It was a little funny. The taste of weakness on his tongue and in his nose. It made Ventus seem much less like a monolithic, gapless relentless armor and more like something Vanitas could let ugly pity curl into the disgust for and fear at.

Vanitas made a face and lifted one hand long enough off his keyblade to make mouth motions with a hand, before dropping it back down. Some part of him was giddy, energized in a sick way.

"And he's going to vomit moonbeams and solve all wars and give everyone a million munny for the low, low price of licking his boots? No thank you." In a way, pity was the other side of hate. Look at this thing. Yes, Master, no Master, everything you say Master. He hated it. He hates it. When has any Master ever deserved it? This, is what he'd merge with? He'd rather die.

And then Ventus raised his sword, and said those words, and any mocking pretense dropped into an ugly snarl as Vanitas's hands clenched on Void Gear hard enough it vibrated a little as he likewise lifted it.

"Don't you dare."