[It took about two years before Prompto really noticed the change and distanced himself from everyone. He'd begun to feel strangely when he was around other people. Even with people he used to like. When he started to entertain ideas like tearing into Gladio's flesh, he knew something was terribly wrong and he couldn't stay anymore. So he left. Far away from where hunters would normally roam.
If he had any doubts that the small amount of daemon essence within him had gotten larger and stronger, they disappeared when the daemons didn't attack him.
It had been gods know how many years now. Prompto didn't sleep much anymore. He didn't really have a need to with the daemon blood coursing through his veins. And it wasn't like the sun was going to come up any time soon. Part of him still sometimes thought about what would happen when Noctis returned. If he returned. Would he bring the sun back? Would Prompto burn to a crisp? Would he be able to start using the whatever it was that allowed daemons to hide from the day? Would Noctis kill him before any of that happened?
Not like he hadn't thought of killing Noctis in return. Prompto discovered really early on that killing humans was just a daemon's nature. And Prompto, in whatever fucked up daemon he had turned out to be (definitely not like any other daemon because he still mostly looked like himself except for the red eyes and claws and sharper teeth and slightly tougher skin) found not only satisfaction, but pleasure in seeing the life fade from a human.
It was so fucked up.
For a time, he still had enough human to him that he cared deeply about it. The first time he killed a hunter that was brave enough to wander as far as where Prompto made his home, Prompto was horrified at what he'd done and repulsed at the way he felt when he did it. He threw up and all he could see was the darkening red of the hunter's blood.
The second time he killed, he still felt nauseous, but not as bad as the first time. It became less and less until Prompto just accepted it. If he still had any human in him, it was buried deep beneath what he had become.
It was a night just like any other when there was a change to his routine of clearing out the daemons who wanted to get too close to his home. He stopped when he saw it just outside the boarders of the land he claimed for himself. His eyes, which had always been so detail focused, had only gotten better with his change, so he could easily see the figure of the man standing over something.
He moved closer. He didn't have to, since it was outside of his land, but he was curious. The nights were rather boring now that it was always night and most of the things he liked to do in his free time were no longer possible.]
soooo NSFW... in more than one way lol
If he had any doubts that the small amount of daemon essence within him had gotten larger and stronger, they disappeared when the daemons didn't attack him.
It had been gods know how many years now. Prompto didn't sleep much anymore. He didn't really have a need to with the daemon blood coursing through his veins. And it wasn't like the sun was going to come up any time soon. Part of him still sometimes thought about what would happen when Noctis returned. If he returned. Would he bring the sun back? Would Prompto burn to a crisp? Would he be able to start using the whatever it was that allowed daemons to hide from the day? Would Noctis kill him before any of that happened?
Not like he hadn't thought of killing Noctis in return. Prompto discovered really early on that killing humans was just a daemon's nature. And Prompto, in whatever fucked up daemon he had turned out to be (definitely not like any other daemon because he still mostly looked like himself except for the red eyes and claws and sharper teeth and slightly tougher skin) found not only satisfaction, but pleasure in seeing the life fade from a human.
It was so fucked up.
For a time, he still had enough human to him that he cared deeply about it. The first time he killed a hunter that was brave enough to wander as far as where Prompto made his home, Prompto was horrified at what he'd done and repulsed at the way he felt when he did it. He threw up and all he could see was the darkening red of the hunter's blood.
The second time he killed, he still felt nauseous, but not as bad as the first time. It became less and less until Prompto just accepted it. If he still had any human in him, it was buried deep beneath what he had become.
It was a night just like any other when there was a change to his routine of clearing out the daemons who wanted to get too close to his home. He stopped when he saw it just outside the boarders of the land he claimed for himself. His eyes, which had always been so detail focused, had only gotten better with his change, so he could easily see the figure of the man standing over something.
He moved closer. He didn't have to, since it was outside of his land, but he was curious. The nights were rather boring now that it was always night and most of the things he liked to do in his free time were no longer possible.]