It's true that Ardyn gets a little carried away. Does he need to crush a bandit's skull beneath his heel after a swift fatal slice of a dagger across his neck already ensuring his demise? No. But what's the harm in being a little excess? It does determine him as the larger threat, naturally, and he enjoys the challenge of multiple enemies trying to take him down. Not even numbers is enough though to stop him from cutting through - sometimes literally - those facing him.
He does get a little too into it, unfortunately. His current prey is cowering and cornered; it calls to those predatory instincts in him to pursue. Make him hurt, make him scream and bleed- Ardyn is so focused on inflicting the other's pain that he hardly registers his own.
The blow alarms him initially but he realizes he isn't actually surprised when he sees who is on the end of the sword. If the roles were reversed, he's sure he would have done the same. He laughs, even, a sharp: "Ha!" at how predictable it is in hindsight. He doesn't even try to twist away from the sword skewering him to protect his heart. Blood and black viscous both bubble past his lips as he continues to laugh almost heartily. Oh, it hurts in all the most wonderful ways.
It always does.
Even with his regeneration nerfed, it's taking him too long to die than it should a normal man being run through by a sword. The tar mixed with crimson might be a reason for that as it takes longer to escape his body, seems to be trying to stay in or knit the wound back together in a futile fashion as the blade twists through skin and sinew. "If only," he utters, low and strangled with a mouthful of blood and black fuzzy edges from inky tears clouding his vision, "If only you could."
An ominous thing to say as he finally lets out his last damp, wheezy breaths from where he's now fallen to the earth. While he makes no move to get up and might appear as good as dead, there is no wonder those words might cause Ignis to doubt the job is truly done. To need to be sure. He'll find no resistance from Ardyn, still barely alive despite the man's best attempt.
He's so tired. It will be nice to rest for a while, he thinks, even if he is already convinced it will only be a while.
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He does get a little too into it, unfortunately. His current prey is cowering and cornered; it calls to those predatory instincts in him to pursue. Make him hurt, make him scream and bleed- Ardyn is so focused on inflicting the other's pain that he hardly registers his own.
The blow alarms him initially but he realizes he isn't actually surprised when he sees who is on the end of the sword. If the roles were reversed, he's sure he would have done the same. He laughs, even, a sharp: "Ha!" at how predictable it is in hindsight. He doesn't even try to twist away from the sword skewering him to protect his heart. Blood and black viscous both bubble past his lips as he continues to laugh almost heartily. Oh, it hurts in all the most wonderful ways.
It always does.
Even with his regeneration nerfed, it's taking him too long to die than it should a normal man being run through by a sword. The tar mixed with crimson might be a reason for that as it takes longer to escape his body, seems to be trying to stay in or knit the wound back together in a futile fashion as the blade twists through skin and sinew. "If only," he utters, low and strangled with a mouthful of blood and black fuzzy edges from inky tears clouding his vision, "If only you could."
An ominous thing to say as he finally lets out his last damp, wheezy breaths from where he's now fallen to the earth. While he makes no move to get up and might appear as good as dead, there is no wonder those words might cause Ignis to doubt the job is truly done. To need to be sure. He'll find no resistance from Ardyn, still barely alive despite the man's best attempt.
He's so tired. It will be nice to rest for a while, he thinks, even if he is already convinced it will only be a while.