Riku's keyblade appears in his hand with a flash or at least the impression of one, like everything else that isn't a celestial body or the bonfire, their lanterns, or the lighthouse, it casts no light. For a second, he hesitates, not out of fear for himself but because he's looking for options, what he can do to extract Prompto without one of those needle-like appendages from punching him full of bloody holes.
So far, it doesn't appear to have him by the body, just by its clothes.
Riku chooses this: to charge forward and crowd Prompto up against the broken barricade and shove his Keyblade through the opening in the window once, twice until he feels an impact run up the length of the blade and arm, until he hears an annoyed trill on the other side. The legs, or arms, or whatever they are, they loosen.
It's perhaps at the same time, when Riku backs away, intending to pull Prompto with him, and maybe Prompto has the exact same idea. He knows he would.
no subject
Riku's keyblade appears in his hand with a flash or at least the impression of one, like everything else that isn't a celestial body or the bonfire, their lanterns, or the lighthouse, it casts no light. For a second, he hesitates, not out of fear for himself but because he's looking for options, what he can do to extract Prompto without one of those needle-like appendages from punching him full of bloody holes.
So far, it doesn't appear to have him by the body, just by its clothes.
Riku chooses this: to charge forward and crowd Prompto up against the broken barricade and shove his Keyblade through the opening in the window once, twice until he feels an impact run up the length of the blade and arm, until he hears an annoyed trill on the other side. The legs, or arms, or whatever they are, they loosen.
It's perhaps at the same time, when Riku backs away, intending to pull Prompto with him, and maybe Prompto has the exact same idea. He knows he would.
"Are you okay?" he demands.