Vanitas, noun, Latin origin to mean vanity or emptiness.

Every day was often a struggle to get through for Vanitas in some form or another. Even in his down time between the relentless training under Master Xehanort and his attempts at making Ventus stronger to forge the χ-blade. He's a being curated solely from negative emotions and darkness, and with every destruction of the Unversed that bleeds from his every orifice he feels it. Every blast of magic, every swing of a keyblade, everything. It forces Vanitas to go about every day in chronic pain, and in a way, it makes him stronger. It incentivizes him to only push back against the Wayward trio further; to create more powerful Unversed and in turn create an even more powerful Ventus for a stronger χ-blade without pain. Just as Xehanort promised—

So, why the hell can he feel warmth all of a sudden? An itch dug deep into his bones to the point his hands began to sweat and fidget uncontrollably as the tightening of his chest distracted him from the usual emptiness or pain. It made Vanitas agitated and furious. An Unversed wasn't being attacked somewhere. Somewhere in some world there was a weakness trying to wedge their way into his cold, fractured heart. He can't have that.

It took no trouble for the masked boy to hone in on where that Unversed was and traverse through a corridor of darkness with haste. His mind running just as fast as he was trying to figure out who not only tamed the Unversed to stop it from attacking, but just simply caused a stir in him. He naturally assumed it was probably some world's inhabitant not understanding what's dangerous which could mean he could manipulate them to be useful against Ventus.

"What do you think you're doing?" Vanitas exclaimed, his mask down to cover his face as he looked at the scene before him once he stepped out of the corridor's other side. The visage of some stranger. . .Coddling a Hareraiser unversed in their arms as if it were a baby. Disgusting. "Put. It. Down."