#not that yojimbos or any other daemons in that family were in costlemark from what i remember but setting wise def a reference point

[leonmckennedy]

i’ve been working on this little thing for a lil bit and im somewhat confident that i’ll actually finish it so here’s the first part. it’s heavily unedited like almost everything ive posted here: later i’ll throw it all together all neat and pretty for ao3

so here’s the tentatively titled “the one where noct gets impaled and then other shit happens”

characters: prompto + noctis centered | ignis and gladio are gonna be around somewhere

warnings: uhhhhhh there’s blood and descriptive injuries yeah? this was an excuse to write injured noct what do you want from me

parts: one (here!) | two | three 

frankly, none of them had expected their most recent dungeon to be so…. exhaustingly long. several hours and many long, daemon infested corridors later and the party is still trudging along, bodies battle-torn and sluggish. ignis had predicted they were halfway there four hours ago but they’re no closer to the end now than they were before; gladio’s patience has begun to run thin, and even prompto has gone quiet, his nervous jokes and chatter dying in the midst of a silent sort of paranoia. walk down a hall, navigate through rubble, fend off a surprise daemon attack. it’s a pattern that while familiar, still has them all on the balls of their feet.

“noct,” ignis says after a beat. they’ve all come to a stop at the end of one particularly long hallway, where a large door greets them. “i believe we need to consider turning back for now.” ignis sounds put-together as usually, but even his voice has a tired edge to it, like his even exhales are exasperated. “we are running dangerously low on supplies, and we don’t know how much longer this will take.”

“hate to admit it, but he’s probably right.” gladio is leaning against a wall, arms crossed tightly. “we’ve been up for how long? two days? we’re all starting to get sloppy.”

prompto, who had been staring rather blankly at the door in front of them, turns his head almost too quickly. “break time? we’re taking a break?”

“if the prince here agrees.”

noctis frowns. some part of him, some hidden well of pride, doesn’t want to quit. they’ve already spent so much time here that it’d almost feel like losing to turn back now. but there’s another part, the oh so tired part of him that just wants to flop down on a bed (or sleeping bag) and just pass out for ten or so hours tugs at the forefront of his mind, and the sigh tumbles out of him before he can stop it.

“yeah. maybe we should.”

the relief among the group is unanimous: prompto gives an excited “yesss!” which is the most energy noctis has heard from him since maybe five floors ago, while ignis and gladio give assenting noises dripping with relief.

noctis himself feels his own shoulders slump with just the idea of sleeping later. he isn’t sure about the rest of them, but he’s already hit his second, and third, and fourth wind while down here. there’s a deep exhaustion settled deep in his bones, and it’s been the thin hope of good treasure that’s been keeping his sword hand marginally steady. he’s tired, he’s dirty, and he’s ready for the no-dignity-required retreat to the exit.

“alright, let’s head back u—”

it really shouldn’t have been a surprise. they’ve barely turned on their heels when the garbled sound of a daemon forming assaults their ears. they all respond with varying degrees of frustration, summoning their weapons and taking admittedly weak stances before the thing has finished materializing.

but the thing that crawls its way out of the shadows isn’t a goblin or any small manner of daemon. not even an iron giant, who is threatening but big and easy to spot at any moment. instead, almost sauntering its way out from the far wall, is a threateningly human-like monster. with a sword. a very long sword. facing a newx probably very threatening enemy is usually a cause for concern, but it’s been such a long, arduous adventure that noctis can’t bring himself to care.

“ugh, every time!” noctis says, groaning as he brandishes his broadsword. He barely hears the response to his complaint — probably something from gladio telling him to pay attention — before he’s warping to the enemy, trying to get the edge on this fight.

the daemon meets him head on however, blocking his attack swiftly and pushing back enough to make him stumble. he dodges its attack, rolling just out of the way to avoid prompto’s covering fire for gladio’s eventual jump into the fray. the daemon takes the hit, stumbles, and counterattacks quickly, seemingly unfazed by gladio’s sword.

noctis goes for it again, only to be dodged and kicked into the wall, banging his shoulder. no sooner does he connect with the wall does the daemon head for him again, barely a second to spare for noct to phase through the attack. he jumps away, guard raised. “fuck, you’re fast.”

he can see bullets bouncing off the monster’s back, another attack seeming not to have any effect. noctis can’t see its eyes, but the way it turns to regard prompto seems calculating, and it takes noctis all of five seconds to realize what it’s next move is, and another half second afterwards to move himself.

it moves quickly. it avoids gladio and ignis’ joint attack effortlessly as it appears before prompto in the blink of an eye, sword raised. the gunman barely had time to scream proper, only a high-pitched squeal, almost a choke, rises above the chaos in the room. noctis doesn’t think twice about warping over, heart hammering against his chest as he thinks not prompto, no—

he almost doesn’t feel it at first, the sword through his gut. for a split second he only registers the coolness of the steel against his skin, and the way it takes his breath away. then it becomes a searing pain, the steel ripping its way through what is probably a lot of important organs, and in a literal breathless rush he cries out, desperate.

it hurts, it fucking hurts— the daemon doesn’t even make a sound, the bastard. he brings his hands up to the offending weapon, curling his fingers defensively around the sword and wound as if he could coax it to stop bleeding, to stop burning for just a moment. his fingers slip in his own blood as noctis can’t gather the breath to even scream again. slowly, ever so slowly, the daemon moves. and in a horrifying second that feels like an eternity, he feels his feet leave the ground. he’s been lifted, held up in mid air by the gut like he’s some macabre trophy to be shown off.

far away, he thinks hears his name. he hears bullet shots, yelling, the familiar chink of metal weapons. soon enough the daemon must tire of him, because it suddenly tosses him in the other direction. he slides off the sword — and it's not a perfect slide either, the metal widens the hole as it goes, catching on his skin as it exits — and lands in a heap somewhere on the side. noctis gasps, gets next to no air from the action so he gasps again, coughing.

soon, there’s a hand on his shoulder, shaky. “noct! noct, oh gods…. hold on!”

he’s turned onto his back. it doesn’t hurt because everything else already hurts too much, but he groans anyway, trying to blink the dark spots out of his vision. everything still comes out blurry.

“hey, hey— stay with me, okay? J-just… you’re gonna be okay, alright? noct...noct.” there’s a hand cradling the back of his head. noctis wouldn’t have noticed if not for it’s shaking. “noct, hey… shit—!”

what happens next is hard for noctis to discern. one moment he’s lying on a hard surface, trembling fingers raking desperately through his hair, and the next he’s falling, a muffled scream the last thing he hears before he succumbs to sleep, all numb pain and darkness.