That's the part that fucks with him the most. Ardyn had warned him that it would be a fight, that it may very well steal his life, but he'd be sacrificing it for the greater good. To bring dawn back to the world, and isn't that what every good soldier wants? To see things bettered by their sacrifices? He'd agreed and they had gone to work.
It was different, fighting this man as opposed to fighting the other two. They tried the same things, of course, trying to appeal to his better nature, trying to tell him that they were friends, but they'd actually fought back. Gladiolus, the brutish man the other side used, had nearly cleaved him in half at one point until Ardyn had healed him. Prompto had fired until his gun was empty and only later had Ignis discovered the neat, aching hole in his thigh later on. This one, though. This one takes the hits and keeps talking, and for a moment Ignis is so fucking furious he wants to make it stop in whatever way he can. He can't be twisted around like this, can't be turned into something he's not. He won't be swayed from his path.
It's one thing for an enemy to shout fury across the field but it's something else entirely to fight a man who doesn't want to fight, whose voice goes soft and aching, who says I love you, like it's the only thing that matters in the world. Ignis dispels his daggers and stalks forward, tracking him by voice and then twists, pulls at the weight of his weapons again and it's so, so familiar that it aches. There's a moment of something, of clarity, of memory.
( you must protect him when he cannot protect himself. you'll have access to the armory; gladiolus will keep training you in its weapons and you need to fight him, kill him, Ignis, kill him-- )
The memory goes sour in a heartbeat, but it's enough that Ignis is left standing, trembling with his daggers in hand again, head aching fiercely. He dispels them once more and then pulls, the flicker of blue magic lighting up his hands, warm and familiar and right in a way that nothing has been for ten years. It burns through the blackness surrounding him, white-hot and unyielding, and for a moment, Ingis resurfaces, panting. Noct's-- Noct's dead, or asleep, trapped in the crystal, isn't he? He's not there.
no subject
That's the part that fucks with him the most. Ardyn had warned him that it would be a fight, that it may very well steal his life, but he'd be sacrificing it for the greater good. To bring dawn back to the world, and isn't that what every good soldier wants? To see things bettered by their sacrifices? He'd agreed and they had gone to work.
It was different, fighting this man as opposed to fighting the other two. They tried the same things, of course, trying to appeal to his better nature, trying to tell him that they were friends, but they'd actually fought back. Gladiolus, the brutish man the other side used, had nearly cleaved him in half at one point until Ardyn had healed him. Prompto had fired until his gun was empty and only later had Ignis discovered the neat, aching hole in his thigh later on. This one, though. This one takes the hits and keeps talking, and for a moment Ignis is so fucking furious he wants to make it stop in whatever way he can. He can't be twisted around like this, can't be turned into something he's not. He won't be swayed from his path.
It's one thing for an enemy to shout fury across the field but it's something else entirely to fight a man who doesn't want to fight, whose voice goes soft and aching, who says I love you, like it's the only thing that matters in the world. Ignis dispels his daggers and stalks forward, tracking him by voice and then twists, pulls at the weight of his weapons again and it's so, so familiar that it aches. There's a moment of something, of clarity, of memory.
( you must protect him when he cannot protect himself. you'll have access to the armory; gladiolus will keep training you in its weapons and you need to fight him, kill him, Ignis, kill him-- )
The memory goes sour in a heartbeat, but it's enough that Ignis is left standing, trembling with his daggers in hand again, head aching fiercely. He dispels them once more and then pulls, the flicker of blue magic lighting up his hands, warm and familiar and right in a way that nothing has been for ten years. It burns through the blackness surrounding him, white-hot and unyielding, and for a moment, Ingis resurfaces, panting. Noct's-- Noct's dead, or asleep, trapped in the crystal, isn't he? He's not there.
Come back to me, please. Come home. ]
Noct?