Three days had passed since Helios started his vigil over Xehanort's experiments. His routine had grown increasingly demanding, with every spare moment now devoted to monitoring the secret lab's cameras. The horrors he witnessed during those hours were unlike anything he had imagined. Ansem's apprentices showed no hesitation in their pursuit of forbidden knowledge, their actions rooted in cold, clinical detachment.
The targets of their experiments were carefully chosen: the young, the sick, the elderly—those who wouldn't be missed. Helios observed as these poor souls were subjected to the brutal heart removal process, their fragile beings unable to withstand the strain. More often than not, the hearts shattered during the procedure, leaving only lifeless shells behind that twisted and formed what Helios knew as the Creeper that vanished soon after.
Creeper looked to dress in a baggy, light grey jumpsuit with dark grey legs. Its lower legs fan outward like the lower half of the Nobody symbol, and its feet are nearly featureless, black points. Its arms were very long, light grey, and its hands were flat and teardrop-shaped. The back of each hand sported a white Nobody logo. The Creeper's grey head also had a teardrop shape, albeit one that curves to its right. The Nobody's feet dangled uselessly, while it used its wide, flat hands to move.
Helios knew Dusks were the most common nobodies that were made but he never knew how Creeper were made. Watching the experiment he now understood Creeper were failed Dusks. When the heart shattered the body lost all sense of what it was even more so than a Dusk. That's why Creeper had the ability to shapeshift, turning into a large lance because they remembered nothing not even the fact that they were humans.
Hundreds suffered before Xehanort and his cohort finally managed to fine-tune their methods. When they succeeded, it was no less disturbing. The heart and body were separated and preserved, leaving behind nothing of the individual's original existence except data.
Lea and Isa hadn't been among the early test subjects, which came as a small relief to Helios. But he knew their time was coming. The apprentices' experiments were progressing quickly, and the two would likely be among the first successful attempts at creating superior Nobodies. The thought of it left a bitter taste in his mouth, but there was little he could do to intervene—not without jeopardizing everything.
At first, the experiments had filled Helios with revulsion. The sight of people being reduced to broken misshapen forms, their existence quantified and discarded for the sake of a cruel ambition, turned his stomach. But as the days went by, the shock faded. The grotesque became routine, the once-unbearable slowly dulled into something that merely lingered in the background of his mind.
Sitting in front of the monitor, Helios muttered to himself, "So it's true. The heart can really adapt to anything, even depravity." His voice was low, tinged with a strange mixture of resignation and self-awareness. "They always said darkness is like an infection. It spreads unseen, burrowing deep before you even notice it."
He leaned back in his chair, letting out a slow exhale as his fingers raked through his hair. The days of observing atrocities had worn on him in ways he hadn't anticipated. Still, he took some solace in the fact that he could recognize the change in himself. Acknowledging that his desensitization wasn't normal—that it was a symptom of the darkness within—was a small comfort. At least he wasn't entirely lost.
"Well, I haven't gone completely numb yet," he said to no one in particular, his lips twitching into a faint, sardonic smile. "That's got to count for something."
With a weary sigh, Helios turned off the monitor. The images faded from the screen, but they lingered in his mind like a ghostly imprint. He pushed away from the desk and stood, stretching his stiff limbs. Despite his exhaustion, sleep wouldn't come easily tonight—not with his thoughts running wild.
Helios walked over to the corner of his room and leaned against the wall, his gaze drifting toward the ceiling. The silence pressed against him, heavy and unrelenting, as memories began to surface. He thought back to his days in Nightfall, his home world before its fall. Images of his parents filled his mind—his mother's gentle smile, his father's warm, reassuring presence. They were memories steeped in light, a stark contrast to the darkness that now surrounded him.
A faint smile touched Helios's lips as he recalled the quiet evenings spent with his family. He could almost hear the laughter that once echoed through their home, the simple joy of being together. Those memories were his anchor, a reminder of what he had lost and what he was fighting to bring back. Once Kingdom Hearts was in his hands he would bend reality and get those days back.
But as always, the light was followed by darkness. The happy memories gave way to the night when everything fell apart. Helios could see it as vividly as if it were happening all over again—the sky turning black, the air thick with the suffocating presence of darkness. He remembered his parents' desperate attempts to protect him, their hearts glowing brightly against the encroaching shadows.
And then, the moment that haunted him most: the sound of their hearts shattering. It was a sound he couldn't describe, one that defied words, but it echoed in his mind like a constant refrain. He remembered their faces, frozen in an expression of pained smiles as their light was extinguished.
Helios's eyes flew open, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps. His chest ached as though the memories themselves had reached out to crush his heart. For a moment, he stood frozen, his mind a whirlwind of grief and anger. But then, he forced himself to take a deep breath, his hand moving instinctively to his chest.
A small glimmer of light appeared beneath his palm, faint but steady. It pulsed softly, a soothing presence that began to ease the storm within him. Helios closed his eyes, focusing on the light's warmth as it spread through him. It was a reminder that despite everything, a part of him still held onto the light. He liked to believe this was his parent's light. It was small, fragile even, but it was enough to keep him grounded.
After a few moments, Helios's breathing slowed, and his heart began to calm. He opened his eyes, the light fading but its effects lingering. He stood there for a while, staring at the empty space before him, before finally turning away from the wall.