childrenofbahamutlogs | 01 → anyway fuck ardyn izunia [closed]

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01 → anyway fuck ardyn izunia [closed]

WHO: Ignis Scientia, Ravus Fleuret, and Ardyn Izunia
WHAT: a lil murder
WHERE: A nice, secluded, forested area
WHEN: Late October
WARNINGS: Violence and Character Death

SUMMARY:

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Ravus isn't entirely to blame for Ardyn's involvement in this little escapade. The man himself was insistent that he help out around the town more after being inspired by the events at the Town Town Hall meeting. If Regis, Cor, and others were so determined to make him out to be the villain, that was fine. He could easily be their martyr instead in that case.

After all, he may have been bad before but here? Here, he's a stand-up citizen. He's helping old ladies transport their baked goods across Town safely. What kind of nefarious man would go out of his way like that?

This one, as it turns out, because he's a manipulative bastard like that. Most don't seem much the wiser though so far. The old ladies certainly don't as he does his best to be charming, personable, and as good of company as anyone could be. There's giggles at the 'oh, she didn't' he offers up about the local Town gossip. It's all going quite swimmingly... until they separate from Ravus and the grandmothers. Ardyn waves them off, of course, before turning back to Ignis.

"Well, that depends on what exactly you have in mind for 'dealing' with it." The bandits, he knows. He saw the footprints, the obvious signs- They were sloppy about it, really. He can't blame them when their targets are usually average, vulnerable citizens they wouldn't need to worry about. But Ardyn and Ignis both aren't usual in a lot of ways.

"Ask a question or two, if I can manage it." Satisfied with the condition of his daggers, Ignis tucks them back away where they will reside neatly out of sight for a while longer. Best to let anyone else think that they're not about. "However, the last encounter we had with such cretins, they didn't know half as much as I would have preferred. Really little at all.

"So all that is left is to impart upon them the rather harsh lesson, since they haven't learned the kinder one first." How that will turn out... Well, they'll see.

"I imagine you have no objections."

"You imagine correctly," Ardyn replies. And who really is surprised? A chance to let out a little aggression might go a long way, he thinks. "Especially since I'm more a fan of teaching things the hard way." Perhaps a little too close to home for Ignis to be taken well, but... At least the other man can take comfort in that he's not the one on the receiving end of any such lesson this time.

"Either way, I've got a trick or two up my sleeve." Read: daggers, in this context. "I'll follow your lead."

Teaching lessons the hard way, is that so... Ignis says nothing on the matter, especially as he knows he's the one who made the comparison first. Yet still, he thinks of the way that Prompto had shook against him, recalling what had occurred for him, and which may occur in Ignis's own future.

The daggers are put away. He'll try not to use them when it really counts. What matters more, to him, are the gloves he has securely on his hands.

"Well then," he says. "Let's be off."

It is a good chance to take a look at Ardyn's own abilities as well up close and personal, in his opinion. Ignis has been trained in how to make it through wilderness carefully, to take out his objectives neatly, although he knows that he undoubtedly can still improve and would hope his older self has done so. But as he tracks down the bandits' sloppy moves, he too tracks down just how Ardyn moves.

He's been relaxed and casual so far - both during their first meeting, and more recently with the elder ladies.

But surely that can't be the same when they're going on the attack.

While he may not have his ability to warp or illusions up his sleeve, he's not incapable by any means. His eyes track the bandits like a predator might potential prey once they're in sight. He's not careful, exactly, but certainly calculating in the way he does engage them when the time comes.

"Let's teach them a lesson they won't soon forget," he adds, all too eager to confront their target.

Yet, Ignis will be able to easily catch on to that undercurrent of recklessness. He takes hits he doesn't need to and he isn't worried about what his opponents might come at him with. While this is a byproduct of his inability to die desensitizing him to potential fatal blows, to someone who doesn't know that he can't... He just looks a little careless, maybe, whether due to pride or overinflated confidence.

There is indeed a great deal to observe about how Ardyn fights, even if Ignis cannot devote all of his attention completely to the man - not if he wants to hold his own in the fight as well as he dips in amidst the group of bandits. Although it certainly helps that they all focus on Ardyn's more...

...lively violence.

One down. Another as he's turning to to the sound of it. Still a few more left, converging on Ardyn. A quick fight - most fights actually are.

Especially in a match where the scales are far from balanced.

It all happens so quickly. One of the fallen bandits drops a sword, and it's in Ignis's hands in the blink of an eye. Ardyn has one of them cornered, at least so it seems, and so Ignis pushes forward. Grabs his chance. Takes out the last bandit from behind, twists lower, swings the sword. Aims for Ardyn's tendons as he takes out the last bandit.

If it hits, surely it will bring him to the ground... but it's fine.

Whether it hits or not, Ignis is right there at his back to keep him upright.

That, and the sword sinking back through that ragged coat of his, through skin, muscles, angled to where a man's heart should be.

Ignis does not press their bodies together completely; he doesn't want to get more blood than is necessary all over his clothes. But still he braces his shoulder against Ardyn's back, just enough, while his sword hand stays free where it is. The glove should keep away any blood from his skin or sleeve. "There we go," he murmurs, twisting the blade from where it presses straight in, straight through. Grind flesh against blade, even if the effort aches. His free hand digs past all the layers of cloth to find the closest to Ardyn's actual body, fingers pressing in to keep him in place. "You've done very good, I will admit. So lets put you to rest, now."

Permanently.

With the hit confirmed, he pulls the blade out, and makes to kick Ardyn down to the floor.

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.

It is one thing to be aware of Ardyn's nature. It is another to see is burbling out of him, slow and noxious. Like an industrial accident, from the rusted sewer pipes which are his veins. Ignis wrinkles his nose, even as he tosses aside the blade.

"Ah, but I can." He is doing that just now, in fact, as he picks up another pair of smaller blades from the ground. Another poor bloodied soul who couldn't land the killing blood on the monster tearing through their ranks... but Ignis could, and has, and will continue on. So he wastes no time in striding close, mindful of his legs' positioning as one braces on Ardyn's least bloody side.

The other digs down into his back, pins him there even for all that it seems that he isn't moving any further. Perhaps some would think it extravagant, how he brushes the blades' pinpoints against Ardyn's wrists before sinking them down into his hands, past flesh and bone, back into the earth where they can keep him pinned.

Sunk so deeply that hilt kisses skin, and nearly too do Ignis's hands brush against Ardyn's as he guides metal down.

"You've lost so much power here, Ardyn Izunia," he informs him quietly. "You and many others. I'm surprised you haven't noticed it... but that includes what has kept your pathetic heart beating still."

Still.

There's always room for insurance, now, isn't there?

Rising up, with all the effort in his legs, Ignis sweeps his gaze over the area quickly. He had seen it before - ah, there. Some try-hard fool had brought a large axe, with a handily long handle. Perhaps it had served some mundane purpose initially. Yet until but a few minutes ago, someone had taken it with no doubt the idea that it would be more intimidating, and cause more damage. In the hands of someone more talented, maybe. Now, its owner lies dead nearby.

Ignis takes it, and tries out its weight in his hands, eyes the sharpness of its blade. The cut will not be sweet and clean, it may very well take another chop to firmly sever through if he doesn't use enough force...

Returning to Ardyn's body, he surveys him. Gets himself into proper position, and adjusts his grip on the axe.

"But there's no need for your heart to beat any longer. I'll take care of that."

And he swings the axe down as hard as he can.

It's putrid and noxious, he knows, though poisons and heals him in equal measure both. Once just a festering disease, it's now an almost comforting sludge that slinks through his body. He feeds it and it rewards him in kind. And although it's trying, like it always does, to keep Ardyn alive against his best wishes- Maybe, just maybe, it's giving him the ultimate gift instead and letting him go. With no Bahamut, no prophecy, no anything- Why would it, after all?

He's died before though. Repeatedly, continuously, for eons. He died in that damp, dark cave only briefly before awakening again to pain and nothing. Just the same as now, he knows: Even if does die, he'll come back. "Just for now," he manages, a sardonic whimper of a sound pulled from him as those daggers pierce his wrists.

He knows he isn't as strong as he used to be. He felt it immediately, told on himself even by admitting his inability to warp. Yet, he still hasn't needed to eat. Sleep. Even if not as strong as he was, The Scourge ensured he yet lived. Even now, it's a smart thing that Ignis pinned his wrists since he can feel it doing its best to keep air in his lungs and blood running through his veins even as it sluices out of his wound to water the earth below. "Weakened, but still there. As long as..." A wheeze, his vision blurring to the point he can only make out vague blocks of color. He can hear Ignis move and feel the air move with the weight of what he picks up.

"... it's still part of me, you'll see. You'll see."

That's all Ardyn has the strength for though. He feels the searing pain of the axe contacting his neck, severing nerve and tendon and vertebrae with a sickening sound- And then he feels no more. He dies, truly, and despite his words will have wished he hadn't uttered them at all once he is brought back not by The Scourge but Charlie's own hand.

But for now, he rests. Still and silent and head severed from his body with another axe swing or so.

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