the heart of the matter - chapter i
@jasperraven, here’s the first chapter of your birthday present. I hope you will enjoy this dishonored!au~ :D
I should have seen this coming, he thought. I should have seen this coming
If only he had paid more attention to his father’s reports, if he only he had tried to look further than the capital’s wellbeing. If if if. Now, it was too late for him to think of such things.
Peering down from the balcony he was perched on, Noctis closed his eyes for a second before jumping. He didn’t even grunt as he broke his fall using the guard’s back, slamming his head against the ground in the process. Looking into dazed eyes, he didn’t feel anything. Not hate. Not anger. Not betrayal. Just a gaping hole that threatened to swallow everything left inside of him. Without even pausing to hear what the soon to be dead man was trying to say, his father’s blade slid home in the crownsguard’s neck just as easily as it did training dummies.
He never thought he would one day be in this position once again : the Citadel drowning in blood, betrayers, his parents taken away. But if his kidnapping 15 years ago had taught him anything, it was perseverance. His mother’s supposed half-brother would have to do much more than this to stop him from getting his kingdom and his father back.
Even as he thought this, the Crystal howled, begging him to come back as it was forced to accept a new king in his stead. Maybe this was why everything was getting blurrier by the second, the ring on his finger growing hotter with every scream.
It had been his family’s duty for generations, the last relic left from the Age of Gods where humanity had been gifted powers in exchange for duty and worship. Every single vow binding these powers to lineages across Eos had been broken along the centuries, except for theirs.
With his throne taken, who would uphold them? Would Insomnia fall because of him?
Dragging himself away from the cooling body, he carefully moved down the corridor, blade held at the ready. Contrary to popular belief, the Citadel was not full of secret passages leading to and from different parts of Insomnia. The stately walls had been made with magic in mind, every line designed to channel power back to the Crystal and increase the city’s defenses. However, there was still one way out that he prayed would not be overrun yet.
Finally encountering one of the tapestry-covered alcove he had been aiming for, he slid inside like he had so many times before, gently pushing the material back into place. Moving soundlessly, he gently laid a hand on one of the runes cleverly hidden in the wall’s design, sending the last sparks of power he still had access to through his fingers.
In answer to his request, the lines started to glow with azure light, spreading from underneath his hand and heading to the rune clusters surrounding the activation glyph. Keenly aware of the time limit he was under, the usurped king quickly sent power to strategic points in the fortress, checking the Crownsguard’s positions by the resonance of their powers with his.
He only kept the connection open for the briefest moment, aware of Ardyn’s growing presence inside of the walls, progressively replacing his with a tainted, darker magic. Unfortunately for him, his careful withdrawal from the woven threads of magic was ruined when he abruptly felt the Crystal’s usual flow of power decrease. Somehow understanding what was about to happen, he desperately tried to get through to the Crystal, ripping through the loaned power of the Crownsguard surrounding the throne room. In spite of the strength he had stolen from his betrayers, his assault was batted away negligently, the rest of his powers stripped away from him in one painful go. Then, as if in its death throes, the source of the city’s barrier pulsed once, twice.
Ring now a lifeless thing on his red-lit hand, Noctis couldn’t do anything as Insomnia went dark; as the Wall shuddered.
Connected to the Citadel, he was unable to shield himself from the onslaught of power, his battered mind thrown back unceremoniously into his body while uncontrolled lighting coursed through his hand. Reflexively biting his lips to keep himself silent, he curled tightly around his wounded hand; his father’s teachings were a steady anchor, telling him to keep silent and keep moving no matter what.
Now even more desperate than before, he stumbled through the halls, clutching his hand to his chest all the while. The other one was curled tightly around the hilt of his sword, fingers bleached white by the pressure. Only training allowed him to follow the path that he had set himself, avoiding the patrolling guards and strange creatures the imposter had brought with him.
Now, the only escape route left open to him was one of the many windows of the Citadel’s lower buildings. If he could get there, he could jump to the adjacent building’s roof and get down to street level.
He kept repeating his plan in his head, natural bullheadness at work to distract him from the pain. Still, the absence in the back of his mind echoed with loss, only strengthened by the Wall’s slow degradation.
If only his father could see him now, going through the motions even as he ghosted in his home, hand blackened and crown lost. Despite his state, shimmying out the window and jumping down to street level was the easiest thing he had done since the beginning of this nightmare.
What betrayed him was how raw his lips had gotten, bleeding sluggishly from the many times he had had to stifle moans of agony. As much as he wished to avoid it, his other hand had to be used to help break his fall, cracking the skin even further.
A wounded noise escaped from his lips before being trapped once more behind the barrier of his teeth. You must not show pain, you must not show sadness, you must be strong for your people.
The mantra that his advisors had tried to pound into his head repeated itself again and again, the pain blotting out anything else. And so, he kneeled there, motionless on the roof, events playing back in his mind as he tried to muster enough strength to rise.
The decision was taken out of his hand when a metallic noise broke through his muddled mind, the scent of rot and blood accompanying it.
Looking down from his perch, he saw a parade of MTs walking down the streets, vastly different from the whispers Regis had gleaned from his informants. Knowing that he was in danger of being spotted, he tried to get down to a less visible position, but the sudden movement brought their attention to him, red glowing eyes looking up at the rooftops.
Light glinting from a blade was the only warning before a dagger embedded itself in one of the MTs’ eye, its hooded wielder dancing away in the direction opposite to Noctis’; forcing them to follow him.
