A sound emanated from the back of Ardyn’s throat, a low, amused thing. Hollow-sounding as it flitted and bounced around the steel walls of the cell. The questions would come, he knew — wrought with confusion and panic, and it would be a pleasure to dismantle them as they flew from Prompto’s mouth.

He stepped forward again. Tilted his head to illuminate keen, cruel eyes.

“Now then, one thing at a time. This place is — or perhaps, was — a grand Imperial base. Once overflowing with those artificial soldiers. You know, much like yourself.”

Words were better than knives, easier to twist and gouge at the core of who a person was. Already, Ardyn knew he had a foothold in it, given the boy’s origins.

“But now? It’s just me and you, and a few clockwork corpses. Oh, and a daemon or two.”