Chapter Text
Maybe the nap didn’t do him any good. His head felt like it was collapsing in on itself, and the rest of him was warm and sweaty. Noctis’ knees risked buckling at any moment and he gripped his hands together to stop them from shaking.
Somehow-- be it the will of the Astrals or what, he didn’t know-- he managed to get through his last speech of the night without falling apart. Even if he did end up forgetting everything Ignis had helped him come up with, he managed to improvise and the crowd seemed pleased. He spoke honestly and hoped it was good enough.
With the final word of thanks, his vision blurred and he lost his dad in the crowd, whom he desperately sought. Instead he found himself leaning against a wall and remembered, despite the fog in his head, Gladio had left to get him water. It wasn’t until then that he noticed the scratchiness in his throat, and how hard it was to swallow. And upon realizing that, he felt like he couldn’t stand much longer.
He wished Gladio hadn’t left him.
Noctis didn’t know how long he could keep up appearances before he doubled over and vomited or did something else just as embarrassing. Leaning against the wall stilled his legs for only a moment.
He had apparently done a poor job of appearing fine. Two Crownsguards approached him, their faces also blurry. He couldn’t name them no matter how hard he tried.
“Your Highness?” One sounded alarmed. “Are you alright?”
Noctis shook his head. No, he wasn’t alright, but also no, he didn’t want them near him. “Glad… He’s… I’m getting water.” It hurt to breathe as much as it did to talk.
“Perhaps you need to take a break. Let us escort you to your suite.” One put his hand under Noct’s elbow to steady him.
“Mmm..,” Noctis agreed, dreaming of laying down on cool sheets and fluffy pillows, but quickly disagreed because something in his gut told him to stay. “But Gladio…”
“We’ll let your Shield know, Your Highness. Please come with us.”
Noctis’ mind told him to wait for Gladio. But he felt hands gripping both of his arms, and leading him toward the elevator. He tried not to stumble on himself. He tried to protest, but sleep sounded good and Gladio would come for him later. He’d text him an apology once he got to his room.
They rode the elevator down in silence, thankfully. Noctis didn’t have the energy to talk. He slouched, fumbling with the buttons of his blazer and leaned sloppily against the glass walls. Noctis tilted his head against the glass, trying to use the chill of it to clear the fog in his head.
That’s when he heard popping. At first he thought the fireworks had finally started, but he heard screaming immediately after. It was the undeniable patter of gunfire. He motioned to stop the elevator, but the men, seemingly unaware, blocked his path. He had to go back up there. He had to find his dad.
Noctis forced himself to shout, “Stop the elevator!”
The men turned to him, unbothered.
The larger “Crownsguard” shoved Noctis against the glass as the second man drew a blade without magic. It was clear then that these were neither guards nor glaives.
Noctis tried to phase through the first attack using his Crystal-given powers, but he still felt groggy, unable to do so. He fumbled out of the way, ducking low and reaching out to press the buttons on the elevator. He lurched forward but was shoved back immediately, taking a heavy punch to the jaw, and staggering backwards to the floor. He was then met with a heavy kick to his stomach.
Adrenaline cleansed the fog in his head for a moment, allowing him to dissipate in a blue mist as the second assassin swung down with his blade. Noctis reappeared and rolled away with a punch, getting a strike in on one of them, he couldn’t tell which one. He wished that his magical abilities were stronger, that they weren’t limited by the assassination attempt by the daemon Marilith, nor by whatever sickness he battled that night.
He didn’t know if his dad would be able to save him this time.
It was the longest elevator ride of his life. Sick-- he hoped and not poisoned, though that did cross his mind-- and approaching stasis, he couldn’t only fend himself off for so long. They sliced him up on his sides and stabbed him right through his leg. Noctis cried out through grit teeth, using all of his will power to kick one of the men’s knees, staggering him before Noct kicked his head against the glass wall of the elevator. A sickeningly wet crack echoed in the chamber as the man’s head bounced off the glass and his body crumpled on itself. Blood stained the wall there, but Noctis didn’t want to nor had time to think about what he had just done.
Noctis couldn’t tell which was his blood and which were his attackers’. He couldn’t tell if his limbs weakened with blood loss or from whatever sickness he contracted that got him here in the first place. But his drive to find his people, his friends, and his dad kept him going. Noctis managed to knock the blade from the remaining attacker’s hand and they immediately started exchanging blows. Noctis was only able to phase through a few of them, getting weaker by the minute. His punches were slick with the blood draining from his arms, and he kept stumbling with the horrible gash in his leg. He took another blow in the stomach and went down as the air escaped him.
He lay like that for a moment, lungs greedy and desperate. His attacker capitalized on Noct’s weakness to catch his own breath, then smacked a few buttons and fled out the elevator not before spitting in Noctis' direction.
Noctis refused to be left for dead, using all his strength to roll over to his side, reaching out to the discarded blade hidden beneath red pools. As quick as he could with his shaking hands, he threw it out of the elevator and his spirit with it. The doors closed on the fleeting essence of an electric blue haze in his shape, just missing his physical form. The blade hurled through the air and toward the limping, fleeing man and with it appeared Noctis, tackling him to the ground.
As they struggled, Noctis was able to get on top of his attacker, straddling him to hold him in place, scrambling for his arms too. The attacker saw the blade Noctis used to warp and reached for it quicker than Noctis could notice.
With a resounding cry, the attacker drove the blade into Noctis’ side, burying it deep with hardly a noise as it cut through his flesh. Noctis wavered in their scramble, but didn’t stop as he punched the man in the face, all his movements exacerbating the blade still stuck in his side. Whether it was vengeance or fear, Noctis knew he couldn’t let this man go.
He wrapped his hand around the blade, and yanked it out despite hearing Ignis’ voice explaining hundreds of reasons why he should have left it in. Using the blade slicked by his own blood, he drove it into the man’s neck. The man clawed at Noctis’ arms, his face, even jabbed his fingers into Noctis’ wounded side before he slumped, eyes staring soullessly at the ceiling of the hotel hallway.
Noctis stumbled, peeling himself off the man’s corpse. It hurt to move, the fogginess came back, and his limbs shook. He knew he had to crawl somewhere-- anywhere-- that felt safe, but everything started to go bright and his arms could no longer support his weight. He focused on filling his lungs, but it kept stopping short, making horrible wheezing noises that sounded foreign to his own ears.
Noctis propped himself up against the wall, fishing for his phone to call Gladio, hoping that everyone was safe despite the screams he heard on his way down.
His eyes wandered back down the hall trying to blink clarity into them once he struggled one too many times to unlock his phone. Images of screaming, fleeing people-- his dad amongst them-- raked his thoughts and he tried not to sob.
As he glanced toward the elevator that was stuck open, the interior chamber painted with his and others’ blood, staggered red footprints leading away from them, he dropped his phone.
The second body wasn’t there.