AN: Not sure if you wanted me to continue! Let me know.
“There’s something different about them. There’s something off.”
Zegnautus Keep was hell on Eos.
And these MT’s were his own personal daemons, created to escort him to the throne.
Noctis knew that the moment the first one wrapped its fingers around his throat. He was used to MT’s trying to kill him. He had killed enough of them in the last few months to last a lifetime, and yet, for some unexplainable reason, it was only dawning on him now. Now, when he was alone and tired and so fucking scared out of his mind with only that god forsaken ring as company, was he able to hear it.
The MTs were breathing.
When the first one reached through the bars and pulled him close, he felt its breath, hot like a Fire spell, against his face. Gralea was so cold, so goddamn cold, and if not for his heart bursting in terror because it had its fingers wrapped around his windpipe, Noctis would have appreciated the warmth.
But…
Since when did Magitek armor need to breathe?
After using the Ring to pull the thing into the ether, Noctis breathed into his hands, seeing his breath puff out in a cloud before him.
“Oh, tut tut. Why would you kill it?”
Ardyn.
Noctis growled and wondered if the man could hear him, could see him. Was he getting off on this sick fetish? Was he laughing? Was he enjoying the view?
“Fuck you,” Noctis grumbled and turned the Ring on his finger, closing his fist tight until the metal bit into his skin. He didn’t want to look at that red glow.
“After all, I thought you liked your dear Prompto.”
Noctis sucked in a breath through his teeth, hearing the hiss reverberate through the empty halls.
“I’ll find him, I swear,” Noctis yelled, words bouncing against the laughter.
“Oh, I am certain you will-- can you see him, coming around the corner?”
Noctis knew it was a trap, he knew better, but he could hear boots on the ground and when he saw Prompto he knew something was wrong-- because--
“Yes, little Noctis. Your Prompto has been lying to you. All this time, he was a monster.”
Noctis gagged.
The Axman before him was Prompto, but Prompto had blue eyes like the sky, like that first day when they were kids and it had been so damn sunny, a cloudless afternoon. Noctis knew that color and had stared into them on the good days and the bad days, the days where there was nothing but laughter and on the days where there was nothing but tears.
He knew those eyes.
But this? This thing?
This was a monster.
He was a monster.
“No, no!” Noctis screamed and he wanted to thrust out his hand to send that thing into the ether, but it had Prompto’s face.
It had Prompto’s face.
He didn’t fight it, at first. In fact, for a moment, Noctis wondered if it was even really there--Ardyn was good with warping reality, distorting the truth. There was nothing in front of him, let alone that open-mouth, blond-haired mockery of Prompto with black blood and daemon red eyes staring out at him, void of light.
“Poor Prompto must be feeling the heat right about now.” Ardyn giggled. He giggled. “Those eyes. Poor thing; giving into his nature takes such a toll on the body. The eyes go first. We knew that we had him when his eyes changed.”
Noctis only fought back when the thing wrapped its fingers around his throat and began to choke, and he could see its face that this couldn’t possibly be Prompto. He wanted to kiss its gaping jaw, let his mouth rest on those freckles and accepted his fate. He wouldn’t have struck back. He wouldn’t have dared to.
But that skin was ashy and sickly, as though it had never seen sunlight-- and that wasn’t Prompto at all. Prompto burned when he sat outside for too long, and Noctis had long ago memorized the scars across Prompto’s cheek from when he had gotten Chocobo-pox when they were sixteen, and this thing didn’t have it. It wasn’t Prompto.
It wasn’t Prompto.
Yet watching those soulless eyes, the whites turned black and the blue turned blood red, Noctis had to fight every urge in him to not cry.
Ardyn was good with his magic, but Noctis was better.
He had to squeeze his eyes tight when he felt the fingers losing their grip around his throat and he knew what would happen next. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t really Prompto; he couldn’t watch his magic kill it.
He couldn’t watch it die.
“Are you certain it wasn’t the real thing? We wouldn’t want to make a mistake.”
No, Noctis reminded himself. He knew Prompto. He knew him, had loved him since they were obnoxious teenagers with fumbling hands and dry mouths and whispers in the bathroom stall where he hoped they wouldn’t be noticed.
No illusion Ardyn sent at him would confuse him again. He wouldn’t let it-- no.
He couldn’t let it.
“You won’t fool me with your illusions--”
“Who said anything about illusions?”
Noctis’s mouth went dry.
“You may not believe me, but I assure you that I merely… removed the veil from your eyes, the veil your dearest friend put there himself.”
No. Those things did not have Prompto’s face, this was all just a disgusting lie. It was Ardyn fucking with him, pretending like it wasn’t him.
“Your other friends--the ones that are more than your friends? Yes… they knew and lied to you, too. I wonder how long the have known that your sweet Prompto was a monster.”
“Prompto’s not a monster--shut up!”
It wasn’t true. It couldn’t have been true.
The next time, Ardyn sent two.
It was easier for Noctis to kill them when they were in pairs because he could look from one sickened face to the other and remember that no matter how close it was to being Prompto, it wasn’t him. None of them were Prompto.
Fuck.
“He only looks human, but I assure you, my King, that your lover is nothing but a well-trained shell. Just like them. It only takes a moment to complete the switch.”
It wasn’t true. It was all a lie. There was nothing mechanical, nothing daemon about Prompto. Nothing. Noctis had seem Prompto bare to the world, every part of him showing. He had kissed across the freckles on Prompto’s chest, listened to his heartbeat. Prompto was human, warm and pliable and breathing.
But so were these things.
So were they.
“You never wondered about the tattoos on his wrist, Noctis? Those are for the MTs, to code them… herd them like the sheep they are. Did he tell you that? Did he tell you what they did? I am curious--what is his number?”
The tattoo on Prompto’s wrist? Noctis shuddered. Prompto said it was the mark given to him by the orphanage when he was a baby, and he had been so damn uncomfortable that Noctis had just ignored it. He wanted to kiss it, to tell Prompto that if his original parents hadn’t wanted him, his real mom did. His mom who worked every day and every night to make sure that Prompto got to live and grow safely--she wanted him.
And now… Now, Ignis and Gladio loved and wanted him.
Noctis wanted him more than the sun--no. That wasn’t true.
To him, Prompto was the sun.
But it didn’t matter what those tattoos on his wrist were… it didn’t.
“Ah, 1025736. Ring any bells?”
Noctis squeezed his eyes closed and reached out into the magic of the ring and pulled. Prompto’s birthday.
There was a scream over the intercom and a rush of something stronger than terror pulled at Noctis’s heart as he broke out into a run, wishing that the sound of Prompto’s cries would stop-- because Ardyn wouldn’t really hurt him…
Except he would. He had already killed Luna. He had blinded Ignis.
“Please! Stop!”
The sound of the intercom cut out and Noctis wasn’t sure what was worse, hearing Prompto’s screams or not hearing them.
The longer he ran, the more of the monsters wearing his lover’s face appeared and Noctis let the magic of the Ring rush over him like a cool, sweet cloth. The longer he allowed the magic of the crystal to pull at him the more the edges of the room seemed to become red and fuzzy until the red of Prompto’s eyes disappeared and he could almost pretend like the thing in front of him really was Prompto. He would get close enough to see the Ring squeeze the last bit of their bodies to ash and then it would fade and he would remember all over again.
“I wonder… will there be anything left of your little monster when you arrive? Perhaps I’ll activate him and see just how much you care for him when he is just like all of them.”
“Touch one hair on his fucking head--”
“And you’ll do what, my King? Maim me? Kill me? I am terribly sorry, but I want to let you in on a little secret.” The voice cut out for a moment and Noctis stopped to stare up at the ceiling where he imagined the camera was.
“Stop stringing me along--” Noctis began, but his voice turned to a startled gasp when he saw the fake Prompto ahead of him, screaming out as his entire body twisted and contorted and Noctis could only watch as Prompto’s spine snapped and his arms and legs cracked. The MT Prompto was skittering toward him on all fours, his head lolling from the energy of his gyrating steps.
Noctis held out his half, allowing the red lick of the ring to dull his senses.
“Your sweet Prompto? Have you ever thought it strange how you met? How he was so willing and ready to take you as his friend? You were such a lonely little boy, no doubt… I wonder if you had any friends, other than the Shield and your Advisor. And what an odd little relationship you three have.”
Ignis. Gladio.
“Prompto told me about your little… agreement. You didn’t think it odd that someone who talks so much about the pleasures of women would be willing to play a part in your perverse desires--”
No.
Prompto… he always accepted Noctis, for every flaw and broken piece. He had accepted the good and the bad or the different, as in the case of Gladio and Ignis.
He had always accepted Noctis as exactly who he was.
“Did you think he loved you? These biological machines are programmed to be good shells, but I assure that there is nothing true inside your little friend. He is as empty as… well, as an MT. He followed his orders well, don’t you think? He truly was a work of art.”
It couldn’t be true. Prompto…. Prompto…
“I wonder whether or not daemons can feel disgust or revulsion. If so, he would no doubt hold you in the highest of contempt. I admit, I am curious to see what a monster does when it is angry… Then he will be my masterpiece, my magnum opus. Don’t you want to see?”
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timeasmymeasure
Re: Fill: Noctis/Prompto - in somnis veritas (In sleep there is truth) 3/?
Date: 2017-01-09 02:20 pm (UTC)“There’s something different about them. There’s something off.”
Zegnautus Keep was hell on Eos.
And these MT’s were his own personal daemons, created to escort him to the throne.
Noctis knew that the moment the first one wrapped its fingers around his throat. He was used to MT’s trying to kill him. He had killed enough of them in the last few months to last a lifetime, and yet, for some unexplainable reason, it was only dawning on him now. Now, when he was alone and tired and so fucking scared out of his mind with only that god forsaken ring as company, was he able to hear it.
The MTs were breathing.
When the first one reached through the bars and pulled him close, he felt its breath, hot like a Fire spell, against his face. Gralea was so cold, so goddamn cold, and if not for his heart bursting in terror because it had its fingers wrapped around his windpipe, Noctis would have appreciated the warmth.
But…
Since when did Magitek armor need to breathe?
After using the Ring to pull the thing into the ether, Noctis breathed into his hands, seeing his breath puff out in a cloud before him.
“Oh, tut tut. Why would you kill it?”
Ardyn.
Noctis growled and wondered if the man could hear him, could see him. Was he getting off on this sick fetish? Was he laughing? Was he enjoying the view?
“Fuck you,” Noctis grumbled and turned the Ring on his finger, closing his fist tight until the metal bit into his skin. He didn’t want to look at that red glow.
“After all, I thought you liked your dear Prompto.”
Noctis sucked in a breath through his teeth, hearing the hiss reverberate through the empty halls.
“I’ll find him, I swear,” Noctis yelled, words bouncing against the laughter.
“Oh, I am certain you will-- can you see him, coming around the corner?”
Noctis knew it was a trap, he knew better, but he could hear boots on the ground and when he saw Prompto he knew something was wrong-- because--
“Yes, little Noctis. Your Prompto has been lying to you. All this time, he was a monster.”
Noctis gagged.
The Axman before him was Prompto, but Prompto had blue eyes like the sky, like that first day when they were kids and it had been so damn sunny, a cloudless afternoon. Noctis knew that color and had stared into them on the good days and the bad days, the days where there was nothing but laughter and on the days where there was nothing but tears.
He knew those eyes.
But this? This thing?
This was a monster.
He was a monster.
“No, no!” Noctis screamed and he wanted to thrust out his hand to send that thing into the ether, but it had Prompto’s face.
It had Prompto’s face.
He didn’t fight it, at first. In fact, for a moment, Noctis wondered if it was even really there--Ardyn was good with warping reality, distorting the truth. There was nothing in front of him, let alone that open-mouth, blond-haired mockery of Prompto with black blood and daemon red eyes staring out at him, void of light.
“Poor Prompto must be feeling the heat right about now.” Ardyn giggled. He giggled. “Those eyes. Poor thing; giving into his nature takes such a toll on the body. The eyes go first. We knew that we had him when his eyes changed.”
Noctis only fought back when the thing wrapped its fingers around his throat and began to choke, and he could see its face that this couldn’t possibly be Prompto. He wanted to kiss its gaping jaw, let his mouth rest on those freckles and accepted his fate. He wouldn’t have struck back. He wouldn’t have dared to.
But that skin was ashy and sickly, as though it had never seen sunlight-- and that wasn’t Prompto at all. Prompto burned when he sat outside for too long, and Noctis had long ago memorized the scars across Prompto’s cheek from when he had gotten Chocobo-pox when they were sixteen, and this thing didn’t have it. It wasn’t Prompto.
It wasn’t Prompto.
Yet watching those soulless eyes, the whites turned black and the blue turned blood red, Noctis had to fight every urge in him to not cry.
Ardyn was good with his magic, but Noctis was better.
He had to squeeze his eyes tight when he felt the fingers losing their grip around his throat and he knew what would happen next. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t really Prompto; he couldn’t watch his magic kill it.
He couldn’t watch it die.
“Are you certain it wasn’t the real thing? We wouldn’t want to make a mistake.”
No, Noctis reminded himself. He knew Prompto. He knew him, had loved him since they were obnoxious teenagers with fumbling hands and dry mouths and whispers in the bathroom stall where he hoped they wouldn’t be noticed.
No illusion Ardyn sent at him would confuse him again. He wouldn’t let it-- no.
He couldn’t let it.
“You won’t fool me with your illusions--”
“Who said anything about illusions?”
Noctis’s mouth went dry.
“You may not believe me, but I assure you that I merely… removed the veil from your eyes, the veil your dearest friend put there himself.”
No. Those things did not have Prompto’s face, this was all just a disgusting lie. It was Ardyn fucking with him, pretending like it wasn’t him.
“Your other friends--the ones that are more than your friends? Yes… they knew and lied to you, too. I wonder how long the have known that your sweet Prompto was a monster.”
“Prompto’s not a monster--shut up!”
It wasn’t true. It couldn’t have been true.
The next time, Ardyn sent two.
It was easier for Noctis to kill them when they were in pairs because he could look from one sickened face to the other and remember that no matter how close it was to being Prompto, it wasn’t him. None of them were Prompto.
Fuck.
“He only looks human, but I assure you, my King, that your lover is nothing but a well-trained shell. Just like them. It only takes a moment to complete the switch.”
It wasn’t true. It was all a lie. There was nothing mechanical, nothing daemon about Prompto. Nothing. Noctis had seem Prompto bare to the world, every part of him showing. He had kissed across the freckles on Prompto’s chest, listened to his heartbeat. Prompto was human, warm and pliable and breathing.
But so were these things.
So were they.
“You never wondered about the tattoos on his wrist, Noctis? Those are for the MTs, to code them… herd them like the sheep they are. Did he tell you that? Did he tell you what they did? I am curious--what is his number?”
The tattoo on Prompto’s wrist? Noctis shuddered. Prompto said it was the mark given to him by the orphanage when he was a baby, and he had been so damn uncomfortable that Noctis had just ignored it. He wanted to kiss it, to tell Prompto that if his original parents hadn’t wanted him, his real mom did. His mom who worked every day and every night to make sure that Prompto got to live and grow safely--she wanted him.
And now… Now, Ignis and Gladio loved and wanted him.
Noctis wanted him more than the sun--no. That wasn’t true.
To him, Prompto was the sun.
But it didn’t matter what those tattoos on his wrist were… it didn’t.
“Ah, 1025736. Ring any bells?”
Noctis squeezed his eyes closed and reached out into the magic of the ring and pulled. Prompto’s birthday.
There was a scream over the intercom and a rush of something stronger than terror pulled at Noctis’s heart as he broke out into a run, wishing that the sound of Prompto’s cries would stop-- because Ardyn wouldn’t really hurt him…
Except he would. He had already killed Luna. He had blinded Ignis.
“Please! Stop!”
The sound of the intercom cut out and Noctis wasn’t sure what was worse, hearing Prompto’s screams or not hearing them.
The longer he ran, the more of the monsters wearing his lover’s face appeared and Noctis let the magic of the Ring rush over him like a cool, sweet cloth. The longer he allowed the magic of the crystal to pull at him the more the edges of the room seemed to become red and fuzzy until the red of Prompto’s eyes disappeared and he could almost pretend like the thing in front of him really was Prompto. He would get close enough to see the Ring squeeze the last bit of their bodies to ash and then it would fade and he would remember all over again.
“I wonder… will there be anything left of your little monster when you arrive? Perhaps I’ll activate him and see just how much you care for him when he is just like all of them.”
“Touch one hair on his fucking head--”
“And you’ll do what, my King? Maim me? Kill me? I am terribly sorry, but I want to let you in on a little secret.” The voice cut out for a moment and Noctis stopped to stare up at the ceiling where he imagined the camera was.
“Stop stringing me along--” Noctis began, but his voice turned to a startled gasp when he saw the fake Prompto ahead of him, screaming out as his entire body twisted and contorted and Noctis could only watch as Prompto’s spine snapped and his arms and legs cracked. The MT Prompto was skittering toward him on all fours, his head lolling from the energy of his gyrating steps.
Noctis held out his half, allowing the red lick of the ring to dull his senses.
“Your sweet Prompto? Have you ever thought it strange how you met? How he was so willing and ready to take you as his friend? You were such a lonely little boy, no doubt… I wonder if you had any friends, other than the Shield and your Advisor. And what an odd little relationship you three have.”
Ignis. Gladio.
“Prompto told me about your little… agreement. You didn’t think it odd that someone who talks so much about the pleasures of women would be willing to play a part in your perverse desires--”
No.
Prompto… he always accepted Noctis, for every flaw and broken piece. He had accepted the good and the bad or the different, as in the case of Gladio and Ignis.
He had always accepted Noctis as exactly who he was.
“Did you think he loved you? These biological machines are programmed to be good shells, but I assure that there is nothing true inside your little friend. He is as empty as… well, as an MT. He followed his orders well, don’t you think? He truly was a work of art.”
It couldn’t be true. Prompto…. Prompto…
“I wonder whether or not daemons can feel disgust or revulsion. If so, he would no doubt hold you in the highest of contempt. I admit, I am curious to see what a monster does when it is angry… Then he will be my masterpiece, my magnum opus. Don’t you want to see?”