It seemed inane, even to him, as some small part of his mind analyzed his thoughts from afar, poking at them incredulously. It seemed inane, but even though every physical instinct told him to just leave, he didn’t want to. Every emotional instinct Van possessed told him to stay put, to speak up, to try to hug Sora again–he needed to make this right, somehow.
But he already knew there was nothing he could do. This world’s version of his baby brother was trapped in a living nightmare, and he was helpless.
A sudden thought struck him. He knew when he’d felt this way before. Not just helpless, but…betrayed. Betrayed by blood.
He’d been less than a week old. He didn’t even have a face yet; his physical form was defined by the Dark Suit and helmet he’d been conjured in. He’d called Xehanort his Master, but his young mind had already been exploring other meanings for the word. Xehanort had created him. Didn’t that make Xehanort his…parent? His father? Family? He had vague flashes of what a family should be like. Of what love should look like. Vague, faraway. But his young, inexperienced mind had latched on to them.
Until the first time Xehanort hit him. He’d struck Vanitas with his Keyblade, knocking him back ten feet, to leave him skidding face-first through the dust. And then told him, in his harsh, barking voice, to get up.
And Van hadn’t moved. The physical pain startled him, but it was nothing debilitating; he was stronger than that. It was another kind of pain that hurt him. Betrayal. Pain in his Heart. And he was helpless to stop it. Nothing could ever be the same again, after that. Once Xehanort had betrayed him, he knew he could never look at the man as family.
He couldn’t move. He wanted to make this right. But Sora had struck him. Lashed out; sliced him open. He felt helpless…and betrayed.
Van stumbled back until his legs gave out. He landed roughly on his posterior, then curled his legs in towards his chest. He hunched down, hiding his face and arms behind his knees, curling into a ball to try to shield himself. Trying to hold himself together. Trying to keep his Heart from bleeding out the pain that hurt far worse than anything claws could rend.
He couldn’t leave. Sora had wounded him too deeply.
Nortra retched again, the scent making memory flash, muscles tensing even more so that warped bones creaked, a raw throat bled, making him cough and adding the taste of his own blood to the pool of ‘problem’.
He was still with it enough to realize that Van was still there, though. He could still hear, after all, even if his nose and mouth were still filled with panic-inducing taste and smell. As if Vanitas being there wasn’t enough on its own to induce panic.
Panic was never a good thing when he decided to let Anti-form be visible.
Nortra growled, rasping deep in his now-raw throat, rising up on shaking arms until he was balanced on all fours, his toes barely touching the ground. Darkness wafted from him in tendrils, seeking what his eyes could not see. His stomach clenched again, nearly doubling him as his spine cracked, but in the midst of panic, he didn’t care. He lurched toward Van, toward his sounds, teeth bared and claws at the ready, bristling so hard that he felt the pain even through the haze of terror.
He leaped, screaming wordless obscenities, blood on claws, blood in his mouth, his onw and Van’s...and opened a Corridor. It was instantaneous, and it was huge, far larger than needed for a simple passage. That was untintentional, but it had the desired outcome, as Nortra’s leap carreid him over the curled-up Van and into the monstrous, whirling portal behind him, which just as instantly dissolved into a pinhole, its leaving taking a bit longer than its coming.
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