Vanitas snorts. "Why would this help us? Why would Terra help us? You saw him." He was right there, with Eraqus, looking. Vanitas's benefit of the doubt machine broke.
"Fine," Vanitas says, and summons Void Gear. He hates summoning the thing. Hates that it came to his desperate, frantic calling and pained straining of an already strained heart instead of Wayward Wind. But it hums in his hand, makes him feel a little surer, a little more powerful, a little more able to fight back. Not that it really matters, or has ever made a difference.
He points it at the lock, and a thin beam jets out into it. It's not like tapping a chest, there's a struggle that feels like his bones creaking dangerously except in his heart before it gives and unlocks with a click. Vanitas exhales, grip white-knuckled still on Void Gear, before splaying his fingertips on the door and pushing it.
The hallway is empty. He looks back at Ventus before stepping out into it, every line of his body on edge. The torches flicker in their wall grates; it's not the shadows thrown that bother Vanitas, but the pools of visibility and sense-of-being-watched. "The... stairs." It starts out tentative, then decisive. "If we can get down..." They have to get out of the Castle, that's for sure. But where to, after that?
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"Fine," Vanitas says, and summons Void Gear. He hates summoning the thing. Hates that it came to his desperate, frantic calling and pained straining of an already strained heart instead of Wayward Wind. But it hums in his hand, makes him feel a little surer, a little more powerful, a little more able to fight back. Not that it really matters, or has ever made a difference.
He points it at the lock, and a thin beam jets out into it. It's not like tapping a chest, there's a struggle that feels like his bones creaking dangerously except in his heart before it gives and unlocks with a click. Vanitas exhales, grip white-knuckled still on Void Gear, before splaying his fingertips on the door and pushing it.
The hallway is empty. He looks back at Ventus before stepping out into it, every line of his body on edge. The torches flicker in their wall grates; it's not the shadows thrown that bother Vanitas, but the pools of visibility and sense-of-being-watched. "The... stairs." It starts out tentative, then decisive. "If we can get down..." They have to get out of the Castle, that's for sure. But where to, after that?