My friend, the fates are cruel

There are no dreams, no honor remains.

The arrow has left the bow of the goddess.

My soul corrupted by vengeance,

Hath endured torment,

To find the end of the journey in my own salvation.

And your eternal slumber.

Now what I want most…

Is the Gift of the Goddess…

Is this where the story ends?

Are we just beginning?

Live the lie and we'll pretend

We're fighting for something

If I lose the world I know

If the night, it comes for me

If tomorrow fades

And nothing matters

What's it all for?

What's it all for?

The Ring was a star on his hand, and it took everything in his power to not break down as his fingers turned to ash. Agony was travelling in waves up his arm, but he could feel that same magic from the Ring bolstering his body and forcing it to remain standing.

His fingers were starting to disintegrate, but they just managed to retain their shape, only because the Ring willed it.

Bahamut had promised him; the pain would only last a few seconds, then it would all be over. No more pain, no more fear, no more sorrow..

No more loneliness.

The human mind was not made for ten years of isolation.

He could barely see from his right eye now, as the flames licked across and below the surface of his skin. His other eye was starting to blur too, though that might have just been the tears.

He wasn't sure if he said anything, in the instant that he summoned the Knights of the Round. Possibly something along the lines of "Kings of Lucis!" Or maybe he just screamed. Either way, the ring was the only reason he was standing as his body, as his soul burned its own pyre.

No more pain, Bahamut has promised. His soul would be destroyed. He would never get reincarnation, another chance at life- but after ten years of isolation, knowing that he was the only one who could save what remained of the world, being forced to watch as it was slowly consumed by darkness, Noctis was more than ready to accept that in exchange for others never needing to fear the night again.

Then the agony reached a new height.

He couldn't breathe as he suddenly felt them: the weapons of his ancestors, the ones who had run him through earlier, the ones that had killed him. Now they were here to tear his soul, their vessel, asunder as the price of their summoning.

Slowly, like they didn't wish to part, the swords sliced through phantom bone, muscle, sinew, skin as they emerged, point-first, from his back. Then in one, smooth tear, they ripped themselves from his flesh and arranged themselves into the Armiger.

The Ring took control then; like a puppet master, it pulled the strings on his broken body and bade him move through these last motions. One arm, the one upon which the Ring rested, (little more than a molten silver impression of a human arm at this point) thrust forward, and Noctis was too consumed by the pain to see when each of the former rulers of Lucis smote the Accursed's soul.

He staggered as the Ring released its grip on him, felt it drawing a last surge of power from him- the last of his life force- and then...

Noctis drew in a rasping breath, muffled against a mostly-solid, slippery surface that had appeared beneath and over him. He took a stifled breath, then another, and another, too weak and in pain to do anything but put all of his effort into making his lungs work as silent, gasping sobs shook him, deafening in his ears as screams refused to leave his body.

He wasn't sure how long he lay there; it could have been a few seconds, or it could have been years. It felt like another eternity has passed before he realized:

The pain wasn't stopping.

The fire was still blazing across the right side of his body, up his arm from where the Ring had rested; his back was a destroyed wreck, and, a pain he had not been able to feel after seeing the Accursed in that blue miasma: his stomach, it felt like he had been run through again.

He was so cold, but now he could feel it: thick, hot blood slowly soaking into his clothing, and into the odd surface beneath him. The trembling of his body increased as panic began to take over from the calm resignation of before. He could handle pain, yeah, but he was expecting for it to last only a few seconds- Bahamut had promised him it wouldn't hurt for long.

Not that it would hurt for eternity!

A bitter taste entered his mouth, and Noctis realized with a distant kind of shock that he was about to vomit. His stomach heaved, and with a disgusting noise that would have made him cringe in any other situation, the contents of his stomach were expelled, splattering the ground in front of him. Dizzy, nauseous, and more than ready for his soul to be destroyed so it would end, Noct lay limply in the puddle, shuddering and crying quietly, breathless, as he waited for Bahamut to take away the pain, to take away everything.

He must have passed out, or been too dazed to notice before, but suddenly like a switch had been thrown, he could hear noises, and voices. His brain was too dazed to make sense of the words, making his head pound sickeningly, but they sounded upset.

Maybe the gods had realized he hadn't dissolved like he was supposed to? Maybe they would end him, since the Ring hadn't? Noctis sincerely hoped so. He couldn't bear to exist in this torment for much longer. How had Ardyn coped for thousands of years?

He imagined being consumed by thousands of demons, feeling them coursing through his blood, his veins, tainting his soul and extending his life past his will. He imagined living like this, for eternity, knowing your purpose and promise was snatched away by judging hands. He had felt pity, for Ardyn at the end-how could he not, when he had spent only a decade completely by himself, forced into isolation so deep he spent most of his time curled up in a ball as his body absorbed the miasma around him, trying to sleep, to block out the visions of the world being consumed by the scourge?

He'd watched as his friends aged and went their separate ways, watched countless men women and children as they were driven from their homes, dying horribly at the claws of daemons and being infected themselves. How could he not pity Ardyn, who had spent thousands of years infected with that same Plague?-and now he was glad, more than glad, that he had put Ardyn out of his misery. Maybe Ardyn would come back one last time, against all odds, to return the favor?

Suddenly, the weird, stifling weight was lifted off of him, and fresh air surged toward him, which he gulped down gratefully, wondering if it was the Stormcaller that had granted him this reprieve. Despite their binding Marks, outside of the final battle, Ramuh had been the only one of the Six that had ever respond when Noctis called for help- maybe he would be the one to end it?

He was about to speak, about to beg for his soul to be smited in an act of mercy, as Ardyn's corrupted soul had been, but instead of bringing relief, the touch that descended upon his form was harsh and punishing as something grabbed ahold of his disintegrating shoulder and shook him roughly.

Every nerve ending in his body was once again set alight with agony, and any quiet control he'd maintained over his voice was lost as something inside of him snapped.

Fear, an instinct he had suppressed for so long, roared to primal life and- suddenly his broken body was moving mindlessly, arms scrabbling against whatever surface was beneath him, blinded eyes rolling in his head, unable to focus as everything in him screamed for him to escape, to get away, to run away from these powerful beings who chose only to inflict suffering to the charges in their 'care'.

He clawed his way across the uneven surface, legs useless dead weights behind him, choking and gasping and screaming until his throat felt like it was bloody and raw. Any coherent thought was gone from his mind, only the desperate need to escape the pain and his tormentors.

He didn't get very far, blind, crippled, frantic, and covered in blood- he quickly collided with a weird, slightly-giving barrier and slipped on the blood that was still pouring out of his stomach. Noctis whirled, trying to find another way forward with his searching hands, but his desperate clawing only revealed more of the barrier to either side as he desperately tried to see, but his eyes and face was burning so horribly from the Ring he wasn't even sure that his eyes existed any more.

He tried to turn around, but his arms were damaged enough without dragging his entire dead-weight body around, and against his will they collapsed, no longer able to hold his weight as the awkward positioning sent impossible waves of agony down his spine.

A new scream ripped itself out of his throat, tapering off into a dying keen, and hopelessness consumed him as he collapsed; he could feel burning presences nearby, felt them reaching out to him with their fiery claws, intent on punishing him for a crime he could not fathom, and he screamed again, in terror and pain, wishing with his entire being that he would just die already.

What had he done to anger the gods? What would make them betray him so? Or was this just his fate? His fate as the Chosen King, to give everything he had and more, because he was not worth the lives sacrificed for him?

No, not sacrificed; they were not willing, they were murdered and it was all my fault.

Exhaustion was pulling him down down, despair weighing so heavily on his shoulders he felt crushed by it; the keens died down to whimpering cries, each exhale a shrieking testimony to his pain he could not control even if he wanted to.

The burning phantoms were drawing nearer, claws outstretched then retreating, dancing close enough for the panic to grip him anew, screams ripping themselves from his throat, then retreating again to lull him into a false sense of security. The cooler of the three presences hung back, letting the two that felt like suns approach.

He was not sure how long he was caught in this limbo; but just when it seemed like one of the suns had tired of their torturous game, venturing so close it felt like his skin was being seared anew from the heat, that Noctis felt it:

A bright cold light, somewhere above him flared unseen, and then a blissfully cool, familiar presence filled his senses, chilling the silver flames on his skin and shielding him from the burning presences.

Blind eyes struggled to open, to look upon the face of his savior, but all Noct could see was a hazy mix of deepest black, brightest white and blinding red.

So much red…

At least he knew at least one of his eyes still existed.

‹Noct!›

The voice, an unheard cry of misery, filled his mind and Noctis jerked, recognizing the silent voice as it was overlaid by the agonized yelping of a pained animal.

‹I'm so sorry, please, just hold on a little bit longer!›

"C-car-?" Noctis gasped, and though the words were a strangled mess, the blinding white shape in front of him responded, looming in his vision and nuzzling a blissfully-numbing snout against his charred cheek.

‹I'm so sorry Noct, things got really chaotic with Luna, I never meant for you to be here by yourself for so long› The voice whispered, sounding exhausted and miserable.

Noct's breath caught it his throat at the sound of Luna's name. Luna? Luna? The world began to spin. What did Carbuncle mean, he had been with Luna? Was she okay? No, she was dead, but her soul couldn't be here, she was supposed to be resting peacefully in the afterlife- no! She couldn't be here, in this hell with Noct!

"N-n-o," Noctis moaned, fighting to make his words intelligible through the rawness in his throat and the exhaustion weighing down his body, "H-hel-p- sa-v h-er! For-get me….he-lp her, help Lu-na!"

Noctis reached out, wanted to push Carbuncle away, to make him leave Noct to his fate and save Luna's soul instead, but the little esper just whined pathetically as Noct's hand simply twitched forward, no strength left to even move an inch.

‹I knew you would say that, the voice said, don't worry, I went to her first. She's safe and is going to meet up with you soon, you just have to let me help you before then, okay? I don't like seeing you hurt like this…›

Luna was safe? He would get to see her again?

She was safe?

Despite the fire still consuming him, despite the blood slowly seeping out of his wounds, despite the physical and mental anguish he'd been put through ever since being trapped in the Crystal, Noctis smiled as his blind eyes slipped closed. "Th-a-nnkk oo-u" he slurred, no longer able to fight off the exhaustion weighing him down, despite the presence of the three burning suns, still so close.

If Luna was finally safe, then nothing else mattered. He knew Carbuncle would try to save him from the daemons or the Scourge or the Six or whoever was trying to get him, but in that moment, Noctis didn't care if the little esper succeeded or failed.

Luna's safe...

Noctis succumbed to oblivion, smiling, even as a ruby light engulfed him.