This felt better, Roxas decided as he impaled a winged Heartless in one sharp leap. He couldn’t think, was only allowed to focus on his task. Slaying Heartless had been his job. It felt natural, even if the knowledge of where those Hearts released once gathered made him ill. It was one of the few things he was good at, and so he slipped into the mind-numbing euphoria of watching their black forms turn to smoke.
His only reoccurring thought was how weird it was to be fighting alongside Sora. Their styles mimicked each other in ways that he couldn’t deny, though Roxas notes that his attacks reflected a need to meet headcount in as little time possible. In the end he found together they were equally effective in taking the enemy out, but Roxas has to wonder how well they’d perform separately, maybe competing.
He’s just glad he isn’t as out of practice as he thought he’d be--
When the area is clear, eyes harden into a fierceness, scanning two, three more times to make sure they’d been successful. He’s panting quietly, but soon his expression melts into something more neutral and his shoulders relax. Oblivion and Oathkeeper disappear in a flurry of light and darkness. They were done.
“Not bad,” he murmurs, more to himself than anything. It still made him a little proud to have such a dedicated fighter as his counterpart; he’d accepted it long ago, but to see it in person was surreal. Roxas turns to Sora then, giving him an intense overview—he didn’t see any injuries, but Roxas was never quite sure.
“Should have been easy for you, right?”
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