[ The punch lands, connects and Ignis' hand aches with it. He might not be able to see as well, but Noctis is a fool and telegraphs himself too loudly for someone fighting a blind opponent. If Ignis didn't know any better, he'd say that he actually doesn't want to fight, but that makes even less sense.
Noctis' feet slam against the ground and Ignis shifts his own weight to adjust, taking the weight of him in the hand to hand attack, feinting low and trying to shove his shoulder into Noct's stomach to get him on the ground.
This shouldn't be so easy, he thinks, frowning. Noctis should be fighting him - if he wants to actually win, he needs to fight so this lack of effort and the soft words are at odds with what he's been preparing for this whole time. Worse, is when Ignis dares to listen despite what Ardyn told him to do. Come back to me. As if he'd ever--
I told you he would try, Ardyn whispers and Ignis strikes out again, daggers ripped from where they vanish from but instead of a wash of purple magic, it's blue. He might not be able to see it, but he feels the difference, the way the magic licks at his fingers, familiar and warm rather than the red-hot heat and anger of Ardyn's own. It doesn't matter.
It should, maybe. Ignis grits his teeth and slices out in a wide arc. Ardyn is the one who saved him, Ardyn is the one who pulled him from the crumpled heap at the bottom of a cliff, but before? He'd never questioned it, never thought to try and examine what happened before and Ardyn, the one time that he was asked, had brushed it aside.
It doesn't matter. Fight him. It's loud enough even Noctis might hear it, Ignis flinching at the strength behind the order. ]
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Noctis' feet slam against the ground and Ignis shifts his own weight to adjust, taking the weight of him in the hand to hand attack, feinting low and trying to shove his shoulder into Noct's stomach to get him on the ground.
This shouldn't be so easy, he thinks, frowning. Noctis should be fighting him - if he wants to actually win, he needs to fight so this lack of effort and the soft words are at odds with what he's been preparing for this whole time. Worse, is when Ignis dares to listen despite what Ardyn told him to do. Come back to me. As if he'd ever--
I told you he would try, Ardyn whispers and Ignis strikes out again, daggers ripped from where they vanish from but instead of a wash of purple magic, it's blue. He might not be able to see it, but he feels the difference, the way the magic licks at his fingers, familiar and warm rather than the red-hot heat and anger of Ardyn's own. It doesn't matter.
It should, maybe. Ignis grits his teeth and slices out in a wide arc. Ardyn is the one who saved him, Ardyn is the one who pulled him from the crumpled heap at the bottom of a cliff, but before? He'd never questioned it, never thought to try and examine what happened before and Ardyn, the one time that he was asked, had brushed it aside.
It doesn't matter. Fight him. It's loud enough even Noctis might hear it, Ignis flinching at the strength behind the order. ]