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When Luxord fell, Marluxia stood aside out of courtesy.
When Larxene fell, Marluxia stood aside out of horror.
With the former, Marluxia had known that the last thing the Gambler would want was for the Assassin to interfere with his final game. Attacking Sora while he was reaping the rewards of his victory would sully Luxord’s honor, and the man had clearly wished to speak with the boy anyways. The Organization had not held much for Marluxia, but Luxord was one of the few that he felt deserved his respect.
With the latter, Marluxia could only watch in horror as Sora twisted out of the path of her knives and swung his Keyblade across her back. Larxene had truly been his closest friend, both before and after they joined the True Organization. He had felt inexplicably drawn to her when they first met, and while she would never admit it, he saw that same spark in her eyes. In the absence of their memories and their feelings, the two had clung to that connection and never looked.
Now, watching the Nymph fade away, Marluxia was paralyzed by the pure sorrow in his chest (and wasn’t that ironic for a being with no Heart) even with the knowledge that she would eventually be recompleted.
By the time he had regained his wits, Larxene had already faded. But in her final moments, her face was strangely pensive, as if she was having a sudden epiphany. Although her parting words for directed at Sora, Marluxia couldn’t help but think that her smile, the warmest smile he had ever seen on Larxene’s face, was for him.
Were he in a better state of mind, Marluxia may have taken time to consider the implications of that. May have used his magic to incapacitate Sora. Now though, his only desire was to avenge his comrade, his friend, heedless of strategy. With a guttural growl, Marluxia dashed forward and swung Graceful Dahlia wildly at Sora, cutting into his stomach.
With a pained yell, the boy rolled away from the Assassin, raising his Keyblade and sending a scorching fireball towards him. Marluxia scattered into a flock of petals, reappearing behind Sora and swinging his weapon down, only for the King to push the boy out of the way and block him.
He twisted the handle and threw the King into the air, flying up to reap his Heart.
“Firaga!” rang out from below, and Marluxia twisted around mid-light to blow the spell away with a torrent of wind.
A sudden pain erupted across his back, and Marluxia realized too late the spell had been a trap. With another swing of his Keyblade, the King sent Marluxia careening into the ground.
Vision blurred, Marluxia heard footsteps approaching to end him. The rage had subsided, and with it Marluxia’s desire to fight back. However, he could feel that damned old man clawing at his will, his heart wriggling around like a parasite in his body.
And so Marluxia willed a ring of spectral petals around him. Pushing himself up with Graceful Dahlia, he roared and pushed the barrier outwards, blowing his foes away from him with surprised yelps.
The battle continued, a tense dance between the Graceful Assassin and the foremost wielders of the Keyblade, a whirlwind of blades clashing against each other as one danced under the other’s attack.
Marluxia was powerful, with Xehanort’s darkness augmenting the Nobody’s precise control over his weapon and his element, fighting with the Graceful Dahlia as if the weapon was a branch off his tree.
But Sora and the King were arguably the most powerful Keyblade wielders currently living, with the former’s endless bonds and the latter’s decades of experience augmenting their natural talent with the Keyblade.
Not only that, Marluxia was now actively fighting against Xehanort’s control. It seemed that his passive adherence to Xehanort’s ideals had left the Keyblade Master unprepared for his sudden resistance. Marluxia held him back from tapping into his more powerful techniques, and from calling forth the Spector, the larger form within him.
The inevitable came when an unexpected ball of Light from above knocked Marluxia off-balance, giving Sora dash forward and swing the Keyblade across his chest.
And in that instant, Marluxia remembered.
Marluxia remembered waking up in a start.
He remembered the haze in his head as he looked around, confused as to how he was still in existence when he had just been struck down by Sora moments earlier. With a start, he realized that he could even feel confusion. Fear, anger, sadness, relief, and even the hint of a memory. He had a Heart once more. He barely had a moment to enjoy this before a dark corridor opened in front of him, and a familiar one-eyed figure walked through.
“Xigbar...?” The Freeshooter was rolling his shoulders as he stepped out, his eye lazily sliding towards Marluxia.
“Well, well, looks like I came at juuust the right of time.” Xigbar leaned against a pillar, looking down at Assassin still sprawled on the ground. “Can you imagine if you wandered off somewhere? I’d’ve had to go scouring the worlds looking for you, as if.”
“How is it possible...that I’m here?” Marluxia rasped out, his throat scratchy.
“Well as it turns out,” Xigbar grinned, “if a person’s Heartless and their Nobody are both destroyed, then the original is recompleted, just like that!”
He remembered the cold anger at the implications of those words. That mocking tone, it could only mean that Xigbar knew. And if the Number II of the Organization knew, then…
“...You were looking for me.” Marluxia slowly stood from the ground, his legs sore, and glared contemptuously at Xigbar, who in pointed finger guns at him.
“Bingo. You see, Xehanort- ah you wouldn’t know who that is. Xemnas believes that you’ve got a part to play in his plans, and it's my job to bring you to him.”
“Xemnas wants me to help him with his schemes?” Marluxia cocked an incredulous brow.
“There’s no way that you didn’t know I plotted against you at Castle Oblivion. Why would he want me back?”
He remembered his head reeling as Xigbar explained Xehanort’s plan to bring about the Second Keyblade War. Someone was that cunning, that manipulative, and that deluded to plan for a war that would reshape the universe itself a decade in advance? To account for his own destruction, and the destruction of his counterparts? To bend time itself and use his younger counterpart to split his Heart among thirteen vessels?
How laughable it was that Marluxia had thought he could overthrow him. Such foresight and intuition, and life had decided to grant it to a man as vile and detestable as Xehanort. And now he wanted Marluxia to become his vessel? What a joke.
“What makes you think I’ll become one of Xehanort’s vessels?” Xigbar laughed at his disbelief.
“Well I suppose if I have to…” In an instant, an arrow was pointed between Marluxia’s eyes. “I could just drag to back and let the old man force his Heart into you.”
He remembered feeling fear, subdued but present, at the prospect of losing his humanity so quickly. He was already gauging how quickly he could summon Graceful Dahlia, if he still could at all, and disarm the Freeshooter when Xigbar lowered the arrowgun simply.
“Hah! As if. I don’t need to force your sorry self anywhere. After all…” Xigbar leaned in close to Marluxia, his one eye glowing gold. “You’re still looking for your memories, aren’t you?”
Marluxia went stiff. His memories. Aside from his desire to usurp Xemnas, his entire existence as a Nobody had been to reclaim his identity, to bring an end to the maddening echoes in the back of his head. If Xehanort truly was so knowledgeable to be able to accurately predict the future, then wouldn't it be within the realm of possibility that he could shine a light on Marluxia’s past?
“...How do I know that Xehanort truly is able to help me with my amnesia?” Marluxia prodded. Xigbar’s grin only seemed to grow.
“That old coot probably knows everything. Buuut if that’s not enough incentive for you…” His voice lowered to a whisper. “May your Heart be your guiding key.”
The effects of those words were immediate. Marluxia clutch his head as a spike of pain coursed through it. As Xigbar spoke those words, Marluxia could hear a voice, soft and feminine, repeat them a second after. And as quickly as it came, the memories faded once more.
Slowly, Marluxia raised his head to look at Xigbar, who simply looked at him expectedly. He wasn’t sure how Xigbar knew that phrase would trigger something, but the faint memory was like a taste of water in a scorching desert. And if losing his Heart to Xehanort would lead him to an oasis, well…
“Lead the way.”
Marluxia remembered.
He remembered waking without a past or personality to his name, which he only had because it was given to him by Xigbar. In his first year; Marluxia knew nothing but the Organization. As the days passed, he observed those around him and mimicked their own mimicry of emotions. In time, he developed a personality of his own (and yet the motions came far too easily, familiar like a distant echo).
He remembered seeing things that others did not. Some of them were inconsequential habits, like how Demyx would always hum the same, soft tune in rare moments of gravity or how Luxord would glance quickly to the right whenever he silently disagreed with something you said.
But the relationships and unspoken baggage between the senior members were far more interesting. Vexen and Zexion were so similar in their genius and in the vile deeds they committed to please Xemnas, yet so far apart in disposition. Lexeaus did not listen to anybody but Zexion and Xemnas, not even to Saïx or Xigbar. Xaldin pointed these things out freely, mocking remarks and scathing comments at moments where they would hurt most. Saïx and Axel would have quiet whispers that stopped the second one’s presence was known. Xigbar was somehow everywhere and nowhere at once, outwardly gregarious yet never forging any real connections.
At the heart of it all was two things: the loss of their Hearts and the Superior. From what he could tell, the original members had come from the same world and lost their Hearts at the same time.
He remembered the seed of mistrust that was planted in him when Marluxia pieces together that their Hearts were stolen by Xemnas himself. That was when he first began to doubt that their illustrious leader’s plan for the Organization went beyond simply regaining their Hearts.
A traitor would lead them all...the thought awoke something vile within Marluxia when there was nothing to be felt. For them to devote themselves to their leader, only to find that said leader was nothing more than a selfish sham.
He despised the thought.
He remembered brooding over that strange feeling until the day that Number XII joined their ranks. The distant echo that had accompanied his familiar new habits was now thrashing within his head.
Larxene looked so familiar! When Marluxia was assigned to accompany her on her first mission, he could not help but stare at her.
“What’s wrong pretty boy?!” The words snapped Marluxia out of his stupor. The Nymph was staring back at him with a raised brow.
“Distracted by my radiance? I don’t blame you. I’d be in awe too, if I was a loser like you.” She grinned at him, but the edge of her smirk was stained. He could see the same searching look in her eyes. Did she also remember…
“Please,” he cocked his head, “I’ve plucked flowers with a great deal more thorns than you.”
Her grin turned more genuine, just a bit more wolfish, at his words. “Is that so? Looks like there’s someone in this group that isn’t a complete bore.”
“I admit, you are not as droll as the rest of our colleagues.” He leaned in closely, close enough to smell her fragrance. Hyacinth..the smell was the closest thing to intoxicating he had felt in a long a while. “This could be the beginning of a beautiful partnership, no?”
“Partnership?” Sparks danced across Larxene’s skin as she bared her teeth in a twisted smile at him. “I’d like to see you keep up, pretty boy.”
A ghost of a smile pulled at his lips then. “I look forward to doing just that.”
And if there were ever any hidden feelings that threatened surfaced in their partnership, they were left unacknowledged and unsaid. All the hazy reflections and foggy dreams that danced in their heads from mentions of flowers or Keyblades or a new member with an impossibly familiar face. All the long looks that went beyond curiosity and went dangerously close to longing that defied the emptiness of a Nobody. Two long, tangled chains of memories that would remain forever unseen by a woman who knew not the reason that she ran from the truth and a man stuck in a purgatory just out of its reach.
Of course life would deem them fit to be left in charge of Castle Oblivion.
Marluxia remembered.
He remembered a time in which he was not Marluxia. Just a boy with a strong heart and the power of the Keyblade. A boy and his sister.
Strelitzia.
How could he have forgotten Strelitzia?! She was his light, the reason that he had worked so hard to earn their place in Union and ensure that she would be kept safe, even when she insisted on fighting alongside him. The reason he had for living, even when they had lost everything else to a horrible world, darkness or no darkness.
He remembered how beautiful she became as she grew into a young woman. How kind and sweet and caring she was even when the world beat her down. Her fragrance, Strelitzia as was her namesake, was almost as lovely and sweet as the real thing.
He remembered how strong she was. When she first gained her Keyblade, he had been scared of her getting hurt. But instead, she soon became one of the best the Unions had, even strong enough to match him in a fair fight. He was so proud (and relieved) when he learned that Master Ava had invited her into the Dandelions before she had him.
He remembered how much she adored him, and how he loved her back. He remembered watching her grown and blossom, prodding her where he could. He remembered how she smiled when she finally got the hang of Cure magic thanks to his help. He remembered how she had confessed to him about her loneliness and nervousness in approaching a boy.
“A boy, hm? I’m sure you’d just have to walk up to him to get his full attention.” He’d teased.
“Lauriam!” Strelitzia smacked him on the arm, blushing furiously. “You know it’s not like that.” She buried her face into her hands. “I just...he seems so nice, and I want to be his friend, you know?”
“I know.” His smile softened. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “You just have to say hi to him. Once that hurdle’s over, talking to him should come naturally.” He ran a hand through her hair, adjusting the ribbons that had come out of place. “And even if somehow doesn’t, I’ll always be by your side, just like I promised.”
She smiled, leaning into him. “Thanks, bro.”
And then he’d lost her.
Not just her memory, though that was an unforgivable sin in its own right (perhaps he was fit to be a Union leader after all). No, he had lost his sister long before. Murdered, right under his nose. She had died scared and hurting and alone, and he had been tending to his fucking flowers.
Murdered by one of their own. Throughout his investigation, he had trusted that the other Union leaders couldn’t have been involved. They were supposed to be the beacons of light that the Foretellers before them failed to be. The Keyblade War was supposed to be a lesson!
Oh the rage he had felt when he found out that the killer was *****. He remembered the hatred he had felt as he ripped into *****, the sadistic pleasure as he gripped his fingers around *****’s throat and-!
Everything after that was hazy, even now with his memory clearer than it had been in years.
Still, the pieces were there. He walked through the fog with little more than fragments as a Nobody, he could walk through the rest of it with the holes reduced to mere chunks as a Somebody.
Because Marluxia remembered.
The memories were too much and not enough, yet just right all at the same time. He tried to step forward, only to fall to his knees. Looking at his hands, it was then that he remembered he was fading.
“Oh...so now it all comes back to me.” Even now, life seemed to want nothing more than to torture him. All that struggle to reclaim his identity, becoming a vessel I exchange for his memories, and still it refused to return until his dying moment.
What a joke...he couldn’t help his broken laugh at the irony of it all.
“Hey. Is that a real laugh?” Sora looked at him, now unarmed but still with a suspicious look on his face. Marluxia couldn’t help but wonder if this is what Sora had to go through at Castle Oblivion. Having the pieces of who you were ripped apart and jammed back into each other like tidal wave after tidal wave.
Of course the one Marluxia had undone would be the one to save him in the end. This world really did have a twist love of irony.
“Yes...my heart is remembering how to feel.”
“Really? That’s good.” Sora’s face softened, as if he could feel that Marluxia was no more. That someone new was speaking to him. Who knows, maybe he could. Marluxia was too smart to underestimate Sora’s proficiency with the Heart at this point.
“And now, I am in the cusp of reclaiming my identity...my purpose for being.” Marluxia smiles at Sora. He wished he could bring him closer to ending Xehanort. It was the least he could do for him. But his time was quickly running out, so he’d have to settle for making sure Sora understood his gratitude instead.
“Thanks to you...Sora.” Marluxia faded away. But for the first time since his sister died, he felt hope. He needed to find Larxene, no, Elrena. They had been inseparable this whole time, and he wasn’t about to change that.
Once they were reunited once more, they would set out to find Strelitzia. Because he knew much more about the Heart now, and he knew that they would forever be connected, even when they were unrecognizable to the other. She was out there somewhere, he could feel it, and he was going to find her, whatever it takes.
After all, Lauriam had made a promise. And he had never broken a promise to his dear sister before.