In Somnis Veritas
By: Strange and Intoxicating -rsa-
Author Notes: Magitek Troopers are excessively advanced, heavily genetically modified clones. That's one thing Noctis learns in the laboratory. The other thing he learns is that somebody ordered them to remove their helmets. He learns that all Magitek Troopers have the same face.
Prompto's face.
(gimme all the juicy angst)
+Bonuses+
+It's Prompto's face but wrong. Deamonic, with red eyes and black scelera and ashy pallor.
+Ardyn taunting Noctis about how the man he loves only looks human
++The unspoken fear that Prompto was always going to become an MT like the ones Noct is fighting
++Body horror of any kind
So, the original poster wanted Promptis, but I am (and forever will be) a very happy Prompto/Everyone-and-their-mom fan, so I had to write it with each of the Chocobros. I am tentatively going to label this as finished, because there was no request from the OP to write Prompto's portion. That may change depending on whether or not the OP liked what was written.
Ignis (In Fire)
Ignis was the first to notice.
It was somewhere between Duscae and the Disc when the Imperials dropped out of the sky like birds slamming against a wind turbine. They would hit the ground on their feet, but there was a sound, the same sound that Ignis knew was human flesh on the hot, hard concrete.
There were a few dozen Magitek troops and he knew which ones to take down first by their armor. The Troopers and Snipers were always the ones that caused more of a headache than the others-while most were weak to lightning, these ones were more vulnerable to fire.
It didn't make sense, but neither did the squelch of bone and muscle hitting into a hard surface.
At first, he thought it was his mind playing tricks on him; sleeping on the rough ground was doing nothing for his back or his senses. The weary days and early mornings was wearing on his already razor-thin focus. His eyes were seeing blond hair where there was only armor. He had been taught since childhood what was under the Magitek armor-nothing but the mechanical whir of engines and the hiss of electricity.
But that thud, that sickening thud.
It made some part of Ignis, the visceral and animalistic part of him that he considered human instinct, notice.
And then he couldn't forget.
It wasn't all of the troopers. He could pick them in a lineup of their armor, the way it wasn't as bulky as the others. The way it seemed there were straps from the helmet to the breastplate, holding it in place. Why would it matter if the helmet stayed on when the core of the Magitek forces wiring was in the area which should have encased a heart?
Ignis prepared the fire spell in his palm, feeling the heat of Noctis's burning magic against the flask and his skin, and he lobbed it toward the Troopers and Snipers. He could smell it before he could hear it. The smell made him pause and immediately search out for Noctis, then Gladio and Prompto. It smelled like meat left on the stove for too long or the one time he had grabbed a pot without realizing the handle had been over the open flame. It was that bubbling smell of cooking and burning flesh.
The Magitek were burning, and they should not have been burning. They were metal, they were nothing but cool metal.
Or, at least, they should have.
Ignis did not want to get close, but it was something that was so wrong, so against logic. Ignis knew like anyone who had dealings with Niflheim. There was nothing inside of those metal shells- nothing but more metal and plastic and engine grease, slick and hot and black.
Yet that smell, that god-awful smell permeating the air like a nightmare, made the hairs on his arms stand up. Nothing but metal, he repeated to himself like a prayer.
Nothing.
But.
Metal.
Yet, as he got closer to the burning Magitek corpse, he could see it.
Metal should not have had blond hair. It shouldn't have. It made no sense, none at all. Yet, there it was, poking out of the corner of the helmet that shouldn't have been locked -because why should it have been locked when there was no reason for it to have a head in the first place?
Blond hair burning.
Ignis looked to Noctis and Prompto who were laying the finishing touches on two Troopers and then to Gladiolus, who was entrenched in ripping the limbs off of an Assassin. They were busy, they couldn't see what he saw… the way the helmet seemed to be barely hanging on. If he just nudged it with his boot-
Ignis shouldn't have. He knew that the moment he saw the half-charred face staring back at his, black liquid oozing from its wounds. That smattering of freckles, though… He would have known them even if he were blind. They were just… they were so much like Prompto that his stomach churned and he found himself vomiting up his lunch next to the burning corpse. It wasn't just the smattering of freckles-no, it was the curve of his lips, the half-burned away nose, and those eyes.
They were wrong. They should not have been in Prompto's face.
No.
Prompto's face never should have been on an Magitek trooper.
It… there was no logical explanation, and all Ignis could do was vomit brown sludge as he watched those burned eyes go lifeless.
Ignis burned the Magitek trooper until the meat was nothing but charred bone and melting metal, because the last thing he wanted was for someone- Prompto- to find it.
After, had asked Prompto if the man had managed to get in touch with his mother, and Prompto's blond hair seemed to deflate as he put one hand in the crook of his elbow. It was something Prompto did, a way to fold in on himself. He mustered a, "No… I hope she got out of Insomnia okay…" before unwinding his hands, noticing the way Ignis stared at him.
Ignis, for all of the time he had spent with Prompto when he became friends with Noctis in high school, never met Prompto's mother. He knew who she was from the paperwork on the deed of Prompto's apartment and from his own background checks into who Prompto was when Noctis had dragged him to the Citadel. It was his job to find out who the prince spent his times around, as well as all of their outside connections. It was the only way to keep the prince safe.
Prompto had been adopted at a young age from a rather impoverish orphanage by the Argentum family; his father had passed away when Prompto was still young and so Prompto's mother took on two job as a secretary by day, maid by night, to make ends meet. She was a proud woman who raised an independent man. Prompto went to public school for the first few years of his life, but was luckily accepted into Insomnia Prep on a lottery scholarship where he met Noctis as a shy, round about the waist boy at the age of twelve. They stayed classmates but didn't speak until moving into high school.
Ignis had a folder prepared before the boy even left after dinner on his first trip.
Ignis was nothing if not diligent.
Yet that face, those eyes staring up at him as vacant as death…
Ignis found himself staring at Prompto that night, as the other man laughed and joked with Noctis or when Gladio threw him a dummy sword for them to spar with. He watch how Prompto's face contorted in the blue lights of the havan and the roaring fire.
Fire.
When the night came and they were squished inside of the tent, Ignis took a place between Noctis and Prompto (getting a confused shrug from Prompto, who could only roll over and throw his arm over Gladio's stomach) and he spent the night staring up at the roof of the tent. He couldn't sleep, because every time he closed his eyes all he could see was the black blood and those red eyes.
Daemon eyes.
Ignis didn't fight himself as he slowly disengaged Prompto from Gladio, turning the other man over. He looked so peaceful, his face a connect-the-dots of freckles, and Ignis felt the pull of magic against his hand and he felt the sickening coldness of metal. He felt Prompto breathing and the light movement of stirring.
Ignis could only bury his nose in Prompto's hair and take in the smell of Prompto's sweat and shampoo as the blond reached up and wrapped his arms around his neck.
His dagger disappeared back into the ether of Noctis's magic and he leaned down, letting his lips rest against Prompto's.
This is Prompto, his mind reminded him. The same Prompto who asked him for dark chocolate chip cake on his birthday, only wanting to lick the batter off the spoon as he sat on Noctis's kitchen counter, letting the heel of his feet tap in rhythm to his swinging legs. It was the same Prompto who got drunk when he was seventeen and threw his arms around Ignis- so much like he was positioned right them, and asked if Ignis was willing to share Noctis. The same man who leaned up and kissed him, because he "had always wanted to see what it was like," and Ignis had to admit he wanted to know, too.
There was nothing evil about Prompto. It was Prompto-the same man who was bright and cheerful and so human, made of skin and bone and lightness.
And Ignis felt his shame clawing its way up his stomach as Prompto yawned and pulled him down, sleepily blinking at Ignis.
"Sleep," Prompto murmured.
Ignis wished he could.
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