His gamble is correct. Vanitas wings, and he misses spectacularly. The heavy head of his keyblade hits the ground, and though the balance is perfect for him most of the time it looks right now like the weapon is unwieldy in his hands. His body mass stays low, and that's half because he's hunched against his own injuries.

"Shut up!" He screams it back, even though there's no extraneous noise in this desert. Only that awful echo of Xehanort's laugh, fading out but still ever present, like a bassline that just won't quit.

"What do you know... about nightmares!" This boy— and he's familiar, isn't he? Somehow, Vanitas feels like they've met before— puts the distance between them, but Vanitas needs to close it. He roars and lunges again, and there's a lag between his movement and the raising of his weapon. It creates a gouge in the cracked earth, kicking dirt up in a spray when Vanitas tries to swing heavily down on his opponent again.