of his posture, careful not to lean into her. Even though he really wanted to, especially when tracing her lips. Soft and supple, he had often wanted to feel them. Once wasn’t enough either. Each time he dipped his finger back into the paint was another chance at learning what her lips were like.

He made sure to give her the same amount of care when tracing her neck too. Looking at her head lean back that way, tracing her chin, and coloring down to her crevice – it was better, as painful as it was, to finish the job than to let it drag.

It hurt enough to make Terra almost consider asking Eraqus to assign them on missions separately. Almost. There was too much enjoyment thrown into the mix as well.

The wave of relief that came when he finally closed the tin can was like being salvaged from hunger. Aqua looked into the mirror and approved of his work. Terra even gave her some doodles of small, simple flowers on her temples. Now she looked like everyone else in this world.

A skeleton soon approached them, wearing a straw hat and clothes that were so worn down they had rips and holes. Illuminated from the decorative lights of the streets, Héctor carried a couple of pieces of garments with hoods that he collected for them.

He handed Terra a bomber jacket, to hide the machismo, and stared at Aqua’s artistry on his face. “You trying to romance a demon?” he asked.

“Don’t ask,” Terra said, quickly putting on the jacket, wanting very much to keep any attention away from himself.

“And for the lady,” Héctor said, “a large cloak to hide all the... well, todo eso. Everything.” He made gestures as if to suggest curvature.

The cloak was such a dark brown that it almost seemed black. It was meant for a very tall person: it hung loosely off her shoulders, and dragged onto the floor with the sleeves draping off her fingers.

“I look ridiculous,” she said.

It was Terra’s instinct to cover her mouth for politeness’ sake, but then he’d have to trace her lips again with paint. Truthfully, she looked adorable - though he’d never say it out loud, or she would slap him with excess sleeve.

“It’s more important we blend in,” Terra said.

“Tiene razón. He has reason,” Héctor said. He glanced back and forth between Terra and Aqua, judging them. “Bueno…” he said in a way to suggest that he had no choice but to work with what he got, “You do both look like Fulano y Fulana de Tal.”

Terra’s head shook ever so slightly as his eyes narrowed. “What?”

Miguel dug his hands into his pockets. “He called you some dudes that came from nowhere.”

“Well, if it works…” Aqua mumbled to herself, following the others as they emerged from under the bridge. Her sleeves flopped back and forth as she walked.

The Land of the Dead kept a record of time. The buildings were so tall they were like skyscrapers, with each ascension more modern than the foundation it leaned on. It was as if they kept building on top of old structures, with the bottom floors a remnant of some ancient past. The music and the fireworks, all prepared to celebrate Día de los Muertos, told Terra that death was just a passage to something more exciting beyond what life could give.

It was comforting to know that whenever it was time for Master Eraqus to go, it wouldn’t be a place of suffering (or even boredom). But the separation still had to leave a scar to those left behind, right?

The people here were enjoying themselves, yes. Probably waiting for their own loved ones to join them and make the experience even better.

Héctor led them to the slums. Huts, boats, and wood houses gathered at the harbor down below the city, where the forgotten spirits dwelled. A neighborhood for those who didn’t have their photos propped up on their families’ ofrenda, a shrine where the living honor and remember their deceased relatives. These spirits therefore found family with each other.

The goal was to get Miguel a guitar. The nearby festival was set up in honor of Miguel’s relative, and he needed a musical instrument to enter the competition - and actually get a chance to meet.

The guitar was kept by Chicharrón, a friend of Héctor’s who lived in a wooden house at the end of the dock. He had to have been a hoarder, considering the stacks of random junk inside. Everything looked discarded, as if he was too exhausted to keep it all organized. As if he was the kind of person to desperately find something to hold onto through objects. Only the moonlight illuminated the entirely of the hut, as if he shunned away the joy and bright lights that paraded outside. It reflected on him as well – the bone on his skull and knuckles look sanded down, as if he wasn’t well-preserved.

Chicharrón, lying in a hammock buried under a pile of even more random trinkets, scowled when he took one look at Terra’s face. “Héctor, who gave you the right to bring el diablo here?”

“Even I don’t have the skill to convince the devil to do anything. He came on his own, acere,” Héctor said, as if addressing a friend.

They both argued over the guitar, and agreed that Miguel could use it under one specific condition: that Héctor would sing a song. His friend wanted to savor some enjoyment left, because the guitar was the last thing that was able to give him just that.

And so Héctor sang. A folk song about a woman everyone knew named Juanita. It sounded like a beautiful love song at first. Miguel sat on his knees, in awe of the talent. Aqua had her hand to her chest, her eyes watering over the sweetness of the composition. Juanita was someone whose teeth stuck out, and a chin that caved inward. She wore her hair like shrubbery, and walked funny.

But the songwriter believed himself so ugly that she wouldn’t have considered him a proper suitor.

Terra had expected the song to end sarcastically, but the revelation of such adoration left a hard lump in his throat. What would it have taken for Aqua to give him a chance like that?

The song ended. Chicharrón, satisfied and making peace with whatever was in his mind, disintegrated into dust, the wind carrying away his remnants. He left behind a mess of all he thought was important, now discarded and unaccounted for, alone on that hammock.

It was the Second Death, a process for all whose living family members have forgotten they existed. He didn’t have anyone left in the Land of the Living who cared for him.

It wasn’t gory or terrifying. If anything, it was a pretty sight, but it was the most gruesome thing Terra ever witnessed.

The only source illuminating the clown and the streets around them is the moonlight. Kefka takes one step forward, and Terra prepares a lunge forward, aiming for the knees.

But there is a swish, and a sphere of a gravitational contortion to push the beast back. The young version of Xehanort jumps from the roof he has been patiently waiting on, throwing all of his magical strength onto Kefka with that glowing, teal Keyblade of his.

Terra takes this opportunity to sprint towards the end of the block, where the hospital meets an alleyway, and places the duffel bag of elixirs into a nook. Away from the battlefield. Safe. Hopefully.

Garnet follows close by, and he expects that it will be this way – he will fight, and she will mend his injuries from behind. They just need to survive ten minutes. Leave too soon and Kefka will follow them back to the others.

Xehanort lands near them, resting his Keyblade on his shoulder as Kefka stands back up. “Of all the people you lug around after our warning,” he says, “you follow the one target that pits you in such danger. It’s reckless.”

Terra is about to bark that he will not tolerate any word from Xehanort’s mouth, but there is the clown to mind. Xehanort doesn’t give Terra any chance to say anything, quickly turning his attention on the Heartless.

Xehanort’s powers of teleportation aid him in evading each and every attack, at no cost to his energy. His magic is explosive, and he takes any opportunity to hit at Kefka’s ankles and knees in order to bring it down. Kefka’s body is, of course, sturdy like diamonds.

Terra doesn’t want to ally with him. If anything, Xehanort is just as much as a threat. If he doesn’t stay focused, he might lose his body again. And he can’t afford it. Not tonight. Not ever. Not until Aqua is free can he relax and let go. Not until Garnet is safe.

He swings Ends of the Earth to let out a shockwave of light that sears the cobblestones of the streets. He follows it with a swipe of the old man’s nameless Keyblade, letting out a blow of darkness that doubles the force, ravaging all in its path. It’s certainly an aid to all of Xehanort’s acrobatics. The bastard proves himself a worthy front man to be thrown at risk, so that Terra doesn’t have to put himself or Garnet in the direct line of danger.

But he’s too good to dispose himself.

And yet Terra is not giving out his full effort. Use the darkness, damn it, but not too much. He can’t lose control. The old man will use it to wrest his body back.

Already, there is a headache forming.

He must be stumbling too much, because Garnet seems to keep getting the impression that he is injured. He feels her healing magic envelope around him, and it takes away the hair-pulling headache. So he continues this pattern. Throw light and darkness, dodge, get tired and stumble from the pain, have her heal him. Continue.

Kefka changes its pattern to dance, creating random explosions throughout the area in an attempt to hit Xehanort. Debris crumbles, shaking the ground and tripping Garnet. It’s like an instinct, and Terra forgets he has two enemies near him, shielding her until the explosions stop.

“The bombs won’t ignite!” she says as she looks up at him. “I must have wired them incorrectly.”

She has a remote in her hand. The electric bombs planted in the office building across the street are still. Unless they can get Kefka to ram into them, they will stay silent.

She yelps. The reason why, he sees approaching them. Heartless waggle in patterns as if they can’t tell what they are aiming for. Maybe the potion still has some effect, and the Heartless cannot target them specifically. But it’s still a huge problem.

It takes too much thinking and concentration during such a heated moment to tap into Xemnas’ powers, but he tries anyway. The smaller debris floats up and above the ground, and with a wave of both Keyblades, he sends them flying to smack the various types of monstrosities that are invading the battle space.

“Terra, I need your aid!”

The voice is from behind. Xehanort blocks attacks from Kefka’s six poisonous swords.

Pfft. Let him die. Let him suffer the way Rydia is.

... But then if he’s not there, Kefka would go after them.

Terra focuses his mind on larger masses of plaster, glass, and brick that used to be part of the hospital. They are harder to move, and sweat drops trickle down his forehead. He points his Keyblades at them, as though they are wands to help him take control. They float higher, and with huge swings toward the direction of the clown, he manages to hurl them. Kefka falls back.

But not far enough to hit the office building, where the bombs lay waiting. Terra has managed to hit it in the face. The clown will soon come for him later.

Xehanort flashes him a look of disbelief, disgust emanating from his round eyes. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Terra, they’re surrounding us!” he hears Garnet yelling from behind. Heartless continue to come in droves.

Fight. Or protect. Dammit, why can’t I have both?

It’s like a stupor that stops him from doing anything as he thinks about his next move. A Heartless lunges at her.

As though his body is responding, a straight wall of bright, electric energy erects in front of the princess. The monster gets shocked by this aggressive barrier, and it all disappears.

It doesn’t hurt. It’s like the fireball he made appear out of nothing. This has to be Xemnas’ powers.

“Stay close to me!” Terra says.

She stands back-to-back with him, and he waves his arms one by one, a Keyblade in each hand, in swift movements that gesture from the ground toward the sky. He visualizes this new kind of barrier forming as fast as a lightning bolt, and it follows. Against any direction where a Heartless is wandering too close.

To be so effective at protecting, while attacking at the same time... It’s like cheating, and it’s great. If only it is more intuitive so that he can do it faster. If only he doesn’t have to think about it, so he wouldn’t get so tired.

Kefka charges toward him. It prepares a force of energy and sends a fistful of it. Terra prays that the barrier will stick around this time. Kefka’s hand meets his wall, electricity sparking to and fro that Terra feels the pain of it in his forearms, as he wills it keep standing.

Something, some kind of energy flickers throughout his skin and reverberates his entire body. Silence.

Everything around him is frozen in time. There is Kefka’s screwed mask for a face, its glowing yellow eyes staring down on him, its smile glued. His barrier is still there, the electricity coming out of it, but it’s stuck in some never-ending moment. The Heartless stuck in postures, as if they are living photographs. Garnet behind him, also immobilized, holding her shortstaff close to her chest, meeting eye-to-eye with some tall shadow that stares back at her.

He has never seen time magic this effective and this far-reaching.

Xehanort pants, adjusting his black cloak. “Why do you insist on holding yourself back when you have all this power at your disposal?” he asks as he approaches.

This can’t be the time when Terra loses, all alone in a timeless space with the one man who will take away everything. He can’t touch Garnet without potentially harming her, the velocity of his movement too fast in relation to the paralyzed state she’s in.

“Unfreeze her,” he commands.

“I was under the impression you wanted to have control over your own body,” Xehanort says, wiping dirt off a sleeve.

“Unfreeze her, now.”

“So the puppet is finally given the chance at controlling the strings that once possessed him, but he hasn’t the courage to take advantage of it?”

“I’d rather cut them.” He stares hard at Xehanort. Perhaps this is foolish, considering that he doesn’t know how long the spell will last. If Kefka unfreezes now, it’s all over anyway. But if he takes his eyes off Xehanort…

Xehanort smirks. “That still assumes you are in control. You won’t be able to have it if my older self is still the puppeteer. You want to rely on powers of nothingness, which you have little understanding of, when darkness will give you all the endless possibilities for power you seek.”

This hits too close to home, darkness tied to all of his limbs. Loss of control and he’s a doll for someone else’s benefit again.

Furthermore, he wishes Xehanort would stop talking to him like he’s stupid. To use darkness too much is the one thing that will make him fall. He grips both Keyblades. Perhaps he has an advantage since he has one more weapon. “It’s just hatred and rage, and I don’t need it.”

Xehanort widens his eyes. “Is that what you think it is? How infantile.” His eyes glass over, and he cocks his head gently, like he’s talking to a child. “It is merely a first step to tap into powers of darkness through negative emotions, with fear being the wildcard because it is the only emotion that is useless as a weapon. But you – and whoever taught you that – are mistaken.

“Fear is only useful in reminding you of threats. It is the one thing that will make you weak. Not darkness. You want your life back? Then take control of it. You may use your anger and your hatred of Kefka to strengthen your power. But to imply that is all there is – do you think it was love that motivated Eraqus to wield light in his attempt to murder Ventus?”

“Don’t talk about them!” Terra barks.

“Light and darkness are all part of the same existence. In the end, they are simple tools. Do not aim to convince yourself that darkness is nothing but horrid impulses. You can love and protect with darkness. You can be driven mad by the blinding power of light.”

Riku comes to mind. Use darkness and turn it into light, he has said. To build the strength to protect what matters. Is this what he means? Is it enough to have good intentions? Or does the old man have too much experience with such things that it’s futile to try to take the strings for himself?

Garnet is the first to unfreeze. “Terra, what in the world-”

“Move!” He holds her bicep and escorts her down the street.

He hears the blast Kefka has prepared for them, crushing a mob of minor Heartless instead.

Garnet screams his name. A Darkside, looming tall over them, contemplates its next move. It digs its hand into the ground and a portal opens up, a swarm of Shadows crawling out of it.

They run away. Worse still is the inky blackness that surrounds them and covers the entire street. He can’t see anything, except for yellow eyes squirming around everywhere. And suddenly he’s alone, the princess no longer by his side.

He hears Kefka’s footsteps, stomping the ground underneath it. It moves slowly, like it doesn’t know what to attack next. So it dances, explosions taking random pot shots in any direction.

One blows up behind him, and Garnet’s protection spell vibrates from the blast as he feels the cold street brace against his face. Hands grip his arm and help him stand up.

“Can you walk?” he hears Xehanort ask.

Terra rips his shoulder away. “Garnet!” he calls out.

Xehanort shushes him in a snake-like snarl. “We have the advantage. And I’m interested in keeping you alive.”

“Not without her.”

Xehanort holds a cold stare, his golden eyes a faint gleam in the shadow. Definitely not the kind of person to roll his eyes.

Garnet’s pillar of light bursts through with such a power that everything trembles. It also dissipates the darkness, giving them the ability to see what has been happening. A mass of Heartless that have surrounded her are thrown back by her power. Of course, she is left exhausted and shaking from such use of magic.

And Kefka notices. It laughs, sending horrific pain throughout Terra’s head, so awful it feels like his eyeballs will burst. Xehanort yells along with Terra, clutching his hand to his chest. Garnet grips her head tightly, slumped on the ground.

Kefka moves to srtike. She is wide-eyed.

This can’t happen. Not another failure.

Terra sprints forward. He needs to get there first. To have more power. To cheat.

A portal of swirling shadows opens up on the ground in front of him. He drops inside.

Here, there is no earth. No solid obstacle to keep him from her. Here he can fly. And up he ascends from another opening, putting him right in between a princess and a clown.

No need for a second Keyblade. Out from his left hand, all the dark impulses materialize into a deep red claw extending from his elbow, hitting Kefka upward at the chin.

This sends it back - but still, not enough. So he throws another claw, oozing flickering shadows through his arm and body, sending the clown flying. It lands on its back, rolling. But it misses the office building.

This was the exact move, long ago, used against his Master. With good intentions, he once swore. Powerful, instinctual, impulsive. Dark. It’s a natural glove that fits, unlike nothingness.

“I’m actually impressed,” he hears Xehanort say.

A compliment from the monster. Not again.

Terra slouches over and coughs out bile.

“Are you alright?” Garnet asks, hovering her hand at the base of his neck. Warmth radiates like waves throughout his body, as though she is healing his nervous system. The headache and the nausea lift up and away.

Kefka stands up, and screeches. It’s time to move again. Behind some bushes. Xehanort follows and covers his mouth and nose with his cloak.

The poisonous gas releases from its joints and neck, and they all wait until it dissipates into the air.

“I grow tired of this,” Xehanort says.

“Let’s trip it.” Terra summons the nameless Keyblade again into his left hand. “Or are you incapable of that?”

Xehanort glares, disappearing into his own portal, only to reappear behind the clown as it stumbles its way back toward them. He hits one ankle with a burst - which seems like it took way too much out of him.

Kefka trips onto one knee.

“Not enough!” Terra yells. He eyes Garnet, who is hesitant at first. He nods, as if to give her his blessing.

She sends healing magic to Xehanort. He takes a deep breath before striking the other ankle with his might. The clown falls to its face.

The prime opportunity. Terra allows darkness to swirl around him, and he growls as he grips both Keyblades in the hardest blow he’s ever given, directly onto the clown’s face, like vehicles crashing.

It screams, like metal grinding.

Two gashes now stain its once indestructible face, showing the black skin underneath.

It attempts to grab Terra in a fury, and Garnet steps in front to summon another pillar of light so that it fails, falling to her knees when she’s finished.

Kefka grabs its own face, as if in pain. As if it was human again.

But Garnet screams.

Two more Darksides approach them, bringing forth more Heartless.

“No…” Terra groans. He doesn’t have to tell her to run away, for she’s already doing so, although she is tumbling. She heads toward the alleyway by the hospital, where he placed the elixir minutes before.

Kefka comes to and makes its way to Terra, who pants harder just to keep himself standing straight. Xehanort growls loudly and twirls his Keyblade, a sphere of time energy rupturing throughout.

It’s quiet and frozen again. Except for Xehanort, who adjusts himself with such a frustration that it’s like watching a spiteful mother clean up a child.

“That impudent, minuscule, subordinate, worthless neophyte of a clown,” he says, throwing around fancy insults at the Heartless that is clearly striking a nerve with him tonight.

The first thing Terra looks for is the princess. In the alleyway, on the ground, looking up at a swarm of Heartless about to pounce. Her shortstaff is to her chest, her eyes exhausted and teary.

He attacks the Heartless, although the Stop magic doesn’t doesn’t give way to their destruction. Not yet, anyway. They barely move from his force. But he hits enough to be sure they’d be gone when time moves forward again.

He checks the clock tower. Less than two minutes left until Kefka is gone for the night.

Terra takes a deep breath, his muscles sore and shaking from weariness. They are almost there.

Footsteps behind him. Xehanort eyes the clock tower as well, looking just as grateful.

“At last,” he says. He forms a grip into the air. Terra is thrown up against the wall telepathically, his wrists cemented to the brick behind him, both Keyblades gone in a crackle.

“I’ve been advised to practice patience, but no longer,” Xehanort says through his teeth, standing in front of Terra with his Keyblade in hand. “You’re too much trouble.”

Terra tries to wrestle with the invisible force, but he can’t. He can’t move anything. He cries out, because this can’t be the end. Xehanort holds his Keyblade in the air, aiming for the chest.

Garnet jumps from behind him and rams her shortstaff right into the back of Xehanort’s knee. He staggers and backhands her, where she collapses. She crawls back against the wall opposite, holding her hand up in fear in a futile attempt to protect herself.

“You insignificant brat,” Xehanort says as he raises his Keyblade against her.

But her hit releases Terra, and he tackles. One arm around the bastard’s chest, another twisting the armed wrist until the Keyblade is let go. Xehanort is a touch shorter than Terra, but he’s much thinner. He has no strength when magic is not involved.

Terra throws him, slamming him onto the ground which makes him bounce and roll away.

With Garnet following, Terra grabs the duffel bag of elixirs on the way and slings them over his shoulder. Kefka begins moving again. They runs across the street until they get situated close enough to the office building.

“Stand your ground,” he tells Garnet.

“What are you going to do?” She holds her place directly by his side.

Kefka follows them with its gaze, and walks forward. The gashes make it uglier, its neck ruffle and shoulder pads burnt.

“Just trust me,” Terra says. He summons both Keyblades and waits.

“Terra?” she says, her voice shaking with nervousness. Xehanort comes to and is running out toward them.

“Stand your ground.”

The clown comes close enough.

Terra thrusts the teeth of both Keyblades into the ground. The earth pops and spews, breaking the mended stones in a trail until it reaches the office building - specifically the corner wall where she planted the bomb on the first floor.

It explodes as Kefka steps right past it. The building starts to crumble, triggering the second bomb to go off by the clown’s face. It screams like before, deafening the quake as the earth opens up the cobblestones underneath him and the princess.

They fall as the ground gives up. Garnet lets out a high-pitched scream, but she’s barely audible in comparison to the ruckus.

Xehanort slides to the edge of the open pit. He wears the face of someone who desperately missed his target, watching them splash into a rush of water below.

This chapter references Pixar’s Coco (2017).

A/N: I have defined the Spanish words and phrases used with context clues, but I wanted to make a note that some of it is Cuban slang (I can’t help it). There were definitely times where I had to be careful of what I was writing. For example, for “calavera” I nearly used “calabaza.” In Spanish, that means “pumpkin,” but Cubans use the names of food to describe lots of things. We use “calabaza” to mean sugar skull, and that’s why many people look at us like we’re crazy. For example, in the movie, Frida Kahlo prepares a papaya that she makes her clone dancers crawl out of. For us, a papaya is the word we use for the woman’s nether-regions. You can imagine what kind of context we understood those scenes to mean, LMAO.

#terraqua #kingdom hearts fanfiction #terqua #kh fanfic #terra #aqua #young xehanort #garnet til alexandros #kefka palazzo #hector #miguel #coco #i know this is coming out far later than planned #i am still trying to catch up to this hell week my god #my fic

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