Chapter Text
Ravus sat, still and silent, and stared at his feet.
He still had no clue how this had happened. The last thing he remembered was Ardyn changing him, corrupting him into a daemon, and being forced to fight Noctis. Fighting, fighting, pleading for Noctis to end him, put him out of his misery, and finally dying.
That left a bit of a gap between that and... this.
This being that he was now apparently a coeurl.
He had no damn clue how this had happened. And the bout of figuring out his feet, chasing his tail in circles, and stepping on his whiskers had only asserted that it was all very real. Ravus was certain he'd spent a good ten minutes just trying to figure out how to walk with four feet. Not to mention sorting through all the feedback given by his sharper-than-human senses.
And it wasn't the only question right now. He had no clue where he was, either.
... Okay, that was a lie. Based on what he knew about the distribution of coeurls and the landscape of Lucis, Ravus was able to examine the surrounding trees and guess that he was in the Duscae area of Lucis.
How had he gotten here? What had happened with Noctis? Was this some hallucination he was having as he lay dying?
Sheer curiosity pushed him to examine himself. Not just spin after his tail uselessly, or stumble over his own feet, but try to look at himself. It took a moment to figure out how, but eventually Ravus managed to twist around and look at himself from a few different angles. He had known before that felines were flexible creatures, but there was a difference between watching a cat throw a leg back and over it's opposing hip to wash it's back and doing it himself.
From what he could see, he was a fairly magnificent— if exotic— specimen. Rather than the tawny hues coeurls tended to come in, he was a soft white. His spots were black, with little hints of purple here and there. While he was no expert on coeurl physiology, Ravus got the feeling he was a very fit and healthy example. He had no clue what age group he fell into, other than not young. Probably juvenile or adult.
He huffed.
It was getting dark. And he was getting no real answers sitting around like this. His best bet right now was to get up and move, find shelter of some kind. He might've been able to see in the dimming light, could probably see decently enough in the dark, but daemons ruled the night. Coeurls were big and powerful predators, but as far as Ravus was concerned, he was as intimidating as a newborn house-kitten. He still stumbled over his feet, for crying out loud!
Standing up, Ravus picked a direction and started walking. He dedicated part of his attention to maintaining his pace— two, four, two, four, two, four— while the rest of his mind he allowed to wander a little. What had happened? Why was he now apparently a coeurl? Had Noctis reclaimed the Crystal yet? And why could he not remember anything about daemonic distribution when he needed it the most?
What stank?
He paused, brought out of his thoughts by that one realization. Something somewhere close really reeked. Instinctively, he tried to lift a hand to cover his mouth and nose. All he managed to do was swipe a paw down the side of his muzzle. A growl of annoyance slipped out of him, rumbling around his chest and vibrating in his throat. What in the name of the Six was that?
Occasionally stopping to swipe at his muzzle— it took his mind off the stench, if for a few seconds— Ravus moved to investigate. Before long, he found himself standing at the tree line, staring at a flat, unmoving river of darkness that cut through the grass. Some feral part of him that he was blaming entirely on coeurl instincts was screaming and recoiling, attributing that as the source of the smell. He took a few steps out of the trees, trying to identify was the hell that river was...
A dull, distant roar reached him, making his ears twitch, and Ravus realized what it was. It was a road.
His lip curled, and once again he swiped a paw down his muzzle. He had always been aware of how manmade things, cities and cars and buildings, smelled in comparison to untouched nature. But never like this. This was just disgusting. How did animals live with humans running everywhere?
Something moved. Something big. Another scent reached him under the stink of the asphalt. He knew that one. He'd just been choking on it as it filled him, swam through his veins and mutilated him.
There was a daemon close by.
Ravus backed into the trees once more, pressing himself down. He swept his gaze over the open area before him, trying to pinpoint where exactly the daemon was. He may have been a powerful fighter, unparalleled in several fields, but that was as a human. Not as a coeurl trying to figure out how not to trip over his own whiskers. If it was a big daemon, or a large gaggle of small daemons, Ravus didn't think he stood too much of a chance. His best option would be to slink away before it or they noticed him.
The dull roaring was getting closer. A car was approaching.
Not his problem, if some fool wanted to get into a hit-and-run with a daemon that was their business. Ravus had his own things to sort out, like how and why he was a coeurl.
The daemon moved again, and Ravus froze. He could see it now, rising up from where it had been resting.
That was a marlith.
The noise of the car grew even louder. From the corner of his eye, Ravus could see a bright flash, like headlights rounding the corner.
In the next second, everything went to shit.
The marlith screamed and swung. The car was destroyed, bursting into flames as it's pieces scattered.
A second car swerved, lost control, and crashed into part of the first car. The fire spread even as the occupants tried to escape.
A third and fourth car screeched to a halt, and Ravus realized all the vehicles were identical. A procession.
The larger part of the people from the cars were drawing weapons, as if they could really fight a marlith without adequate preparation, support, and potions and elixirs. There was a pair, however, being ushered from the last car, and under the snarling of the flames, screaming of the marlith, and yelling of the fighters, Ravus caught a name that drew his attention.
Noctis.
But that was impossible. Noctis was in Niflheim, reclaiming the Crystal and fighting off that lunatic Ardyn.
But when Ravus turned his head to look, he found himself frozen.
He remembered that face. That was the face that had peered at him and Luna from over Regis's shoulder when the coward ran in Tenebrae. Noctis, but tiny, young. Eight years old. Currently tucked under the arm of a woman and running from a marlith as their escort was slaughtered.
It was impossible. There was no way. Things like time-travel didn't exist, you didn't just wake up after dying and find you were a coeurl, this was all a hallucination. He was dying, properly this time, after fighting Noctis, and he was dreaming in his last seconds of life.
But, some part of him piped up, if this was the daemon attack, the one that sent Noctis to Tenebrae, then Tenebrae had yet to fall. His mother had yet to die. Niflheim would be less inclined to attack without the wounded prince and grieving king. If this was the attack that lead to that, then what was he doing standing idly by and letting that happen?!
The escort of guards was all dead. The marlith was turning.
Ravus moved.