Nightmares, so unlike the pleasant dreams that often speak of one's heartfelt desires, longings, or just wishes for good things to happen along the road known as life. That of which were once thought to be an evil spirit or monster that was believed to terrify persons in the realm of unconsciousness, the plane of dreams. No-one adored being gripped by nightmare's cold grasp, rendered unsettled and being forced to visualize fierce, dreadful things. Sometimes, it proved to others just how hard it could be to struggle out of the seemingly endless dream of torture, to finally wake up and realize, quite blissfully, that it was all just some unwanted nightmare that had manifested itself to existence. It was more than just a relief to free yourself from the binding chains of a nightmare. And, eventually, everyone woke up from that hauntful dream.

Then why wasn't he waking up? Shouldn't this be over? Wasn't this enough?

For some off reason that he couldn't place his finger on, the Heartless and the Nobodies of lesser being, once helpful allies for the Organization, had turned on them. Ferociously. Vivaciously. Tirelessly. The whole thing was a maelstrom of confusion, of questions left unanswered when all the members merely wanted to know at least one answer to the fruitless questions. Why had they turned on them, and so aggressively at that? Why did they bother to torment them, to try and quash them when they too resided peaceably in the World That Never Was? Then there was the skepticism toward the abrupt, up-heaving earthquakes. Why were they suddenly unfolding in nearly every single location in the melancholy world? Were they occurring just here, or in other worlds as well? If not, was this just the beginning and, soon, it too would spread to the other worlds? So many questions, requiring, needing, an answer. And quickly. Because if they didn't get that response...who knew what would happen to their world, the only world that they could safely call home. Call theirs, and no-one elses'.

The blonde man panted harshly, unhappily flickering his gaze across the Heartless and Nobodies that barred his path to freedom. Of course the rain from the gloomy, dark-grey clouds plummeted to earth in torrents, making such a thick curtain of water that it was close to impossible to see through. Usually, the sitarist would be overjoyed - as overjoyed as a nonexistent, unfeeling Nobody was able - to be in the midst of such an unmistakable downpour. Now, however, any glee that he would show toward it was overshadowed by displeasure, and a worrisome mask. He had forgotten how long he had been stuck in the relentless rain, surrounded by the black creatures of the dark and the varying white shapes of the nonexistent, sometimes that pristine white accompanied by some other vibrant or dull colour to contrast with the shade on their bodies. To Demyx's dismay, his own Dancers had led the attack - or ambush, either one worked. They turned their graceful, float-like gait on him; it was such a turn of events that it had shocked the Melodious Nocturne to near petrification that he hadn't shook it off until they had been close enough to toss him like a rag-doll. It was so unfair, so unjust. At first, the aquamarine-eyed musician didn't believe the others that their own Nobodies were disobeying them, ignoring every order thrown against them and refusing to appear when told to. Instead, they materialized whenever they wished, wrecking havoc. What a surprise it had been to him at first when he had attempted to summon his Dancers, and then trying to command a Dusk to come to his side. And now, the Organization members were forced out of their safe haven - Castle Oblivion - to figure out what was the source of the mayhem.

Sighing listlessly under his breath, Demyx threaded his fingers through his hair wistfully, eyeballing the few Neoshadows and Shadows, along with the Dancers and Dusks. There was some Assassins commingled amoung them, as was two or three of Saix's Berserkers. Noticing them again brought a groan to the musician's lips. He hated the Lunar Diviner's Nobodies. They were a pain in the ass, in more ways than one. Hell, they were worse than his Dancers! At least they didn't parry every single blow and made it more than difficult for anyone unfortunate enough to face them. At the moment, Demyx chewed on his lip, contemplating how far he could run away from the slowly encroaching denizens of The World That Never Was, and for how long. They'd certainly give chase, but the sitarist was hoping to gamble that he would be faster than his pursuers; maybe a ragtag group of Assassins and Dancers would catch up - they were pretty fast. But he doubted that the Berserkers would be able to, with their heavy weight, nor the Shadows, with their ungainly walk and periodic twitching. The Neoshadows might be more persistent, though he wasn't entirely nervous about the prospect of them catching up. They apparently got distracted almost as easily as their weaker counterparts.

Carefully roving his eyes over them in a complete cycle, he found a small gap in the circle. Figuring that now was the best time before they closed in too much, the musician bolted in a burst, streaking past a startled Dancer and Neoshadow. His staccato decision looked as if it dumbfounded the group of Heartless and Nobodies for a good moment as he stole a glance over his shoulder. But it couldn't last forever and, shaking out of the momentary stupor, they pursued. Heaving out a disappointed breath (he had been hoping that they would give him more of a leeway), Demyx meticulously tucked his sitar under an armpit as he continued his stride, occasionally throwing looks over his shoulder as he traversed more allies than he could count. After looking behind him for god knows what time, the sitarist came to find two Assassins still trudging after him, as were three of his own Dancers.

"Might as well finish them off..." Not that he liked the thought, but they didn't look like they were ready to give up any time soon. Not when the thrill of the chase obviously exulted them. As he slid to a complete stop, at the same time drenching his trench coat even more in a deep puddle, they as well halted, peering imperiously at him with sightless gazes. That always unnerved him; it was hard not to be. It was the same as that feeling you have when you just have an unsavory thought that someone was leering at you, hidden from view - at the same time, rising the hairs on your neck. Grimacing at the indifferent beings before him, Demyx moved his sitar into a more firm grasp, at the same time eying the Nobodies to make sure they didn't make any sudden movements. Licking his lips, the Nocturne decided to wait them out, to let them have the first move.

The minutes ticked by as they analyzed his harmless posture, possibly deducing what actions they should make against him. Finally they shifted, striding purposefully to where he stood in their own unique gait. Not waiting another second, and once more grateful for the rain still pouring unceasingly down on the city, the blonde quickly strummed a certain tone on the instrument, skillfully sliding his fingers across certain frets and shifting them to different positions. A geyser of water erupted explosively from the ground, another following in suit in swift procession. It was a repetitive thing, geyser after geyser making itself present in the Nobodies' direction. To his triumph, the masses of water tore apart two of his unwilling Dancers, one escaping the liquid's wrath in time. The Assassins, being protected as they were by their special ability, were merely rebuked, leaving them openly vulnerable for a hefty attack. Taking the chance, the sitarist came forward, slamming the blunt part of the musical instrument down on one of Axel's Nobodies, ending it's life there. A quick flick of the wrist had the three-spiked end of the sitar driven into the other Assassin. Satisfied that he had incapacitated most of the threat, he turned to greet the last remaining Nobody, not so downcast as he had been moments before. The Dancer looked like it speculated its situation, and it didn't take long. The fluid Nobody was gone in a matter of seconds, leaving Demyx be.

Grateful for the requiem he knew wouldn't last too long, Demyx relaxed. He intended to get the most out of it, though, and he'd do it now. Lazily waving his sitar off to whatever Netherland it resided in until he called it forth, the Nocturne wearily backed up against a stark building, letting a content sigh escape his lips. It was tranquil for now - a well-earned surprise for him, he thought. Running so long and so far had him beat; thankfully it was raining harshly today. That just meant that he didn't have to exhaust his energy in making water out of nothing. Why do that when you could just take what was already there.

The musician had just begun to aimlessly play with the chains that hung from his black trench coat when the world was dimly lit by some unknown source, bringing a frown to Demyx's face. How weird. Stepping away from the dark wall, he backed up, squinting upward for a sign of the instigator. Immediately he caught sight of the fountain of light, which cascaded in several different directions. Blinking, Number IX slowly started toward the beacon before kicking in a burst of speed, going at his own leisurely pace. A beam to call someone, perhaps? It looked like something that Roxas could do. Did that mean he was in trouble? Troubled by the thought, since the Organization really needed to be one as a whole at this current day of age, the blonde sped up, fervently hoping that it wasn't something beyond the line of "bad."

Just as he was sure that he had come close to where the shower of light had appeared, slight tremors rocked the ground beneath him. Freezing, the musician gave a fleeting glance to the ground at his feet before uttering a single word.

"Shit."

Gnawing on the inside of his cheek, Demyx sighed, harried. Of all times, an earthquake decided to present itself today, at this time. Unsure of where would be a good place to hide from the wrath of the quake, the blonde scowled. Who was he kidding? There wasn't anywhere to elude nature's fury, if it was indeed a thing of nature. The way things were going, it didn't appear to be something nature cooked up. The matter of indecision was all it took for the said earthquake to truly unleash itself. Gasping, the musician scrambled in the direction he had last seen the spray of light shoot skyward. He doubted he would manage to get away unscathed, and expected no less. And, typically, he was right.

A shudder underneath him foretold an impact, and he braced himself. There was no point to try to escape the quake. He somehow knew that now. Then, out of the blue, the world was turned upside down and everything went...black.



Maybe it was the sense of feeling returning to his limbs that woke him, or that angry throb that was a headache. Whatever it was, he was just happy to know that he still breathed. Was still alive. Inhaling deeply, then wincing afterward in regret as the action hurt his bashed ribs, Demyx gingerly picked himself up, a grimace or a groan frequent. He should be praying to the gods that the only damage he had taken was bruised ribs, a painful head injury which he didn't wish to turn into a concussion, and a beaten body. At least he had managed to sustain minimal inflictions, and nothing too major that he could see or feel. Pausing, the Melodious Nocturne took the time to inspect his surroundings, which didn't look like it took the magnitude of earthquake as well as he had. Turning his face from the dilapidated buildings, the sitarist instead rested it on a crumbled heap that had been two buildings. Curious, since it seemed to him to be the spot where the signal had been issued, Demyx scrambled over the gravel and broken bits and pieces that was once one of the proud structures. Reaching the other end, he stopped, spying Roxas - but seeing him half buried alive wasn't all that great.

Tensing, the blue-eyed Nobody slid down the rubble ungracefully, kneeling near the other blonde with an expression of what could have been concern. "Damn. You al-" Cutting off, the musician changed the wording. He doubted Roxas would take kindly to being asked if he was alright, especially with his current position. "Need help, Rox?"

Did he appear fidgety? Or perhaps jittery? Because he certainly felt like it, crouching carefully beside his fallen, fellow Organization XIII member. Constantly his hands moved of their own accord to lightly touch his neck, or to fiddle uncomfortably with the chains that were a part of the ebony attire. Sometimes they even ventured higher to apprehensively play with the stray hairs that lay gently on his forehead, or to rub the back of his neck. They were actions he did unconsciously, obviously things he had no idea he was doing. Personally, he blamed anxiety, or whatever it was that he, in a lack of proper wording, felt. Right now, the fault was to be laid on the earthquakes, and he had every single right to be downright flustered with that fact. For all he knew, one was dormant and ready to rumble in a matter of seconds. To have it occur at this time, with Roxas being inevitably crushed under a weight much heavier than his small frame, could be disastrous. Well, not could be. Would be was more like it.

Though what Demyx wanted to know was how in hell the younger blonde winded himself up in this problematic situation. He wasn't as stupid as some of the Organization liked to make of him; he easily figured that the crushing, destroyed building on top of Roxas wasn't just a building, but two. Spaced close to together, most likely, thus creating an alleyway. So what he couldn't understand was why the Key of Destiny had decided to rest - which was what the Nocturne assumed - in an alley when he surely knew that there was massive quakes manifesting here and there.

In fact, the Melodious Nocturne had intended to ask this of Roxas: his mouth had even begun to open to question the matter. Though the shorter male had moved and chased such an inquiry from his mind, such was the state of his worry for a fellow comrade that he could rely on. Well, more than most others that he could name, at least. Staring back at that pitiful gaze of Roxas', Demyx cringed internally, muttering what sounded like a prayer under his breath. Roxas was incapable of speech. It was palpable. Otherwise, he would have said something by now - perhaps a snarky comment, a gracious remark of thanks, something. But he didn't, merely looked at him, so that was all the sitarist could assume. And he didn't blame the other blonde, with the predicament he was in. Though he had to say that it was a good sign (it had to be), that the blue-eyed teen-ager was moving. Even if it was only slightly. That meant nothing was broken to an extremity that prevented movement: like his spine. He had to admit that he had been hoping that it wasn't the problem here, and more worried about that then anything.

Unable to stand the weak protests from Roxas as he shifted around, the musician snapped back into a more complete concentration, hurrying to his feet. "Hang tight, Rox. I'll try my best." Despite his own weaknesses (and that irking headache that made his thoughts muddled occasionally), the blonde moved the heaviest bit of metal from the top of the teen-ager, grunting as he shoved it out of the way. Damn, that took a hell of a lot, and it was only one piece of stinking metal. Generally, he would have used water to help him out, but just calling his sitar would tucker him out, thanks to his injuries. And his fingers had taken a bit of a banging, he had noticed: when he flexed his fingers, no matter how slightly, branches of pain arched though them. Demyx wasn't quite in the mood to use his sitar if this was the case.

He supposed his wasn't as focused bodily and mentally in the task like he wanted to think, for he immediately registered Liam's presence. Of course it startled the sitarist, who expected no-one to stumble upon them so soon, not when an earthquake had only erupted mere minutes ago. Number IX had seen the elf-like figure in his peripheral vision, just as he was beginning to strenuously dislodge a third piece of metal framework from on top of Roxas. Leaving the broken object there as he turned his head to suspiciously inspect the newcomer, Demyx frowned, unsure at how he should respond. Truthfully, he wasn't in the mood to be talking lightly with a complete stranger, especially when the younger male he was determined to help out alive needed him the most. Taking to account the visible wound the youth had, Demyx searched for words. "No...not exactly."

There. He said what could be said. Sure, he wasn't usually so frank and unfriendly, but he wanted this done and over with. Nonchalantly chatting with this boy didn't seem fair to Roxas, or that courteous. Turning his back on Liam (not without remorse, of course; it wasn't as if he wanted to bluntly ignore the wounded youth), Demyx returned to the momentarily forgotten piece of frame, jerking it out of place and carelessly throwing it to the side.
It felt like everyone was popping up here all of a sudden. Now Vexen, the last person he had expected to find out here, came out of nowhere. The last time he had checked, the Chilly Academic was fooling around in his laboratory. To help them all out, he was thinking. Or to experiment again. Either way, he was positive that was where he had been last. When wasn't the older man there? Sighing, Demyx cast Roxas an apologetic glance before turning his attention from aiding to the shield-wielding Nobody. "Why would you ask me, of all people...I don't know!" Really, he was dubious about what was happening, and also bemused as to why Vexen would ask him what was the matter with their world. He was the smart one, for Chrissake! "I thought you would know!" Perhaps this wasn't the perfect time to engage in a conversation. Ruffling his neat hair into a mess, Demyx gestured to Roxas. "Help would be appreciated, please." Without another thought toward Liam, or word to Vexen, the sitarist went back to helping the short Nobody beside him. If the scientist did consider helping, which he'd better, dammit, this would be much easier. Plus, he didn't look hurt, unlike him and Roxas.


ooc; nah, akita. mine's crappy. )x