It is just a voice. Ardyn Izunia is not here, he has nothing to do with this festering pit. But oh does he resonate so well. Is that what the things in the back of Annie's thoughts are doing? Trying to illuminate horrors shared, misguided as that is?

Hardly. They lacked intent in all things: they simply were, they reached, they suffocated, they terrorized. Their way, their nature.

To mirror the dead bodies of all those Annie has disappointed in their red pit, the bodies that Noctis recognizes all too well drip from the ceiling, strung up. Red for those with any red left to spare. They swing jauntily, their soles played with by the curious, impudent, tips of many slimy tentacles.

"Shall I make them stop, my prince?"

There is a remedy, you know.