Noctis wants to say something in reply, something reminiscent to their usual banter on Eos, hunting monsters and the like (what a lifetime ago that seemed), something like, "What would you do without me?" But he barely gets the chance to do more than summon his own blade from thin air — fingers gripping tight at the hilt of the Sword of the Father — when the tall alien approaches them, rifle in hand. The laser it fires burns hot through the air itself, slamming and screeching onto the flat side of Gladio’s sword, ricocheting off to put a hole in the ceiling above them. Dust and small chunks of debris breaks off and lands on Noctis’ shoulder, dirtying the inane outfit he had been forced to wear. Too loose for his tastes, too flowing, too pastel and shimmering in its colors.
Now’s not the time to worry about fashion, however. Noctis warps forward, striking the alien with a large horizontal swipe across its chest, the force of impact even more staggering given the short distance between them. It cries out unintelligibly, careening backwards, the large gash across its body staining its own clothing with blood.
The trail of Noct’s magic lingers behind him, slowly fading into nothing.]
How about we get the hell out of here? [He practically has to yell it over all the commotion.]
gladio only you want space cup noodles
Noctis wants to say something in reply, something reminiscent to their usual banter on Eos, hunting monsters and the like (what a lifetime ago that seemed), something like, "What would you do without me?" But he barely gets the chance to do more than summon his own blade from thin air — fingers gripping tight at the hilt of the Sword of the Father — when the tall alien approaches them, rifle in hand. The laser it fires burns hot through the air itself, slamming and screeching onto the flat side of Gladio’s sword, ricocheting off to put a hole in the ceiling above them. Dust and small chunks of debris breaks off and lands on Noctis’ shoulder, dirtying the inane outfit he had been forced to wear. Too loose for his tastes, too flowing, too pastel and shimmering in its colors.
Now’s not the time to worry about fashion, however. Noctis warps forward, striking the alien with a large horizontal swipe across its chest, the force of impact even more staggering given the short distance between them. It cries out unintelligibly, careening backwards, the large gash across its body staining its own clothing with blood.
The trail of Noct’s magic lingers behind him, slowly fading into nothing.]
How about we get the hell out of here? [He practically has to yell it over all the commotion.]