Greetings all! Sorry for the long wait. I've gotten recent news that what I thought was my forever home is not. I still have a couple of months before I have to move, but the news was rather devastating. Between stress, downsizing my belongings and struggling to come to grips with this unforeseen twist of events, I haven't had much time (or focus) to write. However, I do plan on finishing this piece...it might just take me a bit longer, but I will get it done! Thanks to all of you who have been reading!


Cor took three steps forward before he forcefully twisted the grey haired man's arm behind his back. The Immortal hadn't been so dense as to miss the freshly bruised knuckles the man wore, or the splatter of vibrant blood that decorated his otherwise far-too-pristine trucker's jacket. Too much about this man screamed lies and deceit, and Cor wasn't about to let him lead them astray – not when Prompto's life was on the line.

"If I don't see the kid in the next sixty seconds," Cor growled, "we are going to hear bones snapping, understand?"

When no answer came right away, Cor applied more pressure, and the man gave a sharp grunt followed by a gruff, cold, "Yeah…I understand."

Whatever ploy of innocence the man had previously infused into his act was gone, and any doubt Cor had over this man's involvement in Noctis' attempted abduction went with it.

Ignis stood nearby, gaze scrutinizing, but if the Prince's Advisor held any concern about Cor's rough tactics, he certainly didn't show it.

"Move," Cor snapped, as he pushed his captive forward.

They walked then. The man in Cor's hold moved with a new resolve, as if he knew better than to test the patience of the Immortal.

One way or another, Cor thought, this would all be over, but there was a twist of dread in the Marshal's gut; it warned of loss, that he was possibly on his way to find something that would forever haunt him – that he was about to feel a grief that he'd never known could exist before this day.

If I find Prompto dead…

That thought hung in his mind for a moment, horrible and unescapable, but his despair and anxiety gave way to a boiling rage he'd thought that he'd long ago learned to fully contain.

I'll kill everyone who had a hand in his death.

It was a truth; one he intended to keep – something that no logical argument could dissuade him from. The laws could be damned, Cor would dole out vengeance and wrath, and then, when it was over, he would face his punishment. He'd calmly let the Glaives lock him away. He wouldn't fight it.

Led onward by the grey haired man, they entered a large dome building – the very indoor race course Cor had brought Prompto to just the day before.

There had been joy then. Prompto had been a hyper ray of sunshine ready to burst with excitement as he darted from bird to bird and cooed soft praises to each. Cor didn't know if he'd ever seen the boy so happy.

And now…

There was no Chocobos or bright, crisp laughter. The space was nearly empty save for three men at the far end of the arena, crouched low, huddled together, concentration fixed downward.

It was then that the grey haired man, still clutched in Cor's hold, shouted, and the gazes of the small group of men turned toward Cor and Ignis.

Cor's captive then wrenched free from the Immortal's hold and ran. Instinct should have had Cor moving to stop the man, but there was something about the scene before him – something about the way those three men were crouched low that had Cor's hackles up. He couldn't seem to take his eyes off them.

In his peripheral vision, Cor could see that Ignis drew his daggers. The flash of blue as he pulled them from the Armiger had elicited a gasp of shock from one of the three men Cor was staring at.

Movements smooth, unfaltering, Ignis sent a blade flying, the metal embedding itself in the thigh of the grey haired man; he let out a cry of pain and fell, by the time he glanced back up, Ignis was running toward him, long strides carrying him swiftly.

Cor saw no more of that fight though. His attention had been so pointedly focused elsewhere, for, as the three men shifted, Cor finally saw what had held their attention.

Laying beneath them, pressed into the cedar chips, a small, lanky form, motionless and stiff, was held. Around the person's head, a plastic bag had been crudely taped down, and Cor felt that knot of dread and anger in his gut swell.

Helpless and vulnerable, the person being held down wore all black, and, even from a distance, it was easy enough to recognize Prince Noctis' boots with the red soles.

Prompto.

The Marshal was moving forward then, his eyes fixed on the boy, but his training and experience tracked each threat in his peripheral.

For a split second, expressions of shock and grim disbelief flashed across the three men's faces, and then they too were moving. All of them sprang off the body they had been weighing down and took a few paces back. Their nervous gazes shifted from Cor to the struggle currently taking place between Ignis and their other comrade and then back to Cor again.

Freed, Prompto's arms, bound together at the wrist, darted to his head. His fingers scrabbled at the plastic around his face. The frantic desperation and panic of the movements nearly broke Cor then, but, for as much as the Immortal wanted to spring forward and aid the boy, he hadn't missed how two of the assailants were slowly drawing weapons from their sides.

As Prompto tore the opaque plastic away, his red and sweaty face appeared. From under limp blond hair, right eye swollen shut, Prompto blearily blinked his left eye and drew in a deep breath through his nose. Even with most of his face hidden behind a swath of duct tape, the exhaustion, pain and fear in his expression was clear.

He looked so small and broken.

The kid was noticeably struggling to pull in deep, even breaths, as he trembled and miserably tried to look around. He glanced in Cor's direction, but there was no hint of recognition on Prompto's face, only confusion and panic.

Whatever expression of rage that flashed across Cor's face then was enough to send the smallest, greasiest man of the three the Immortal was focused on to run. Unfortunately, the plump man's sudden mad dash for freedom startled his comrades into drawing pistols, and they opened fire. For whatever reason, one of the two men turned on his fleeing comrade, and the thick figure staggered and finally fell facedown. The other man sent wild, uncoordinated shots in the Marshal's direction. None struck Cor, but he knew it would only be a matter of time.

Cor summoned his own rarely used gun, but, finding Prompto positioned squarely between himself and his targets, he couldn't bring himself to pull the trigger. He knew he should have run for cover, but doing so meant leaving Prompto as the only target in the men's sights, and that he would not do.

Prompto, for his part, had flung himself down, lying as flat as possible as soon as the first shot was fired. The kid had good instincts, as Cor knew he hadn't been properly trained for what to do in an actual gunfight. Another pang of regret tore through the Marshal.

Cor felt the force impact his left arm, the flare of pain followed, but he ignored the fresh wound and started to move. He stayed in the open, drawing all the attention to himself, hoping like hell neither of the thugs turned their weapons on either Prompto or Ignis.

The Immortal was vaguely aware of the fact that Ignis was still locked in his struggle with the gray haired man. He caught flashes of movement and heard the scuffle of their battle, but he actively paid them little attention. However, he couldn't help but feel a wave of dread knowing this mystery man was giving Ignis, a well-trained Crownsguard, a run for his money.

Skirting the edge of the arena, Cor halted once Prompto was no longer directly between him and the gunmen. The sting of another bullet flared in his thigh. He wouldn't be able to keep this up much longer, but he wouldn't have to…

Raising his gun, decision made, he took aim and fired two quick, consecutive shots.

The shots were good; they felt natural, smooth.

One hit had been cleaner than the other; the lone bullet wound between the gunman's eyes oozed crimson, the man's mouth was open, his eyes wide with surprise as he crumpled to the ground. The other man fell faster; the bullet hit him somewhere in the cheek and he'd made a grappled, wet groan as he collapsed.

Both had been kill shots, the second messier than the first, but Cor still knew, those men were either dead or dying. Whichever it was, they were no longer a threat.

The Marshal glanced back at Ignis, relived to find the Prince's Advisor had the gray haired man subdued – laying on his stomach with his arm twisted once again behind his back. Judging by the pain on the guy's face, Ignis had dislocated his shoulder.

Then, almost before Cor could realize what he was doing, his legs were pumping, ignoring the sweltering pain of his injuries, as he moved toward Prompto.


The loud, resonating shots of gunfire sent shockwaves of terror through Prompto. Instantly, he'd flung himself flat against the ground, praying to the Astrals that was enough; it had to be, there was nothing else he could do.

With his wrist and ankles still bound, he couldn't run, and, with his blurred vision, he couldn't see well enough around to know where cover was. Plus, he had no idea who was involved in this gunfight, so he had no idea if he should be running toward or away from the actual gunfire.

He hoped Cor or Ignis or Gladio were there…or just any Glaive, really.

Trembling, Prompto waited, anticipating the sharp sting of a bullet at any moment, wondering if each breath was about to be his last. Would it hurt? Would it be over quickly? Would he suffer?

Each new shot fueled his terror; the sharp sounds chiseling away at the slim sliver of courage and hope he had left.

Up until that moment, Prompto had only associated the sound of gunfire with the Citadel training room – with the time he spent with Noctis and Gladio. He'd always been the one at the trigger. He'd always been the one in control. That had been safe and even fun, but this…

There was a horrible realness and frantic fear to this that Prompto's brain couldn't seem to process. The sounds of the shots even seemed different; they were more ominous and rang in Prompto's head and muddled his thoughts with a sense of helplessness and panic.

More than anything, Prompto wanted it to stop. He wanted this to be over. He just wanted to feel safe again.

Please?

Two final shots rang crisp and clear, and then there was silence.

Seconds started to slip by, but Prompto couldn't move. He tried, but his body remained locked in place, muscles stiff, unwilling to relax.

Footsteps, uneven and faltering, sounded nearby. Someone was still alive, and they were coming for him. He just wished he knew who it was. Torn between fear and elation, suddenly Prompto found himself oddly calm.

One way or another, this was about to end.

Tentatively, he glanced up, opening his one good eye to blearily gaze at the blurry figure standing over him. He tried to focus his vision, but it wouldn't cooperate.

The person leaned down and warmth settled over Prompto's hands as his bound wrists were lifted. A quick movement followed and the tape was cut away.

"It's okay, kid. I'm here."

Cor! It was Cor!

Prompto sat up quickly, ignoring the Immortal's warnings to 'take it easy.' Without thinking, he reached up and tore the tape from his face. The action stung and probably left his skin red and blotchy, but he didn't care. Sucking in a deep breath through his mouth, Prompto grinned up at Cor.

"About time you got here," Prompto chuckled, letting the pull of relief and joy seep over him.

Cor was hugging him then. The sudden, comfortable warmth was surprising but so nice, and Prompto practically melted into it.

I'm safe! I'm safe! I'm…

The joy shattered suddenly as the events of the day, as the exhaustion and continuous strain of terror, as the very surreal memories of facing death repeatedly surfaced in Prompto's mind.

He wanted to be brave, to hold himself together and act cool and collected in front of Cor, but that wasn't what he managed.

Sobbing, he buried his face in Cor's chest and clutched to the man as if his life depended on it. It didn't. He was safe now. He knew he was safe, and yet…

"It's okay, Prompto," Cor cooed, "I've got you, just let it out. It's okay."

After a while, there were more words, but they were lost in the haze of Prompto's shock and utter exhaustion.

He thought he heard Ignis at one point, but Prompto couldn't bring himself to look up. He didn't want anyone to see him being such a blubbering mess.

Eventually, more people seemed to materialize out of nowhere. Their black garbs giving them away as Glaives, but Prompto couldn't decipher any more than that.

He was vaguely aware of being lifted, and he thought maybe Cor was carrying him. Someone gave him a potion, practically forcing it down his throat, and he thought he again heard Ignis' voice whispering soft words of encouragement.

He wanted to respond, to crack some stupid joke, but his strength was still gone and his voice seemed locked away, buried beneath stress and embarrassment.

It was easier to just close his eyes and let the exhaustion pull him under – to let sleep take him. He could do that, after all, Cor was there…he'd keep him safe.