[ Prompto, your GUN. Just because you are fond of a gay sword you knew in another life. The gun would have been helpful here. Aymeric watches Prompto going at him with Meteion's sword instead. He's too sluggish to dodge it and gains a slice across his chest. It's hard to see, but the sound of ripped fabric and the drag of skin against blade should be enough for Prompto to know. Some blood sprays from the cut immediately and drips in pitter patters onto the ground.
The darkness is thicker, blacker, and what can only be seen beyond it are the faint edges of Aymeric's face from the illumination of his eyes. Raising his sword, he ushers a whisper. It sounds more like himself, soft and remorseful. ]
I'm sorry.
[ But even that is eclipsed by the sword's emotions. May Prompto have one last glimpse of Noctis before this blade comes down on him. ]
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The darkness is thicker, blacker, and what can only be seen beyond it are the faint edges of Aymeric's face from the illumination of his eyes. Raising his sword, he ushers a whisper. It sounds more like himself, soft and remorseful. ]
I'm sorry.
[ But even that is eclipsed by the sword's emotions. May Prompto have one last glimpse of Noctis before this blade comes down on him. ]