The rumble and creak of metal and leather, shimmers of deep purple and blue in the darkness pooling before them. Large shapes loom out of the darkness, blocking what little light the garden lights encircling the courtyard they're in manage to give off. Enemies everywhere and yet, over all of it, too loud, too final, the steady click, click, click of footsteps. Slowly growing quieter, lost to the darkness behind them.
Gladio is first to draw his weapon, summoning Hyperion from the armiger with ease and familiarity. It occurs to him, in that moment, that this will be the last time he does so and it's enough to make him grit his teeth, fingers clenching harder around the sword in hand, fighting back the knot of emotions churning in his gut, threatening to choke him.
There's no time to grieve, no time to think about anything but holding out until what must be done is done.
A heavy door creaks open then slams shut with a crippling finality, the sound like a punch to the gut, forcing his breath out in something that might be a sob on a weaker man. Then he's moving, rushing forward to bring the blade down across the side of one of the daemons before them. He's distantly aware of Ignis' dagger sinking into the hand that reaches for him, the rattle of Prompto's gunfire echoing across the otherwise empty courtyard. But nothing else matters. Just the fight, a battle that should be their last. Should've been their last. All of them. Together. For their King.
But Ardyn had taken even that from them.
It's impossible to say how long it takes, minutes? Hours? Too long and yet not long enough. Gone too soon and yet, the idea that it takes so long...
Gladio's sailing backwards through the air, flung from one giant hand when the first slivers of light break through the darkness. He hit his head, surely. The light cannot possibly be the sun. It only takes moments though, by the time he's dragging himself out of the rubble the blanket of darkness that has covered the world for long is nearly gone, the daemons standing against them reaching out in violence and dissipating into miasma, vanishing in the sunlight, blindingly bright after so very long.
"Noct..." Prompto is the first to react, barely a whisper.
And then he's racing towards the citadel, rushes towards his friend and Gladio's heart plummets. They have to stop him. He looks to Ignis, squinting against the bright light but the other man is already moving, following the sound of Prompto's steps, stumbling once over the rubble before he finds the stairs and then it is a clear path.
Gladio follows, half a step behind Ignis, falling further behind Prompto, too slow, too late, not enough.
They emerge into the throne room and Prompto is already there, on his knees, staring up at the throne where Noctis rests, his father's sword the only thing keeping him from falling to the floor. For a moment Gladio slows, not wanting to believe what he's seeing but Ignis cuts across to race up the stairs and Gladio finally drops his sword, not dismissing it to the Armiger, no crystaline tinkle or blue light, just the dull clatter of steel on marble and his hand closing around Ignis' arm. He wrenches his friend to a halt, pulls him off course and stops him.
"Iggy, no." And suddenly he's on the brink of tears again, swallowing hard to pull himself back under control even as Ignis opens his mouth to argue. and Gladio snaps. "Don't!"
A flinch, Ignis pulling his arm away and Gladio lets him put that distance between them again. The thread binding them together gone again already and for a second Gladio thinks he might be sick. "Please... You don't need to-"
A slow, measured breath. "I got it." And whether Ignis wants him to or not he moves to the stairs, body going through motions he barely has the mind for, squinting as the light from the shattered wall of the throne room becomes brighter and brighter.
For a long moment he stands beside the throne, stares not at Noctis, not at the burns that coil up his arm, suit ruined by the shattered ring at his feet, but at the brilliant sky outside. Then he turns, fist pressed to his heart and kneels, his other hand coming up to rest on Noctis' knee.
I came by today to see you....
Now that part will just be void
No matter how much I need you now
The rumble and creak of metal and leather, shimmers of deep purple and blue in the darkness pooling before them. Large shapes loom out of the darkness, blocking what little light the garden lights encircling the courtyard they're in manage to give off. Enemies everywhere and yet, over all of it, too loud, too final, the steady click, click, click of footsteps. Slowly growing quieter, lost to the darkness behind them.
Gladio is first to draw his weapon, summoning Hyperion from the armiger with ease and familiarity. It occurs to him, in that moment, that this will be the last time he does so and it's enough to make him grit his teeth, fingers clenching harder around the sword in hand, fighting back the knot of emotions churning in his gut, threatening to choke him.
There's no time to grieve, no time to think about anything but holding out until what must be done is done.
A heavy door creaks open then slams shut with a crippling finality, the sound like a punch to the gut, forcing his breath out in something that might be a sob on a weaker man. Then he's moving, rushing forward to bring the blade down across the side of one of the daemons before them. He's distantly aware of Ignis' dagger sinking into the hand that reaches for him, the rattle of Prompto's gunfire echoing across the otherwise empty courtyard. But nothing else matters. Just the fight, a battle that should be their last. Should've been their last. All of them. Together. For their King.
But Ardyn had taken even that from them.
It's impossible to say how long it takes, minutes? Hours? Too long and yet not long enough. Gone too soon and yet, the idea that it takes so long...
Gladio's sailing backwards through the air, flung from one giant hand when the first slivers of light break through the darkness. He hit his head, surely. The light cannot possibly be the sun. It only takes moments though, by the time he's dragging himself out of the rubble the blanket of darkness that has covered the world for long is nearly gone, the daemons standing against them reaching out in violence and dissipating into miasma, vanishing in the sunlight, blindingly bright after so very long.
"Noct..." Prompto is the first to react, barely a whisper.
And then he's racing towards the citadel, rushes towards his friend and Gladio's heart plummets. They have to stop him. He looks to Ignis, squinting against the bright light but the other man is already moving, following the sound of Prompto's steps, stumbling once over the rubble before he finds the stairs and then it is a clear path.
Gladio follows, half a step behind Ignis, falling further behind Prompto, too slow, too late, not enough.
They emerge into the throne room and Prompto is already there, on his knees, staring up at the throne where Noctis rests, his father's sword the only thing keeping him from falling to the floor. For a moment Gladio slows, not wanting to believe what he's seeing but Ignis cuts across to race up the stairs and Gladio finally drops his sword, not dismissing it to the Armiger, no crystaline tinkle or blue light, just the dull clatter of steel on marble and his hand closing around Ignis' arm. He wrenches his friend to a halt, pulls him off course and stops him.
"Iggy, no." And suddenly he's on the brink of tears again, swallowing hard to pull himself back under control even as Ignis opens his mouth to argue. and Gladio snaps. "Don't!"
A flinch, Ignis pulling his arm away and Gladio lets him put that distance between them again. The thread binding them together gone again already and for a second Gladio thinks he might be sick. "Please... You don't need to-"
A slow, measured breath. "I got it." And whether Ignis wants him to or not he moves to the stairs, body going through motions he barely has the mind for, squinting as the light from the shattered wall of the throne room becomes brighter and brighter.
For a long moment he stands beside the throne, stares not at Noctis, not at the burns that coil up his arm, suit ruined by the shattered ring at his feet, but at the brilliant sky outside. Then he turns, fist pressed to his heart and kneels, his other hand coming up to rest on Noctis' knee.
"Thank you."
And then he finally lets the tears begin to fall.