You never thought it'd hurt so bad
Bring me a remedy
You never thought it'd hurt so bad
Never thought it'd feel so right
Bringing you to your knees
Never thought it'd feel so right

He brushed a hand over one of his many wounds, hunched uncomfortably in front of one of the castle's erected blankness.  Painfully sucked in breath, removed the touch of his from raw skin.  Faintest hue of crimson lingered, ever reminding him of his last brush with the Keyblade Master.  Heh.  Showed what uncalled for kindness got you...

Fatigue and anguish, however, were far better than the others' fate (or so he's been told).  'Least he was (in the Nobody sense) alive.  All his fellow former comrades now resided permanently in the void of the after-life, if even existing at all.

Yes, all...even her.  He ground his teeth and took a wild, reckless swing at the stone wall before him.  Almost blissful pain overwhelmed, forcing him to relinquish his thoughts.  Of her.  Bloody woman.  Foolish Nymph.

A groan escaped, him sliding down to a sitting position, aware of the streak of red left behind.  Clenching and unclenching hands in turns, burying his face in what's left of a cloak.

Forget.  Had to.  Forget her.  Cease to remember those icy orbs, pet-name inspiring hair, cynical smile...

All(Not) her fault.  She--he--should have known.  Warnings were spoken but meant nothing.  He was dangerous, that stupid child, the young murderer.  She laughed, she wasn't scared, unconcerned, chiding him for his lack of.  Nothing would happen, so it was claimed.  Only hours before.

It's the edge of the dawn
When she looks in your eyes
And she wants what is hers
Before the light

She just wanted to play with him.  The toy.  Toys couldn't hurt.  They were used for amusement.  Easily disposed, utterly predictable.  Look at him, his clothes, and oh, how cute, his pathetic little friends.  Just running down for a little look-see and head honcho is none the wiser.

He couldn't very well say no.  She had that gaze, that air, mind all made up.  He'd refuse her nothing.  She knew he'd face the reaper himself before betraying her.  Anyone but her.

A wink, a peck that guranteed mum-ness, a giggle, portalling to her fate.

And she runs on her own
And you'll hurt before you know
Not a sweet alibi
When you get your bloody dose
In the still of the night
It is there you'll feel it most
In this dark carnival
Where the end is close

He'd followed after, feelings(?) that couldn't quite be placed deep in his stomach.  Her and the kid sparred first with words, the nymph part spinning the required lies, part improvising.  The boy was quick to the draw, charging wildly, bloodlust evident in his eye.

Slashing and hacking, the toy stripped away his gear and mechanisms, breaking away from his usual path.  Cut and clash were too much for the crackle and bite of lightning.  He dulled her bolts, her knives, her humor.  The fun, the amusement, gone.  The play-thing overpowered its master.

He left her, nothing frightening left of the shuddering (No)body.  The air around heavy with the ebbing away of life's charge.  White beneath her stained forever with the red of her not-heart.  The boy--the hero--left, not taking/wasting time to watch his enemy die.

But not Axel.  Never he.

(I'll tell you it won't hurt)
Never thought it'd hurt so bad
Funny how the story ends
Remember the beginning
Funny how the story ends
Should never have looked so close
(Should never have looked so close)
I can see all your cracks
Should never have looked so close

The once-savage woman reduced to next-to-nothing in her last moments, last breaths.  Eyes wide, gasping mouth, small body shaking with pain and fear prevalent.

He'd gone to her, lifted what was left of the girl into his arms, tried to still the shaking, in vain trying to stop the inevitable.  Twirled her "antennae" in his fingers, tried to make her smile.  Anything, anything.  To stretch the minutes.  Murmured what she wanted to hear, sweet lies whispered.  Leaving his breaking self for her to see.  All for her.  Nothing for her.

She cried, liquid silver from the ice drifting down her face.  Told him he had been right, he was better than her--anything she'd ever hesitated to say coming to light (oh the irony) in their last meeting.  Mirthless laughing, self-hating, goodbye with a plea for forgiveness.

His lips greedily bruised her bloody ones.  Senseless, desperate caressing to make up for the time lost.  Promises that screamed uselessness even as they were uttered.  Empty declarations from non-feeling, fast-fading, could-be lovers.

Slowly disappearing in detached strings of blackness, still finding no peace in parting.  A wasted existence is hers, from beginning to sudden end.  She clutched onto him, her grip steel even after nothing remained.  He, left behind, lay in emptiness.

Ohhhh he would avenge.  Bitter sweetly.

The pyro turned on all, for what had they done for him but lose?  Some sadistic sense of pleasure poured from dismembering the painstaking, petty plans.  Doing to them what they'd inadvertently caused him, one of their own.  He saw why she liked the pain.  It was her air, her nourishment, but to him it was his need.  The thing that replaced the heart he never had.

He slayed the academic, took the king of the castle off his high throne, freed the witch--aided the monster before he dared to slay it.

...and we'll fight to the the death
(Tell me it won't hurt)
...everyone has an hour

He found her killer, found himself half lying according to the now-useless script, half to no rhyme or reason.  Facing the boy, hating every inch of his lawful, original existence.  All he had, would have, never would.  Half-hoping to win, to grind his face into less than powder, gouge out those deep blue eyes, rip out his hair strand by strand, humiliate, making him feel HIS pain.  Half-wanting to share in his nymph's fate.

...and the weapons
(Tell me it won't hurt)
...so we'll fight to the death

Never had his chakrams come so easy, nor felt so correct.  Their edge, their spike, drawing pain with each touch.  The metal colliding with the same element, to golden Keyblade.  Each break, each cut, each brief moment of triumph, savored, stored.

No, the child's will was no stronger.  It was...was...he didn't know specifically.  Call it luck, call it unfair, call it for the millions of other similar fights, same fates.  The dooming knowledge of the outcome of good vs. evil-for-all-the-right-reasons.  The boy's blows became bigger as his own grew weaker.  He felt his own skin slicing, liquid escaping, the pain claiming every inch of his no-being.  Marvelous death at his fingertips, calling--begging--to be snatched in his waning grasp.  It was there...with her.

He was ready, he was willing, he...couldn't.  Doubt kicked in, overpowered, stopped the battle, forced him to offer his best words of surrender.  Transporting through the fabric of time and space to be with his other worst enemy: his newfound no-conscience.

...now it is final
(Tell me it won't hurt)
...for what?

Falling into the depths of sleep he doubted he'd come out of, wished he wouldn't, did anyway.  The luxury of dreams never crossing into his subconscious.  Waking to ever growing agony, so strong and so enduring that dying seemed too good to be true.

...who knows?
Tell me it won't...

Assaulted with images, now caught in the present, he could do nothing to escape from it.  Everything, nothing.  Pain, pleasure.  Right, wrong.

No time for her, even less for him.  He was descending fast into his own sweet madness.  Induced by want--no, need.  Sinking, swimming...rolling, running.  Torn to pieces, glued back bit-by-bit.  Pictures in his mind flashing before he could hold them all.

And she runs on her own
And you'll hurt before you know
Not a sweet alibi
When you get your bloody dose
In the still of the night (of the night)
It is there you'll feel it most
In this dark carnival where the end is close

A lightning bolt--funny, wasn't it?--of reason shocked him into a short space of sanity.  All of him, none of him leaving for parts unknown.  Into the night.  Into the rain.  Into the thunder.  Into the...

Mists of forget dousing him, the fire.  Put out.  One reason left to keep him.  For going.

Tell me it won't hurt
(I'll tell you it won't hurt)
Give me a remedy
Give me a remedy
I'll tell you it won't hurt
I'll tell you it won't...

He'd find the light again.  And she wouldn't be far behind.

...hurt