Kefka placed his hand across Gladio’s eyes, a languid afterthought.
In their small enclosure, the light that poured from the aether swallowed all. It did not burn or blind Kefka, but who knew what it did to human flesh? As if he’d ever cared to consider it?
The light grew unbearably strong, bringing static that stung even its summoner. It pulled him upwards, rending shrill giggling from him, even a taste of his power jostling the fabric of existence.
He brought his bare foot to Gladio’s head, ducking it down, his wings filling the space almost corner to corner, gilded chest heaving with delight, the static fading, the glow with it, until all that remained was Kefka, a permanent grin etched into an inhuman visage.
“Still got eyes? Perhaps I should have used a cloth, but as you can see, mine has a rather important purpose…” Smirking, he glanced down to the loincloth, pressing his foot to Gladio’s chest, hunting for his heartbeat.
To talk casually in this form, keeping a semblance of himself was a rare occurrence, often achieved at the end of a battle. It was… different in this faux world they rattled around in. Something he’d learned to wield or be wielded by.
“An answer to everything, and nothing…”
The hand across his eyes might as well not have bothered; The freak was pale to the point of translucent, and that searing light poured through his skin like glass. Then, when the hand released him, what he could only guess was a heel to the back of his head kept him facing downward-- Only marginally better-- As though he was gonna dare open his eyes ‘til that light died down.
When it did, at least when Gladio could no longer see through the back of his own eyelids, the air was left filled with an oppressive presence. One blatant enough to stall him a moment before he lifted his head.
Thankfully, despite the sting, yeah, he still had eyes, though it took a few blinks for them to adjust to the blurry purple image before him. Then a few more times to comprehend what he was looking at.
Kefka didn’t fit in the cell anymore. Not comfortably. No longer closest to Prompto’s height, he’d grown at least a couple of feet, and his thin frame was now built with a rippling layer of muscle. His skin had darkened, and seemed to have been stretched tight as leather across his newly muscular figure. All that, and the glow of his empty eyes might’ve registered as enough of a threat to rise his pulse... But the four great wings, curled askew against the walls of the cell, left him looking instead like some big, angry, purple bird.
His first comprehensive thought was “yeah, glad to be spared the loincloth.”
...Even so, Gladio knew better than to tell him that.
“...Answer to nothing’s right...” He muttered, attempting to scoot back from the clawed foot pinning into his chest. “So, you’re some sort of daemon, huh. That it?”
tangentwithtanner
dededos
romaincrisis
kianamaiart
