I think I didn't do it enough justice. qq. It feels so rushed and asdfghjkl. I'm just gonna go cry now. SOMEONE ELSE GO AND WRITE A BETTER VERSION PLEASE.
Warning: mild violence, un-beta'd properly and just- //sobs.
...
Prompto writhed against the metal table.
His hands and legs were rendered useless; shackled down onto the cold, steely surface as his body twisted in all directions in an attempt to release himself from the restraints, and mostly from the agonizing pain.
The pain seethed in his blood and it was as if his entire body was engulfed in Ifirit’s flames, enshrouding him amidst its frenzied dance. His veins burned and all he hoped to do was scratch at every skin visible to release all the vile that surged through him.
His entire being was lit ablaze and his sight swam in a swirling madness. Prompto continued to thrash and struggle against the restraints -- hoping for a short reprieve from the pain he couldn’t describe.
“A lot of energy, indeed,” an all too familiar voice remarked, their tone slow and relaxed with an underlying tinge of mockery. “Now, for the next one.” From Prompto’s peripheral, he could see Ardyn approach with a syringe loosely held between his fingers.
“No! Get awa-”
Though, Prompto could finish, a powerful jolt seared through him; something akin to being struck by one of Noct’s Thundaga -- but twice the power.
Prompto’s vision faded to black.
The next time consciousness claimed Prompto, he was greeted by a dark ceiling dimly lit in a yellow and red hue by the small lights on the wall. His body ached and his wrists and ankles were sore; most likely from the tugging he had done earlier.
He needed to get out of this place.
I don’t belong here.
“Nonsense. This is your home.”
Unbeknownst to Prompto, the words fluttered out of his lips for the Chancellor to hear, and the moment he realised he’s spoken, Prompto instantly regretted it. The word home reverberated in his mind and it was on repeat like a broken record. Prompto whimpered, shaking his head in denial as he felt the prickle of fresh tears behind his eyes. “No...” He wanted to keep denying -- needed to keep denying, but the words he wanted to utter were caught up in his suddenly parched throat.
Prompto could faintly hear Ardyn’s footsteps draw closer and panic bubbled in his stomach. He couldn’t contain the tears in any longer and the beads flowed down his cheeks in a soft torrent.
“Oh, don’t cry. Tears don’t fit your pretty face, Quicksilver.”
Ardyn’s empty hand reached out to his face and wiped the unwanted tears away. The action was almost soothing - loving even. And then there was a sting resonating on his right arm; previous thoughts of comfort and solace were strewn away.
Warmth began to spread down his arm and up his stomach, chest and into his brain.
Quicksilver.
His name was Quicksilver.
Prompto opened his eyes -- his mind escaping the slumber he yearn to last for eternity.
But alas, fate wasn’t so kind.
This time, he woke up to a buzzing migraine and the stench of blood wafting in the air. The disgusting iron scent tickled his senses and he found himself holding his breath. Why was the scent so strong?
“Ah, is the smell not to your delight?” The Chancellor chuckled, the sound booming forth from the back of his throat. “Daemon blood has never smelt...particularly enchanting, so I understand your discomfort.”
Prompto tried moving his limbs, only to find out all his fours were still strapped onto the metal table. In the midst of his attempts, the bruises and scratches on his wrist and ankles were further aggravated -- he failed to stifle a displeased groan.
His eyes travelled slowly from the ceiling to the wall across him and down to his right arm...where a tube was attached, transferring red substance into his veins. Prompto gasped in terror, “Wh-What is this?!” Panic-stricken, the Gunslinger began to shake and rattle atop the table; trying to de-attach the tube and stop whatever the hell that was.
“Ah, ah. Quicksilver-”
“-My name isn’t Quicksilver-”
“-Don’t be so rash.”
Prompto felt an abrupt surge of power and he immediately pulled himself free from his restraints. With all limbs free, he haphazardly pulled the tube away from his arm and jumped to his feet beside the Chancellor.
He beckoned his gun to his aid, but nothing came to his side and dread instantly splashed over him like the cold pelts of rain during a gloomy day. He ground his teeth together. He doesn’t need a gun to defeat Ardyn. He doesn’t need a weapon- so he charges forth, his fingers clenched into a tight ball as he drew his elbow back before smiting forward as fast and with as much force as he could towards Ardyn’s head.
Prompto felt an impact; his fist had not collided with his intended target, but instead, had been seized by Ardyn’s hand. The Chancellor squeezed Prompto’s fist between his fingers and held it there with the grip of a viper. The Gunslinger tried to withdraw his hand but the grasp that had suspended it was like a clamp; unyielding and stone hard.
The next thing Prompto knew, his back was resting uncomfortably on the table; the metal edge digging harshly into his hips and his hands were pinned to his side as Ardyn loomed over him. He suddenly felt small.
“You have wasted precious blood, Quicksilver. How rude.”
“Let go of me!” Prompto hissed. “And don’t call me that!”
“Such energy. Shall we make a deal then?” Ardyn smirked and Prompto wanted nothing more but to wipe it off of his face.
“To hell with your deal!” Prompto snarled before he spat onto Ardyn’s coat. It felt good to soil the Chancellor, but then horror and fear dawned over Prompto as the triumphant look on Ardyn’s face morphed into that of a quiet rage.
Prompto started to struggle against the man, though it ceased all too soon as blinding pain radiated from his right arm. Ardyn had cut deep into his flesh with a small dagger and shoved the tube back in, the red liquid once again mingling with his own blood.
Prompto screamed in agony.
“Quicksilver, don’t make this harder for me or you.”
Ardyn pushed the tube deeper into his flesh, albeit the words that came from Ardyn’s mouth next, hurt more. “You were created to be the ultimate weapon but your sneaky bastard of a mother wasn’t too willing.”
The Chancellor’s grip on his left wrist tightened and Prompto was certain his bones would crack any second.
“Lamentably, Fate had not favoured her. No matter what happens, you would still become a weapon. There was never a Prompto Argentum. It was nothing but a fantasy. There exists only Quicksilver.”
Ardyn was the catalyst to all that Prompto has dreaded.
“Distractions were just postponing the inevitable. But don’t fret, Quicksilver, I have come to finally finish the work that was left incomplete.”
And all Prompto remembered was the heat that pooled around and in his arm before darkness enticed him into a different land. He only hoped Noctis, Ignis and Gladio would come soon.
Much to Prompto’s dismay, he had once again woken up.
“Ah, good morning, Quicksilver,” Ardyn greeted with a euphoric tone. This time, he was sitting on a wooden chair on Prompto’s right side with a book in hand. Something felt...different. Prompto’s breaths were deeper, louder and his chest felt like lead; he was gasping air in and huffing it out through his mouth. He felt warmth and frost embrace him and a small thumping in his head. Whatever was happening, he didn’t like it.
Then he noticed that he couldn’t feel his arms.
Feeling uneasy, he gazed down at his right arm. It was the same as before; a tube connected to his arm and to the IV with a bag full of that red stuff at Ardyn’s side. Nothing he should be surprised about, really. In the meanwhile, though, he caught a glimpse of the small smile on Ardyn’s lips. At the image, a shiver slithered down his spine; from fear or apprehension, Prompto wasn’t entirely sure of.
Next, Prompto swiveled his head slowly to examine the state of his left arm. What he saw this time, however, caught him fully off guard. This time, there was an IV on his left arm too. Why...?
As if reading his mind, Ardyn supplied answer, “Yes, I had to add in another one, as it seems, over the years, you have created a tolerance for daemon blood.”
“What are you doing to me?!” Prompto growled as his gaze shifted back to Ardyn. “Get these off of me!” He shook between the shackles. The Gunslinger was beginning to grow worried. What was the purpose of these tubes and the substance they held within? It only remained an enigma but Prompto was determined to solve the puzzle that rattled his mind -- be it sooner or later.
“Hush now. No matter how much you scream, they will never hear you.”
They will never hear you-
“No! Noct, Iggy and Gladio will come soon…! I know it, they’ll save me,” Prompto argued.
That, however, seemed to have pushed all the wrong buttons on Ardyn. The Chancellor had not believed in pitiful things such as hope or faith. To the man, only despair and agony awaited those who believed in a pipe dream.
Ardyn sighed in disdain, “Now, now. Don’t jump into conclusions. Use your mind. Would they really want a Niff, let alone a Daemon such as yourself, back?”
Those chain of words were like a thousand blades to his heart. What if he says was true?
“Tha-!”
“Shh, Quicksilver. For now, rest. You will need it.” Ardyn placed a gentle hand on Prompto’s eyes, darkness now enveloping his vision.
Ardyn murmured something at his ear but drowsiness had struck him full force and he was gone before he could comprehend anything else.
“Can you hear me?”
Noct?
“Prompto, open your eyes.”
Iggy?
“Come on, wake up.”
Gladio?
Slowly, Prompto lifted his eyelids. Relief and joy flooded his thoughts and tears gathered at his eyes. “Guys...!” They’ve come to save him, he knew they’d come! That Ardyn never knew what he was talking about.
The three looked happy one moment, and the other, their faces were laced with disgust and disappointment. Prompto was free from whatever constrained him, and thus, with his freedom acquired, he reached out to Ignis, who was closest to him.
The next thing that occurred shattered his heart.
Ignis had sensed his action and had repelled from his touch. Before Prompto could fathom the reason why Ignis took a few steps back, Gladio slapped his hand away. Within the brief contact they had, Prompto noticed the Shield was cold...Gladio was never cold. Prompto swore he was a literal heater-
“Don’t touch Iggy, you filth,” Gladio growled; his voice threatening and protective.
“What do you mean? Gladio, it’s me-”
“You’re not Prompto! You’re an MT!” Noctis yelled, calling his Engine Blade to his side.
What were they thinking? He’s not an MT-
“Noct, you’ve got it all wrong-”
“Spare me your excuses. I’m disgusted.”
Just as Prompto was to explain, Noctis rose his sword and slashed it down upon him.
And only then, had he realized his wristbands were gone.
Prompto woke up with a jolt.
No...
No...!
No!
This can’t be. It’s all a lie. Nothing’s real. Noctis, Ignis and Gladio will come for him, he believes in them.
But then, Ardyn’s words suddenly resonated in his mind.
There was never a Prompto Argentum. There exists only Quicksilver.
Quicksilverquicksilverquicksikver-
Subconsciously, (and unknown to him) Prompto had muttered under a shaky breath, “I am...Quicksilver.”
The hours blended into one. Time began and time stopped. Time bled into myriad of moments and time also faded into a void of nothing.
The concept of time within the Keep was non-existent.
All he could do was stare at the ceiling above and hope that sleep would take him away.
Prompto just yearned for-
Wait, Prompto?
Who’s Prompto...?
Whoever or whatever it is, it keeps haunting his mind. His name was Quicksilver, right?
He’ll need to ask Ardyn again just to make sure.
(“That’s right. This is all what you are. A weapon from Niflheim.”
Ardyn grabbed his forearm and guided the limb to his line of sight. Black lines upon black lines scored his wrist and Prompto found himself thinking that this is reality and all he’s known has been futilely conjured up by his mind to keep the daemons at bay.
FILL: [Gen] Blood Taker 1/2.
I think I didn't do it enough justice. qq. It feels so rushed and asdfghjkl. I'm just gonna go cry now. SOMEONE ELSE GO AND WRITE A BETTER VERSION PLEASE.
Warning: mild violence, un-beta'd properly and just- //sobs.
...
Prompto writhed against the metal table.
His hands and legs were rendered useless; shackled down onto the cold, steely surface as his body twisted in all directions in an attempt to release himself from the restraints, and mostly from the agonizing pain.
The pain seethed in his blood and it was as if his entire body was engulfed in Ifirit’s flames, enshrouding him amidst its frenzied dance. His veins burned and all he hoped to do was scratch at every skin visible to release all the vile that surged through him.
His entire being was lit ablaze and his sight swam in a swirling madness. Prompto continued to thrash and struggle against the restraints -- hoping for a short reprieve from the pain he couldn’t describe.
“A lot of energy, indeed,” an all too familiar voice remarked, their tone slow and relaxed with an underlying tinge of mockery. “Now, for the next one.” From Prompto’s peripheral, he could see Ardyn approach with a syringe loosely held between his fingers.
“No! Get awa-”
Though, Prompto could finish, a powerful jolt seared through him; something akin to being struck by one of Noct’s Thundaga -- but twice the power.
Prompto’s vision faded to black.
The next time consciousness claimed Prompto, he was greeted by a dark ceiling dimly lit in a yellow and red hue by the small lights on the wall. His body ached and his wrists and ankles were sore; most likely from the tugging he had done earlier.
He needed to get out of this place.
I don’t belong here.
“Nonsense. This is your home.”
Unbeknownst to Prompto, the words fluttered out of his lips for the Chancellor to hear, and the moment he realised he’s spoken, Prompto instantly regretted it. The word home reverberated in his mind and it was on repeat like a broken record. Prompto whimpered, shaking his head in denial as he felt the prickle of fresh tears behind his eyes. “No...” He wanted to keep denying -- needed to keep denying, but the words he wanted to utter were caught up in his suddenly parched throat.
Prompto could faintly hear Ardyn’s footsteps draw closer and panic bubbled in his stomach. He couldn’t contain the tears in any longer and the beads flowed down his cheeks in a soft torrent.
“Oh, don’t cry. Tears don’t fit your pretty face, Quicksilver.”
Ardyn’s empty hand reached out to his face and wiped the unwanted tears away. The action was almost soothing - loving even. And then there was a sting resonating on his right arm; previous thoughts of comfort and solace were strewn away.
Warmth began to spread down his arm and up his stomach, chest and into his brain.
Quicksilver.
His name was Quicksilver.
Prompto opened his eyes -- his mind escaping the slumber he yearn to last for eternity.
But alas, fate wasn’t so kind.
This time, he woke up to a buzzing migraine and the stench of blood wafting in the air. The disgusting iron scent tickled his senses and he found himself holding his breath. Why was the scent so strong?
“Ah, is the smell not to your delight?” The Chancellor chuckled, the sound booming forth from the back of his throat. “Daemon blood has never smelt...particularly enchanting, so I understand your discomfort.”
Prompto tried moving his limbs, only to find out all his fours were still strapped onto the metal table. In the midst of his attempts, the bruises and scratches on his wrist and ankles were further aggravated -- he failed to stifle a displeased groan.
His eyes travelled slowly from the ceiling to the wall across him and down to his right arm...where a tube was attached, transferring red substance into his veins. Prompto gasped in terror, “Wh-What is this?!” Panic-stricken, the Gunslinger began to shake and rattle atop the table; trying to de-attach the tube and stop whatever the hell that was.
“Ah, ah. Quicksilver-”
“-My name isn’t Quicksilver-”
“-Don’t be so rash.”
Prompto felt an abrupt surge of power and he immediately pulled himself free from his restraints. With all limbs free, he haphazardly pulled the tube away from his arm and jumped to his feet beside the Chancellor.
He beckoned his gun to his aid, but nothing came to his side and dread instantly splashed over him like the cold pelts of rain during a gloomy day. He ground his teeth together. He doesn’t need a gun to defeat Ardyn. He doesn’t need a weapon- so he charges forth, his fingers clenched into a tight ball as he drew his elbow back before smiting forward as fast and with as much force as he could towards Ardyn’s head.
Prompto felt an impact; his fist had not collided with his intended target, but instead, had been seized by Ardyn’s hand. The Chancellor squeezed Prompto’s fist between his fingers and held it there with the grip of a viper. The Gunslinger tried to withdraw his hand but the grasp that had suspended it was like a clamp; unyielding and stone hard.
The next thing Prompto knew, his back was resting uncomfortably on the table; the metal edge digging harshly into his hips and his hands were pinned to his side as Ardyn loomed over him. He suddenly felt small.
“You have wasted precious blood, Quicksilver. How rude.”
“Let go of me!” Prompto hissed. “And don’t call me that!”
“Such energy. Shall we make a deal then?” Ardyn smirked and Prompto wanted nothing more but to wipe it off of his face.
“To hell with your deal!” Prompto snarled before he spat onto Ardyn’s coat. It felt good to soil the Chancellor, but then horror and fear dawned over Prompto as the triumphant look on Ardyn’s face morphed into that of a quiet rage.
Prompto started to struggle against the man, though it ceased all too soon as blinding pain radiated from his right arm. Ardyn had cut deep into his flesh with a small dagger and shoved the tube back in, the red liquid once again mingling with his own blood.
Prompto screamed in agony.
“Quicksilver, don’t make this harder for me or you.”
Ardyn pushed the tube deeper into his flesh, albeit the words that came from Ardyn’s mouth next, hurt more. “You were created to be the ultimate weapon but your sneaky bastard of a mother wasn’t too willing.”
The Chancellor’s grip on his left wrist tightened and Prompto was certain his bones would crack any second.
“Lamentably, Fate had not favoured her. No matter what happens, you would still become a weapon. There was never a Prompto Argentum. It was nothing but a fantasy. There exists only Quicksilver.”
Ardyn was the catalyst to all that Prompto has dreaded.
“Distractions were just postponing the inevitable. But don’t fret, Quicksilver, I have come to finally finish the work that was left incomplete.”
And all Prompto remembered was the heat that pooled around and in his arm before darkness enticed him into a different land. He only hoped Noctis, Ignis and Gladio would come soon.
Much to Prompto’s dismay, he had once again woken up.
“Ah, good morning, Quicksilver,” Ardyn greeted with a euphoric tone. This time, he was sitting on a wooden chair on Prompto’s right side with a book in hand. Something felt...different. Prompto’s breaths were deeper, louder and his chest felt like lead; he was gasping air in and huffing it out through his mouth. He felt warmth and frost embrace him and a small thumping in his head. Whatever was happening, he didn’t like it.
Then he noticed that he couldn’t feel his arms.
Feeling uneasy, he gazed down at his right arm. It was the same as before; a tube connected to his arm and to the IV with a bag full of that red stuff at Ardyn’s side. Nothing he should be surprised about, really. In the meanwhile, though, he caught a glimpse of the small smile on Ardyn’s lips. At the image, a shiver slithered down his spine; from fear or apprehension, Prompto wasn’t entirely sure of.
Next, Prompto swiveled his head slowly to examine the state of his left arm. What he saw this time, however, caught him fully off guard. This time, there was an IV on his left arm too. Why...?
As if reading his mind, Ardyn supplied answer, “Yes, I had to add in another one, as it seems, over the years, you have created a tolerance for daemon blood.”
“What are you doing to me?!” Prompto growled as his gaze shifted back to Ardyn. “Get these off of me!” He shook between the shackles. The Gunslinger was beginning to grow worried. What was the purpose of these tubes and the substance they held within? It only remained an enigma but Prompto was determined to solve the puzzle that rattled his mind -- be it sooner or later.
“Hush now. No matter how much you scream, they will never hear you.”
They will never hear you-
“No! Noct, Iggy and Gladio will come soon…! I know it, they’ll save me,” Prompto argued.
That, however, seemed to have pushed all the wrong buttons on Ardyn. The Chancellor had not believed in pitiful things such as hope or faith. To the man, only despair and agony awaited those who believed in a pipe dream.
Ardyn sighed in disdain, “Now, now. Don’t jump into conclusions. Use your mind. Would they really want a Niff, let alone a Daemon such as yourself, back?”
Those chain of words were like a thousand blades to his heart. What if he says was true?
“Tha-!”
“Shh, Quicksilver. For now, rest. You will need it.” Ardyn placed a gentle hand on Prompto’s eyes, darkness now enveloping his vision.
Ardyn murmured something at his ear but drowsiness had struck him full force and he was gone before he could comprehend anything else.
“Can you hear me?”
Noct?
“Prompto, open your eyes.”
Iggy?
“Come on, wake up.”
Gladio?
Slowly, Prompto lifted his eyelids. Relief and joy flooded his thoughts and tears gathered at his eyes. “Guys...!” They’ve come to save him, he knew they’d come! That Ardyn never knew what he was talking about.
The three looked happy one moment, and the other, their faces were laced with disgust and disappointment. Prompto was free from whatever constrained him, and thus, with his freedom acquired, he reached out to Ignis, who was closest to him.
The next thing that occurred shattered his heart.
Ignis had sensed his action and had repelled from his touch. Before Prompto could fathom the reason why Ignis took a few steps back, Gladio slapped his hand away. Within the brief contact they had, Prompto noticed the Shield was cold...Gladio was never cold. Prompto swore he was a literal heater-
“Don’t touch Iggy, you filth,” Gladio growled; his voice threatening and protective.
“What do you mean? Gladio, it’s me-”
“You’re not Prompto! You’re an MT!” Noctis yelled, calling his Engine Blade to his side.
What were they thinking? He’s not an MT-
“Noct, you’ve got it all wrong-”
“Spare me your excuses. I’m disgusted.”
Just as Prompto was to explain, Noctis rose his sword and slashed it down upon him.
And only then, had he realized his wristbands were gone.
Prompto woke up with a jolt.
No...
No...!
No!
This can’t be. It’s all a lie. Nothing’s real. Noctis, Ignis and Gladio will come for him, he believes in them.
But then, Ardyn’s words suddenly resonated in his mind.
There was never a Prompto Argentum. There exists only Quicksilver.
Quicksilverquicksilverquicksikver-
Subconsciously, (and unknown to him) Prompto had muttered under a shaky breath, “I am...Quicksilver.”
The hours blended into one. Time began and time stopped. Time bled into myriad of moments and time also faded into a void of nothing.
The concept of time within the Keep was non-existent.
All he could do was stare at the ceiling above and hope that sleep would take him away.
Prompto just yearned for-
Wait, Prompto?
Who’s Prompto...?
Whoever or whatever it is, it keeps haunting his mind. His name was Quicksilver, right?
He’ll need to ask Ardyn again just to make sure.
(“That’s right. This is all what you are. A weapon from Niflheim.”
Ardyn grabbed his forearm and guided the limb to his line of sight. Black lines upon black lines scored his wrist and Prompto found himself thinking that this is reality and all he’s known has been futilely conjured up by his mind to keep the daemons at bay.
What he cherished was nothing but a fantasy.)