[When he at last parts from Gentiana, Noctis is smiling, still riding that confused high of having zero expectations or direction, something he's fairly certain he's never felt in his life, even without memories. He returns to the hotel room ready to wake Ignis and share the good news, but instead he finds it empty. He can see the frenetic energy left behind; the haphazard way the place has been searched, the signs that Ignis made a hasty exit. Of course... he'd been gone too long, and Ignis went looking for him. Idiot, he really should have left a note, but the call had been so intense that he hadn't had even a few moments to resist.]
You could have given me that much, Gentiana... come on.
[He grumbles to the empty space, trying to stamp down a wave of worry before it grows too strong. He's... fine, probably. He's just searching the city for Noctis. It should be a simple thing to track him down, ease his worries, and then they can grab breakfast and be on their way. No big deal at all. The worry grows as he sits on the edge of the bed, closing his eyes and focusing on searching for his quarry. Like before, that first time, finding him in the desert... and then after, beyond the hunt... find him, find him.
That worry only grows as he feels a certain... weakness to his destination. A familiar one. Pain.
Standing abruptly, he grabs his sword, focuses intently on the location where he'd felt it, and with a blur of energy gifted to him by the gods, he's there. An unfamiliar building, a seemingly empty room, and right there, slumped over like he's- NO-]
Ignis! [he cries out at the sight as soon as his eyes rest upon it, terror surging through him. He sees nothing else in that moment, his hand reaching, taking a step forward. He can barely make two steps before someone shouts at his back, an explosion rings through the air, and something hits him right in the small of his back. He stumbles, lunging forward to draw his sword and cover Ignis in one swift motion, tongues of flame licking their way up his arm; he'd left without putting in his contacts, so his eyes glow an otherworldly blue and red as he snarls at the men suddenly crawling out of the woodwork in the room around them. Just a handful of them, but enough to challenge him, especially if they're as skilled as the ones who came before. Carrying swords, knives, guns...
He doesn't think, only moves as quickly as his legs can carry him towards the first man, not giving them time to regain their courage against what is probably the first sign of magic in fifteen years, if they'd ever seen it at all. He has few advantages in this room, so he'll take what he can get. He found new purpose this morning, gained his freedom, and he is not losing his life or Ignis' to these terrorists, too blind and stupid to move on in the fresh chance at life they'd been given when the dawn rose. He'd died for men like them, and they can only think to waste it.
He doesn't stab, though such strikes would be more deadly. He can't risk getting his blade stuck in a body, wasting precious seconds. He slashes and he burns, twisting and spinning his way through the men with a ferocity he's never felt before. The other men had made him angry, yes, but he'd been fighting only for Ignis' sake back then, mindless to his own needs, expecting to live beyond the fight in some manner or other, the way Messengers often do. This time, though- this time, he's fighting for the both of them, for the gift of life he'd been handed by a goddess mere minutes ago. He dances through the ranks, batting their blades away, deflecting gunshots with fire and burning those foolish enough to give him the time to ignite flames beyond his defensive circle. One man goes down, then another. A third falls, but one rises again, not yet dead. He has no idea how long he fights, only that he will not stop-
-until suddenly, he does. Something impacts him from behind again, this time grazing his head enough to make him stumble, and that's all the men need to close ranks and knock him down. His sword is ripped away from his hand, kicked out of his reach, and two men pin him one on each arm, forcing him against the floor. A third moves in and kicks him in the gut, once, twice. He gasps for air, his head slumped back, trying to see Ignis, but they've blocked his view. I have to find him. I was- I was going to save him, I want-
The men don't care what he wants, though. They crowd around him, trying to crush his limbs so he can't fight, pressing down on his wounds so they bleed out. The leader stabs his knife into Noct's shoulder, blade twisting, and he screams, unable to help himself. Revenge, they say, for their fallen comrades. For the night of sin they lost. They'll kill him first, nice and slow to punish him, snuff out whatever corruption is inside him that made him like this, and then they'll move on to the others.
"You've been a thorn in our side, delaying our mission," the man above him is saying, angered, holding a knife smeared with blood. (His blood?) He keeps talking, but Noctis isn't listening. He's still trying to find Ignis. Ignis who he now thinks might be alive, but for how long?
I need to heal him, he thinks desperately, eyes darting back and forth, the enraged gleam in them growing clouded over with pain and fear. I can't let him die, I can't, I don't want to die without him-
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You could have given me that much, Gentiana... come on.
[He grumbles to the empty space, trying to stamp down a wave of worry before it grows too strong. He's... fine, probably. He's just searching the city for Noctis. It should be a simple thing to track him down, ease his worries, and then they can grab breakfast and be on their way. No big deal at all. The worry grows as he sits on the edge of the bed, closing his eyes and focusing on searching for his quarry. Like before, that first time, finding him in the desert... and then after, beyond the hunt... find him, find him.
That worry only grows as he feels a certain... weakness to his destination. A familiar one. Pain.
Standing abruptly, he grabs his sword, focuses intently on the location where he'd felt it, and with a blur of energy gifted to him by the gods, he's there. An unfamiliar building, a seemingly empty room, and right there, slumped over like he's- NO-]
Ignis! [he cries out at the sight as soon as his eyes rest upon it, terror surging through him. He sees nothing else in that moment, his hand reaching, taking a step forward. He can barely make two steps before someone shouts at his back, an explosion rings through the air, and something hits him right in the small of his back. He stumbles, lunging forward to draw his sword and cover Ignis in one swift motion, tongues of flame licking their way up his arm; he'd left without putting in his contacts, so his eyes glow an otherworldly blue and red as he snarls at the men suddenly crawling out of the woodwork in the room around them. Just a handful of them, but enough to challenge him, especially if they're as skilled as the ones who came before. Carrying swords, knives, guns...
He doesn't think, only moves as quickly as his legs can carry him towards the first man, not giving them time to regain their courage against what is probably the first sign of magic in fifteen years, if they'd ever seen it at all. He has few advantages in this room, so he'll take what he can get. He found new purpose this morning, gained his freedom, and he is not losing his life or Ignis' to these terrorists, too blind and stupid to move on in the fresh chance at life they'd been given when the dawn rose. He'd died for men like them, and they can only think to waste it.
He doesn't stab, though such strikes would be more deadly. He can't risk getting his blade stuck in a body, wasting precious seconds. He slashes and he burns, twisting and spinning his way through the men with a ferocity he's never felt before. The other men had made him angry, yes, but he'd been fighting only for Ignis' sake back then, mindless to his own needs, expecting to live beyond the fight in some manner or other, the way Messengers often do. This time, though- this time, he's fighting for the both of them, for the gift of life he'd been handed by a goddess mere minutes ago. He dances through the ranks, batting their blades away, deflecting gunshots with fire and burning those foolish enough to give him the time to ignite flames beyond his defensive circle. One man goes down, then another. A third falls, but one rises again, not yet dead. He has no idea how long he fights, only that he will not stop-
-until suddenly, he does. Something impacts him from behind again, this time grazing his head enough to make him stumble, and that's all the men need to close ranks and knock him down. His sword is ripped away from his hand, kicked out of his reach, and two men pin him one on each arm, forcing him against the floor. A third moves in and kicks him in the gut, once, twice. He gasps for air, his head slumped back, trying to see Ignis, but they've blocked his view. I have to find him. I was- I was going to save him, I want-
The men don't care what he wants, though. They crowd around him, trying to crush his limbs so he can't fight, pressing down on his wounds so they bleed out. The leader stabs his knife into Noct's shoulder, blade twisting, and he screams, unable to help himself. Revenge, they say, for their fallen comrades. For the night of sin they lost. They'll kill him first, nice and slow to punish him, snuff out whatever corruption is inside him that made him like this, and then they'll move on to the others.
"You've been a thorn in our side, delaying our mission," the man above him is saying, angered, holding a knife smeared with blood. (His blood?) He keeps talking, but Noctis isn't listening. He's still trying to find Ignis. Ignis who he now thinks might be alive, but for how long?
I need to heal him, he thinks desperately, eyes darting back and forth, the enraged gleam in them growing clouded over with pain and fear. I can't let him die, I can't, I don't want to die without him-
not again-]