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His entire body burned.
That was the first thing Prompto noticed when he awoke: his skin, veins, everything, they were on fire. But not actually on fire, because it was dark in this room, too dark to make out more than concrete or steel walls, and bars. The wall he faced was just a line of bars.
Like a prison.
He moved to stand, but the chair he sat in held him firm, leather digging into his bare arms, a strap across his chest, impeding his breathing. Something was around his legs, too, but he couldn't see them.
"Good luck with that," an accented and gut-wrenchingly familiar voice purred from nearby.
His head shot up, and he growled low in his throat. Ardyn strutted lazily out of the shadows, what little light there was in this room casting chilling shadows over his entire body, making him look more like a ghost than a human.
Or a daemon. That, too.
"Let me go," he demanded, his voice raw, but still strong.
"Gained a bit more confidence after your brush with reality?" Ardyn asked, a smirk distorting the shadows on his face into something a lot more sinister. "I'd expect you to be far more docile than that."
"It doesn't matter where I came from, it matters where I'm going." The mantra gave him that boost. "And I'm going to kick your ass and get out of here."
"Such brave words for someone in your humble position." Ardyn held up a hand, black smoke veined with purple flames engulfing it. "As you're aware of your origins, I'd expect you to be a bit more fearful than you are now."
"I might've been made from one of them," he retorted, his voice going low, "but I'm still human. I'm still me."
"For now."
His voice caught in his throat. He felt his eyes go wide, and a chill ran through him.
"I'm sure you're well aware that Verstael experimented on all forms of life, and he was most intrigued by human and daemon interactions." The flames around Ardyn's hand shifted just slightly, the purple taking on a more magenta-like hue. "He attempted his experiments for his army on all stages of human life, which was where you came from: his experiments on infants."
Prompto clenched his fists, straining his arms against the restraints.
"All of those failed, I'm afraid," Ardyn continued, pacing the floor just past Prompto's feet, close enough that he had to crane his neck back just to keep an eye on his face. "There is one small, trivial thing that has intrigued me."
"What," Prompto asked, though it came out more like a statement.
"He experimented using the scourge, under my guidance, of course." He drew in close, and Prompto pulled back, rancid breath assaulting his nostrils. It smelled like burnt rubber and metal. "But he never had me personally try to make one of his... soldiers, as it were."
"What does that mean?" he asked, though his voice sounded much more weak than it had before.
"Ah, that's better." He sneered, his hand hovered near Prompto's head. The flames weren't warm, but tingled, drawing at something deep within his gut. It was almost nauseating. "I'd like to conduct a little experiment of my own, and you would be just perfect. No matter the outcome, it will be the perfect parting gift for your dear beloved Noctis."
A realization took hold in his mind.
No. No. No no no no. This couldn't happen. Would it happen? Could he really...?
Prompto's eyes locked onto the hand that still hovered just beside his head, the flames and smoke resembling that of daemons. The flames licked the side of his face, just barely, the tingling on his flesh bringing with it something dark and sinister.
He could, couldn't he.
Okay.
He thrashed, using the leverage from the straps to lift the chair, just barely, and spun it, managing to slide just a few inches to the right. He thrashed again, making it closer to a foot, so he sat more at an angle to the barred wall. And to Ardyn.
He just couldn't stand the fuck up.
"It's too late for an escape, I'm afraid," Ardyn purred. "Worry not, it'll all be over soon."
"No, don't--!" he gasped, sliding the chair backward this time. It wasn't far enough.
Ardyn shushed him, and something latched onto the side of his head. An overwhelming rush tore through him, from his head, through his heart, all the way through the soles of his feet. He screamed, a distorted yell that echoed against the barren walls. It was so much like water, but also not like water at all, pulling him into a void, turning him inside out.
And then nothing. Absolutely nothing.
"Prompto!" Noct called out, racing down the corridor in the Keep, through the maze of barred doors and cells.
He'd almost died, sure. He'd run into a bunch of fake Promptos, illusion Promptos, and just flat-out MTs. But he could see him this time, through the bars, tied to a cross-like contraption.
Gladio called after him, but he didn't slow down. He slid to a stop, slamming into the barred door with his forearms out to protect his face. He grabbed onto the release lever and flung the door open, darting in so fast that his shoulder clipped the edge of the door, shooting pain through his shoulder.
He didn't care. He didn't fucking care.
"Prom," he repeated, his hands fumbling on the restraints before he even realized he'd reached him. "Prom, I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry."
Prompto didn't respond. He moved a little, so that was a good sign. He got the restraints on one arm released, and that arm fell limp, like a ragdoll. With one arm supporting Prompto's shoulder, he went to work on the other, worried eyes passing over the red marks along his arms, his face, his neck. And something black like soot clung to his skin, marring his freckles, with more red marks like burns mottled around them.
Ardyn was a fucking dead man.
He got the other restraint loose, and Prompto fell limp right into his arms. He eased them both down onto the concrete, one hand supporting him, the other finding his face, brushing the limp blond hair from his face. The soot marred his face in streaks, creased as he seemed to stir, his head lolling about, eyes fluttering, but not opening.
"Just what did he do to you?" he heard himself whisper, his own eyes stinging.
He brought Prompto in close, against his shoulder. He was hurt, sure, probably really shaken up, but he was alive. And that's all he could've asked for. The warmth of him against his shoulder, his arms sleepily snaking around to cling to him, it was all so familiar, and was all something he feared he'd lost. He nuzzled down into Prompto's neck and breathed in deep, his scent stinging his nostrils.
He smelled vaguely like a campfire.
"Noct!" Gladio shouted from behind them.
He just buried his face deeper, not wanting his temporary solace interrupted by anything that even resembled reality.
"NOCT!"
His voice sounded more urgent that time, and he squeezed Prompto tight against him, sighing at the breath he brought in against his shoulder. No interruptions. He needed this moment, even as Prompto pulled one hand away, reaching around somewhere, as if looking for something. He just held him tighter, pressing his lips against the cold flesh at his neck--
"Noct!"
A large arm managed to hook around his waist and it yanked him backward and onto his feet, his arms flailing at Prompto, at that tiny shred of intimacy. Gladio shoved himself partway between them, his hand planted firmly against his chest. Noct squirmed, shoving at Gladio. How dare he get between them, especially now, when he hadn't properly apologized yet.
"Noct, stop," Gladio pleaded, tightening his grasp.
"Let me go, you fucking ASSHOLE!" he screamed back, shoving harder, getting nowhere. "Just let us have this ONE THING, okay?"
"Noct, look at him." He nodded toward where Prompto was, where Noct couldn't quite see him. "That's... it's not him."
"Don't bullshit me!" He shoved again, and Gladio moved just enough. "Of course it's him, look--"
His voice stopped dead in his throat. Prompto was staring at him, leering almost, his eyes not the clear blue he gazed into for years, longing for him, admiring him, loving him. They were instead a rancid yellow, glowing in the dim light, the scoleras black as pitch, black like the soot that marred the skin around his face. Soot that, as it caught the light, glistened.
In Prompto's right hand was a knife.
"What's wrong?" Ignis asked, his cane tapping on the door briefly.
"Don't come in, Iggy," Gladio bellowed, pulling away from Noct long enough to urge Ignis back out into the corridor. "It's Prompto, he's--"
"Don't fucking say it!" Noct yelled, his voice breaking. "He's just--" Those eyes remained locked onto his, and this 'Prompto' didn't move at all. "It's just another trick, Prompto's somewhere else, he has to be--!"
The barred door slammed shut, with Gladio and Ignis on the other side. Noct remained in the room, with the daemonified 'Prompto.' Gladio shook the bars, pulled on them, beat on them, but they didn't give, didn't even bend.
"You're wrong, I'm afraid," Ardyn's voice echoed over the loudspeaker. "It's so interesting what exposure to Lucian magic can do to the daemonification process. Enough cognition to keep their human forms, yet not enough for any form of free will."
"You're lying!" Noct yelled back.
"You think so? How quaint. Look very close, search your own soul if you must. I can assure you he is, indeed, your dear beloved Prompto."
His eyes stung and blurred, distorting Prompto for a moment. He ignored all his instincts screaming at him to stay back, stay away from this daemon masquerading as the most important person in his life. He took a step forward. And then another. And another.
"Don't come any closer," Prompto said, his voice warped, distorted, but still had that tone, his Prompto's tone. Something that Ardyn hadn't been able to emulate.
"Prom, is it really you?" His voice felt thick.
"Y-Yeah, uh, I could see why you would ask that." He stood, his movements clumsy, like a marionette. "I tried to get away, I really did, so... sorry."
"We can still get you out of here, find you some help."
"Noct, let's be serious here." He pointed the knife at him, and what looked like a tear ran down from his ichor eyes, running down over the sludge of the scourge smeared across his face. "It's too late."
"No it's not! Don't talk like that!"
"Luna's dead. The entire line of the Oracle. Dead." He sighed. "You're not even talking to who you know as me right now, dude."
"...What does that mean?"
"He's just as dead as Luna is, and I'm echoing his thoughts. He never wanted to hurt you, but..." He stepped closer, the knife drawing worryingly close. Noct didn't budge. "I don't really have much of a choice."
"Then he's still in there somewhere."
"Sorta." He shrugged. "Just some memories here and there. Most of them involve you."
"Shut up!" A blast tore its way from his body, the ring on his finger burning in response.
Prompto barely flinched.
"There is only one way out of that room, Your Majesty," Ardyn cooed over the intercom. "Either you die, or he does."
"Fuck you!" he screamed at the ceiling.
He turned toward Gladio and Ignis; Gladio still had his hands wrapped around the bars, red and bleeding from fighting with the metal. He stared at him with sympathetic eyes, the corners twitching.
"You're not the only one who wants out of here," Prompto said.
A swish through the air, and something red hot sliced right through his shoulder as he dove out of the way. His eyes caught the knife in Prompto's hand, blood glistening on the blade. He pulled in a sharp breath through his nose, eyes blurring again.
"It would seem we both know who will escape from that room, don't we?" Ardyn said.
No. He couldn't do this. Even with the scourge all over him, with those eyes boring into him, so characteristically not Prompto...
That was still Prompto in there. Somewhere. There had to be a way, had to be.
Prompto barrelled into him without warning. He tumbled onto his back, the air forced right out of his lungs. A familiar weight was over him before he took in even one pained breath, and his hand shot out to block against a wrist, the knife inches from his throat. He swallowed, looking up at Prompto, taking a position that was familiar, from so many nights alone in Insomnia, and the nights they managed to steal on the road. Even in Altissia, they'd found time to vent in each other, staring up into each other's eyes like this.
It was so ironic, he should've laughed.
His hand began shaking, Prompto's arm forcing the knife closer and closer to his throat. Like he was purposefully dragging this out. He could've easily just pulled back and tried again, for another vulnerable spot, but he was focused right there, on his throat. And Noct still had a hand free. With that tentative link to his father's sword intact.
"You need to kill me," Prompto whispered, his voice not so distorted. His hand began shaking as well. "There's nothing I can do to stop--"
His hand swung back and then down. Noct grabbed his arm and blocked him, holding his wrist high above his chest at length. His skin burned under his fingers.
"Please," Prompto pleaded, tears running down his face. "You'll be okay, I promise."
"Like hell I will!" Noct replied, his voice catching in his throat. "I can't-- I mean, I've been losing my mind without you, I can't--"
"Noct." His voice was finite. "I'm going to swing again. I won't stop until you're dead. Please."
He clenched his jaw. He let go of Prompto's arm, and he swung the knife immediately. And then it stopped.
His father's sword impaled him right through his chest, through his back. And his arms went almost completely limp before Noct's eyes. Black blood oozed around the wound, and Noct blanched, yanking out the sword and rolling Prompto over onto his back.
"Prom, I'm-- I'm sorry--"
"It was the only way."
"No it wasn't!"
"Shhh." His eyes slid closed. "Shhh."
"Prom--"
"Noct, listen..."
He didn't continue. And never would. His breath left him in a sigh, and he didn't breathe again after that.
The barred door swung open behind him, large hands landed on his shoulders, someone was speaking to him, or trying to speak to him over the roaring in his ears. His eyes remained locked onto Prompto, laying dead in a pool of black blood.
He curled into himself and screamed.
Ten years on, ten years that he didn't get to live. He'd defeated Ardyn in battle. Said his goodbyes to his friends, a glaring void next to Gladio as he did so. That's where Prompto would've stood. The one ray of sunshine in all of Eos left after the darkness took over. He'd taken that from them, from everyone.
It was all his fault.
That was the thought as he died, crying, on the throne, as he began fulfilling his destiny. As he faced Ardyn in the Beyond and destroyed him, once and for all, surrounded by the thoughts of his friends, of Luna, of his father.
Of Prompto.
It had just been a specter, some kind of illusion in this place, but he'd caught sight of blond hair to his right, supporting him, giving him that last bit of strength to destroy Ardyn. To rid the universe of him.
Blond hair and clear blue eyes were the last things he saw before he himself disappeared.
Though, not completely.
He opened his eyes not long after, sitting on the throne at the Citadel. The traditional bridal colors and decor graced the throneroom, music playing softly in the space. He glanced down at himself, at his regalia; it was what he was supposed to wear in Altissia, when he was set to wed Luna.
But Luna was dead. And so was he, now.
He closed his eyes, resisting the tears, at how empty this room was, at how he'd most likely spend eternity here, alone. The music flowed onward, slowing down, almost pausing.
"Hey, buddy, don't cry on me."
The music swelled suddenly, and Noct's eyes popped open. Prompto stood on the dais in front of him, dressed to the nines in a suit, with regalia that was regulated for a royal Lucian wedding. It was beautiful, he was beautiful, just absolutely stunning, and older, too, not young like he'd been when he...
When he died.
Noct tried to stand from the throne, but couldn't for some reason. It was like his legs wouldn't work.
"Take it easy," Prompto laughed, approaching to his side, to the side of the throne. He perched himself there. "You took a beating, right?"
"Of course I did, but..." His voice caught in his throat. "How..."
"Shhh," Prompto shushed him, stroking his hand through his hair. "Noct, listen, I don't think I got to finish saying this before." He leaned their foreheads together, breath dusting over his face. "It wasn't your fault. Honest."
"It was," he replied quietly.
"Nope. Even if you think so, I don't blame you at all." Hands found the sides of his face. "I still loved you, right up to the end. And I still do."
"Prom--" He choked on the words.
"Noct."
"I still love you, too."
Prompto crashed their lips together then, and Noct grappled onto the lapels of his jacket. It wasn't princely, or kingly, or even appropriate for the throne, or for a wedding, but if they were alone, and stuck here for eternity in death, they might as well just consume each other. And so they did.
After the breathless kiss met its end, Prompto pulled away. Noct ran his hands back through his fluffy blond hair, staring into those clear blue eyes. He smiled softly, running a thumb down his cheek.
This was how he'd needed to remember him. This was how he'd wanted to remember him. Now, he didn't have to.
Prompto settled into his shoulder. Noct leaned his head against Prompto's head. They drifted off, succumbing to a slumber, surrounded by that soft music, and by each other.
If they would awaken again was up to fate.