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GLADIO
The Prince – no, the King – walked slowly up the stairs to the Citadel. For many years after the death of King Regis, Gladio had a hard time thinking of Noctis as anything other than a boy, even though only two years separated them. A bratty, selfish boy unworthy of the title of King. He knew Noctis would make it eventually but he wasn’t there yet. It was partially Gladio’s job to get him there, and he had taken that job seriously, pushing the boy forward with tough love and lectures that often stung.
In the end, Noctis did it all on his own.
He came back from the Crystal changed. He was weather beaten but not defeated, tired in a way Gladio had never seen before, not even during the years following the boy’s accident. Noctis the King was confident. He gave orders without pause and didn’t flinch when he told them what the ancestors demanded of him.
Insomnia was in ruins. Daemons the size of towers roamed the city. They fled from many, choosing alleyways and subway stations rather than open streets. It was not a cowardly choice. Their upmost priority was to escort their King safely back to his throne.
It was prophesized that Noctis Lucis Caleum would sacrifice himself for the survival of his people. He was the last of his name, heir to the throne, and Astrals damnit if he wasn’t one of the best friends Gladio had ever had. He would sit in the throne, yes, but he would not rule. No King of Lucis would ever rule again. Gladiolus Amicitia was born of a line sworn to shield their Kings. He was personally bound to Noctis, sworn to fight and die by the King’s side.
He would honor his vow.
They did not watch the figure of the King as it retreated into the Citadel. They stood, instead, facing outward. Holding the line.
Gladio scanned the scene in front of him. A red giant walked in circles in the courtyard, dragging a flaming sword along the sidewalk, sending sparks in all directions. Another daemon, unfamiliar to him, slammed fists into buildings. If Gladio didn’t know any better he would say it was taking pleasure in the act.
Daemons did not feel pleasure, as far as he knew.
A marilith that they had fled from mere hours ago slithered through the streets. He could see its head poking above the shorter structures. Occasionally a glimpse of its body showed, giving Gladio an idea of just how large it was. When they came upon it earlier they had tried to engage it, but they were falling more than they were staying upright, and their potions were quickly dwindling. Gladio had grabbed all three of them and hauled them into an alleyway. Yes, she would do.
He waited until the creature came into the courtyard. There was a fountain in the middle and it slowly slithered around it, scales whispering on the hard stone ground. “Iggy, twelve o’clock, marilith. She’s curled around the fountain. Head facing east, tail to the north.” He gave the directions unthinking.
The three of them, Ignis and Prompto and him, had learned to fight as a unit when Noctis disappeared. At the time Gladio told himself that his charge had been a liability in battle anyhow. Gladio didn’t believe Noctis was ready for field combat when he left the Citadel. He was strong and aggressive in training, but he was constantly leaving openings for Gladio to close in on. Facing actual foes with Noct by his side did nothing to lessen his concern. He was always charging into the thick of things before strategy could be discussed, moving so quickly Gladio was hard pressed to step in and protect him when a creature inevitably descended. The first time they faced an actual foe without the prince (King, Gladio reminded himself), Gladio swore he would eat crow for the rest of his life. Noctis was proficient in many fighting styles and could switch between weapons with ease. This allowed him to fine tune his fighting to match the enemy’s weaknesses. His quick, erratic movements confused their foes, spinning them in circles and making them easier to hit without taking damage. Without him, Gladio became a target. For all his bulk Gladio did not move quickly. Their strategy changed. It relied on a distracting shot from Prompto’s gun, Ignis striking fast and silent, and a swing of the greatsword at precisely the right time. It relied on the battle being over before it even started. Beverages, even water, were in high demand, and they couldn’t formulate potions without Noctis anyway. Too often, in the beginning, they found themselves treating injuries they couldn’t afford with basic first aid supplies. Now? Ignis and Prompto rarely suffered a scratch, and Gladio was alive, even if his new scars were deeper and angrier than any from before the world lay in ruin.
Ignis acknowledged the directions and tilted his head to listen. It had taken time, but the man was just as proficient in battle now as he was before his injury. When he lost his vision he gave up daggers altogether. Fighting in tight quarters was no longer an option, not when a slash could land on an ally as easily as it could a foe. Elemency kept Ignis out of danger and the rest of them safe. He could tease out an enemy’s location through hearing and vibration, and sometimes even by smell. He would hone in on a target, yell at Gladio to stand back, and launch a ball of pure chaos into the air. Without Noct’s magic Ignis was forced to return to weapons. Gladio was stationary in battle so he was easy to track. Prompto adjusted, becoming a touchstone for Ignis, a place to return between each attack. The only hint Gladio had of his presence on the battlefield was the glint of daggers when the man landed a strike. It had been incredible to watch how quickly he took up elemental magic again when the King returned. Their battlefields were once again bathed in a storm, whether it be fire or ice or lightning. Gladio allowed himself a fond smile. The familiar bitterness of knowing Ignis would never see that smile again did not surface, and Gladio wondered about this for a moment before turning to face the marilith.
Iggy outlined the strategy. “I suggest a straightforward approach. Gladio in front, close enough to avoid her head. You know how to dodge her swords. Prompto, you and I will keep to one side out of reach of the tail. I’ll try and stick with daggers. We all need to be close if we want to avoid incapacitation and I would rather we avoid friendly fire.”
Prompto simply nodded, a determined look on his face.
Gladio wondered if they knew. Ignis would. He was as committed to his duty as Gladio, sworn to the King practically since birth. He had no obligation to die for Noctis, however. That was Gladio’s alone. Still, he would understand, and Gladio had no doubt he would let him take the fall, just as he knew Ignis would come out of this alive. Prompto, on the other hand... Prompto was just as likely to throw the battle for the sake of a stupid, unnecessary sacrifice as he was for selfish reasons. The boy had been in a bad place for a very long time. He would often disappear by himself for weeks on end and return with life – threatening injuries that he had left to fester. He told Gladio once that he kept coming back because he was too cowardly to actually go through with it. Gladio believed it. Losing Noctis for good may be the end of him. Losing Gladio too… well, Gladio wasn’t sure he would blame the kid if he ended it here.
He steeled his sword and strode down the stairs, joining his destiny with his King’s.
The battle was fast and brutal. He positioned himself so close to the creature that he could reach out and touch her scales. The first swing of his broadsword barely made a dent. He could hear an unsettling scream and hiss. He swung again. The snake lifted the front of her body and arched her head back, attempting to get a look at him. Gladio couldn’t count her arms, but each one brandished a sword longer than his midsection. He moved into a wide legged, defensive stance.
Gladio was dimly aware of Ignis when he came close. Ignis was all over the creature, darting in and back out, striking and then striking the same spot again. Gladio figured the first strike was just enough to get through the daemon’s scales. He always returned to Prompto, standing back to back with the boy, issuing orders. He knew Prompto's gun was firing even if he couldn't hear it with the silencer on. The boy would be alternating between single shots and rapid fire. He wondered if the kid was taking pictures, then remembered the particularly grim circumstances they were in and kicked himself. Of course he wasn’t.
The battle went on. Inevitably one of them would be turned to stone and the others move to defensive positions on either side of him. Nobody turned into a frog, thank the Astrals. After a surprising short amount of time Gladio felt a shift in the air. He paused for a moment, surprised that it was happening so soon. There was no doubt as to what it was. His King was dying, maybe already dead. Gladio shrugged his shoulders, rolling them to work out the kinks. It was time. If he was lucky he could land a killing blow before the marilith took him out.
He landed his blow on the creature’s underbelly. It was already sliced through with messy, broad strokes from Gladio’s serrated greatsword. The last strike cut deep. He found himself drenched in putrid black blood. Gladio tasted it in his mouth, enough to swallow. He spit instead. Daemon blood was no good.
The daemon was thoroughly pissed off. It hissed and spit green poison in great arcs above his head. Gladio backed up, posture readied for what was to come. It reared back, finding him with its eyes, then swept forward and took him out in a single strike, teeth snapping shut around his torso. He did not feel the marilith lift him into the air. He did not feel his body hit the ground when she fell.
*****
IGNIS
“Iggy, twelve o’clock, marilith. She’s curling up on herself around the fountain. Head facing east, tail to the north”
Ignis listened. He heard something huge and metallic meeting concrete to his left, close but uninterested in them. He heard the city being destroyed all around them. Then he purchased on the sound of scales moving slowly across the ground and occasionally hitting other things, presumably glass and metal and whatever else was left of Insomnia. The noise was centralized around a fountain he knew from many years of formal events on Citadel steps. Most recently he knew it as a landmark, a point of reference in battle.
He considered the creature’s weaknesses. Its position. Its abilities. He considered what type of element may be most useful against it, then ruled the idea out when he realized just how close they would have to be to stay out of harm’s way. He did not particularly relish the idea of being made frog, even if it was a temporary state of affairs. A blind frog was an easy target, and last time he was turned Prompto forgot the battle altogether and chased after him in an awkward sort of squat – hop until he regained his human form.
Daggers it would be, then. The others must stay close, and he must remind Prompto to stay still if he was to find him after each strike.
The boy had become a formidable ally in the field. It was essential for Ignis to have someone to fall back to when he was brandishing daggers, lest he become disoriented with the swift movement required of the fighting style. Prompto was restless in the battlefield but he was the only one of them that fought at a distance, so he was the natural choice. Ignis taught him how to fight back to back, how to stand still for the most part, only ducking and rolling when he was in imminent danger, and then always with a verbal warning and an arm around Ignis to bring him along. At first he would forget his partner, darting around to get the best shot – either with gun or camera, much to Ignis’ chagrin – but he was a quick learner and could be pulled back to his senses with a quick reprimand from Gladio or himself. When Ignis utilized elemency Prompto was free to roam, to alternate between truly ranged combat and firing off shots in close quarters. Ignis used to worry about the boy when he would fight like that, but he was nimble and hardly ever took a hit.
Ignis gave the orders. In his mind’s eye he could see Gladio nodding grimly before hoisting his greatsword over his shoulder and striding down the stairs. He did not allow himself the feeling of warmth that threatened to spread through his chest and break him. There was no room for selfishness in the face of honor. Gladio was the King’s shield and he would uphold his oath. Ignis had known this all along.
He tasked himself instead with keeping Prompto alive. Prompto, who was no doubt falling apart beside him. He listened for a shudder of breath or a sob and was genuinely surprised when neither came to be. Ah. Not yet then.
He felt a hand on his shoulder and heard Gladio’s footsteps as they echoed down the stairs. The hand squeezed lightly for just a moment. “Are you ready?” he whispered, tilting his head toward Prompto. “Ready as I’ll ever be.” The response came out dry, a whisper of Prince Noctis at twenty years of age. Ignis felt something twist inside him. He couldn’t stop it and he did not wish to. It reminded him of their reason for fighting. They walked, then, Ignis steered by Prompto’s steady hand and his own keen senses, long since grown to compensate for his lack of sight.
They settled into position. The marilith was to their left, just enough distance between them that Ignis could strike and they would both be shielded from the thing’s poison. He heard the ring of Gladio’s blade through the air and the thud as it met the creature’s scales, the change in sound as it hit the same spot enough times to penetrate. Ignis would need to strike true if he wanted to wound the thing.
Prompto began firing, pausing long enough to point out openings to Ignis. Ignis surged forward and landed blow after blow, punctuated by Prompto’s voice saying “Now” and “Now” and “Now”. Ignis recognized the thrill of the battle in the way Prompto gave the commands, in the way the boy’s body practically hummed when it was pressed against his back. This was the old Prompto, the one that loved the dance of battle and the feeling of recoil when he fired. Ignis found himself laughing, unexpected joy bubbling up at his friend’s enthusiasm. After a particularly well – executed hit that involved Ignis striking and Prompto following it up with a shot that lodged a bullet into the wound, Ignis felt Prompto’s hair brush the back of his scalp. The boy sang a victory tune, one that had once worn on Ignis’ patience for how often it was sung. He had not heard it in a very long time.
He could feel the flash of Prompto’s smile and for a moment he was caught in the past, driving down a highway on a road trip that seemed to go on forever. He could see the arches of Duscae in his mind’s eye. They were marking a beautiful blue, sunlit sky and Prompto was bouncing in his seat, yammering on excitedly about the landscape and the great photos he’d gotten today and whether they would see Cindy again anytime soon.
It had been a long time. The boy would live to witness the sun rise again. Ignis would stand alongside him and feel the dawn on his skin.
Ignis knew exactly when it happened. Prompto jerked away, his voice a desperate call. “Gladio!” then “Shit! Ignis, he’s going to-“
“Prompto, it is his duty.” Ignis hoped his voice was sharp enough to cut through Prompto’s panic. He realized a second later that it wasn’t, or maybe that the boy wasn’t going to listen to him either way. He heard footsteps running away from him, then a shot, the one Prompto used to draw the attention of their assailants. He heard a hiss and the scrape of scales. Ignis froze, mind racing for a strategy, anything to call Prompto back to his side. Their King was dead. Gladio would fall soon if he wasn’t already down. The sun would come up and the daemons would disappear into grating, sizzling puddles of bile. They needed to flee.
A wave of vibration shot through the ground. The creature had fallen. He had just enough time to register this before the world went black.
*****
PROMPTO
Prompto was not going to lose his friends again. He would save Ignis and Gladio, and a desperate part of his mind insisted he would save Noct as well. He would do it singlehandedly if he had to.
It took Prompto the majority of his life to believe that he even had friends, that the men that surrounded him not only trusted him with their lives, but that he was really, genuinely part of the group. It took being pushed off a moving train by the person he considered his closest friend. It took facing the reality of what he was. It took their simple, unwavering acceptance when he exposed himself as the enemy. He was made of the same stuff as the troopers they shot out of the sky. He was a threat, and he thought at the time that they would kill him. Instead he felt himself enveloped in a four-person embrace. They held him and told him he was himself, and that he was one of them. No matter what.
He wasn’t going to lose that. Not after all this time.
So when Gladio honed in on their target and Ignis laid out a strategy, Prompto readied his gun and set his jaw. He placed his other hand on Ignis’ shoulder and set out to save his friends.
He tracked both of them as surely as he tracked their enemy, a giant of a marilith they had faced down earlier. They had fled then, Gladio lifting him up and hauling him over one shoulder as he fired off defiant shots one after the other. He was pissed about that. He wanted the thrill of battle, wanted to drown out the feeling in the pit of his stomach, chase off the reality hunting him down, the reason they were here. He struggled against the strong arm at his waist but Gladio only held on tighter. They had to protect Noct, had to get him to the Citadel, where he would fulfill a prophecy and save the world.
Fuck the world. He wanted his friend back.
He bit Gladio then. The big man just laughed and kept running.
He channeled all that anger into the battle in front of him. He would take the thing out this time, and they would all make it out alive. Every single damn one of them.
They were at position. Ignis was at his back. He reminded himself that keeping rooted was his primary concern. He couldn’t afford to dash off and leave Ignis alone. The man was fighting with daggers, and when Ignis was moving, Prompto had to stay still.
In between shots he watched Ignis work. He was beautiful, really. He struck fast and true, darting in and back out in a flicker of movement, performing complicated ducks and turns to avoid the marilith when it lashed out at them. He always returned, perfectly still at Prompto’s back. Ignis told him once that standing still in a battlefield was just as effective as darting around when you did not wish to be seen. Prompto preferred the chase, but he learned to join Ignis in his stillness, and the man was right. They were practically invisible.
Prompto fell into the familiar pattern that came with any battle, layering the specific rhythm of this one over the top. He used piercing bullets to penetrate the snake’s scales, performed link strikes with the others, fired into wounds made by dagger and greatsword. He kept the silencer on. Ignis needed to work in stealth and Gladio was close enough to the thing to avoid its most dangerous attacks.
He felt an old joy creep up his chest and into his throat. His first instinct was to force it back down. There was no place for joy in his life any more. The last ten years had been desolate. He had barely survived. His friends would say they missed his laughter if they weren’t so afraid that he’d break. They didn’t know how many times he had broken all on his own. He always picked the pieces up and fit them back together, always found a way to bang the stubborn ones into place and reinforce the parts that had rusted over. He was whole, damnit, and he knew how to keep himself that way.
That’s why he allowed the joy, the sheer frenzied, unfettered thrill, to bubble up into that laughter they all missed so much. He heard Ignis’ responding chuckle, felt the man relax against his back. He belted out a victory tune usually reserved for the end of a battle. It had been a long time.
The fight went on and on. Prompto fought harder than he’d ever fought before. He whispered the information Ignis needed into his ear and let him deduce the rest from the senses that had saved both of their lives on multiple occasions. The man was more than capable. Prompto used to be intimidated by Ignis, but that had long since faded. They worked as a team, both in battle and outside of it. When they fought together the pieces clicked into place. It was when they fought alone that they needed to adjust.
He took a minute to zero in on Gladio. Gladio, who had spent most of the last ten years taking hunts on his own or with his sister, who was used to fighting without cover. The man had chosen a beast of a daemon and Prompto was the only one with the ability to keep eyes on him. Gladio was fighting with a dreadful sort of abandon that Prompto hadn’t seen in him before. He was taking huge, risky swings with his broadsword, leaving himself wide open. Okay. So Gladio needed cover. He trained one ear on Iggy, using his touch alongside it to track the man. His eyes remained focused on Gladio. He fired with the intention of stopping the marilith before it could strike, shots aimed at its face or tail or the top of its long, tube like body. He hit the creature’s arms before it could land a series of bladed hits. Prompto’s shots caused the monster to flail and hiss. They kept it confused enough that it failed to land a strike.
Then he saw Gladio take a particularly stupid swing, exposing his entire torso to the creature just as it reared back to pin him with its eyes. He snapped to attention when he realized that Gladio knew exactly what he was doing. He was going to his death. Stupid, heroic fuck.
Prompto took off running with Gladio's name catching in his throat, then turned around, remembering Ignis. “Shit! Ignis, he’s going to-“
Ignis interrupted him, his voice sharp enough to cut. “Prompto, it is his duty.” Right. Sure.
Fuck duty.
He acted as quickly as he formulated the plan. Silencer off. Get away from Iggy. One shot, loud, to draw attention. Run like hell.
He fired. But it was wrong, because the creature was already bending toward Gladio, preparing to strike. He fired again, screaming through the recoil. He saw the black, vile daemon blood pour out of the thing, heard it hiss in anger, saw Gladio skewered in the marilith’s mouth, lifted ten stories high, and then dropped as the creature fell. He saw his friend hit the ground, saw the fang tear through his torso, saw red blood mix with black.
Prompto felt panic flare in his gut. “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit” he whispered. He felt like he was screaming. Too late he heard the thump of the marilith tail behind him. Too late he registered what that might mean.
He stayed frozen for a moment longer, then turned slowly to face the thing that might finally destroy him. Iggy’s body was trapped halfway under the creature. “shit shit shit” he repeated again. He needed words to come, anything to avoid the silence now that the fighting had stopped. Prompto stumbled back to Ignis’ side. Through some small miracle the man was still breathing. He pulled his friend’s upper body into his lap, held him, and sobbed.
He wasn’t surprised when Ignis’ breath slowed, then stopped. There was nothing he could do about it. Potions came from Noct’s magic and Noctis was predestined to die. He most likely already had.
In the end he couldn’t even save his friends. Noctis succeeded in saving the world and breaking his heart. Gladio succeeded in following through with some stupid fucking duty bestowed upon him by yet another dead king. And Ignis – Ignis’ death was Prompto’s fault. If Prompto hadn’t broken rank Ignis would be alive. Iggy put his trust in Prompto, and now he was dead too.
He half wished Gladio was here to kick his ass and tell him to get over it.
He hated that the snake was no longer alive. It could have taken him down. Damn Gladio and his killing blows. He contemplated suicide, took his gun and actually slid the barrel into his mouth with the safety off. In the end he couldn’t do it. Oddly it felt like the cowardly choice. It used to be that waking up alive felt cowardly.
He thought about Cindy and Talcott and the ruins of Insomnia. He thought about Cid, his face wrinkled in the sun. He remembered a lonely house, a dog, and a letter from an Oracle. He remembered Iris, more recently, taking on a giant of a daemon alongside Cor and himself. He turned over photographs in his mind, imagined his friend seated on a cold throne, grasping a picture in his hand. He made a decision.
Prompto stood, took one last look at Ignis’ body, squared his shoulders, and walked into the dawn.
*****
IRIS
Iris Amicitia, renowned daemon slayer, laid her greatsword on the ground and sat down to watch the sun rise for the first time in ten years. Black became dark blue, then purple, which slowly lightened into something recognizable as dawn. Eventually streaks of orange showed between clouds and the first rays of the sun shone out. She expected them to be feeble but they were bold.
She chose silence over tears.
Her ears picked up the soft click – click of an animal trotting across rock. Years of training had honed her sense of sound, and just for a minute she listened to identify the daemon before it spotted her. Then she smiled.
A chocobo appeared in the distance, yellow feathers ruffling in the wind. She recognized its rider by the matching tuft of hair.
She did not scan the horizon for the others.
Prompto approached and raised a hand in greeting. She raised hers in return and he dismounted. The chocobo let out a soft “kweh” as it settled in to graze the tufts of dry grass, looking for any bit of green. It was instinct. Green had long since faded from the world. Prompto sat beside her, wrapped an arm around her, and leaned his head on her shoulder.
The sun came up. He did not need to tell her anything. She already knew.