Garen sighed and looked around. His Demacian comrades were silent, some sitting by the fires, others in their tents, a few playing cards. They all knew they were surrounded by the Noxians, and they all knew that the kingdom could not spare any more forces to help them. Garen knew that the younger ones had already shed their tears, and the seasoned warriors had a look in their eye that told him they were way out of their depths. But what could he do? He was the most senior officer left alive, he had to inspire the men, to encourage them to go to their deaths with honour, and to take as many of those heartless bastards out with them as they could.
The night was almost over, and Garen thought he could see the first tips of the sun's spears poking over the top of the mountains off to the east. Grimly, Garen realised that he had only ever seen the sun rise twice before, and now this third time would be his last. He knew Sarah would be at home, with the children; she always worried about him. She had never really had a reason to until now.
Garen was broken out of his thoughts by the distant sound of a horn. All activity in the camp ceased. The horn's cry was answered by another horn off away to the west, and then another down to the south. All eyes turned to Garen.
"On your feet, men of Demacia!" he bellowed. "Today, we die for our lands!" His men immediately dropped everything, and the previously silent camp became a bustle of orders, swearing and the readying of armours and weapons. Men rushed past Garen as he strode through the camp, picking up his sword as he headed towards the main fire in the centre of the camp. He hadn't even bothered to take his armour off.
Dimly, Garen was aware that something had changed in the camp. Something did not feel right. He had been in the military ever since he could lift a sword, and now had an innate sense of whether something was right or not, and something was definitely wrong. Then he saw him.
Standing beside the fire, his entire body covered by a dark brown cloak, was a figure. His face was masked by the hood of the cloak and the shadows cast by the fire, but Garen immediately sensed that this soldier was powerful.
"Hold, sir!" he shouted at the unknown warrior. The knights around him had seen the figure too, and now a noticeable amount of spears, swords and bows were trained on him, though he had not reacted at all, just stood completely still with his entire figure covered. "Who are you, and how did you get in to our camp?"
Still the figure did not react. Garen strode up to him, his sword arm ready to strike. Just as he was about to reach forward and remove the hood, the figure swiftly reached up and pulled the hood back. The sudden reaction made Garen jump, and he leapt back and levelled his sword with the warrior's neck. But it was the man's face that startled him the most; his features were completely white, with two small, completely red eyes piercing out from under the odd grey scale that formed his forehead.
Before Garen could react even further, the man threw the cloak off himself, the two huge red wings that had been concealed under the cloak now flexing behind the figure. He appeared to be wearing armour made of a similar kind of material to the grey plate on his head; in his right hand that was encased in a huge gauntlet, was a large horned helmet that he now carefully equipped. Protruding from the ground, previously covered by the immensity of the cloak, was the most evil-looking sword that Garen had ever seen. It was nearly six feet long from pommel to tip, and appeared to have a long red miasma as a core, with three edges comprised of multiple, wicked-looking shards of metal.
Everything in his body told Garen that this figure was not to be trusted, and yet he felt that he meant them no harm. Slowly, he lowered his sword, to the questions and exclamations of his troops.
"Name yourself and your purpose, sir" said Garen, remarkably calmly.
"My name is immaterial. I am here to help you. The Noxian army is, as we speak, closing in on you. There is little to no hope left for you, unless you heed me. You are stronger warriors, have better discipline and equipment, and are fighting for your lives, something that will give you strength beyond measure." The man's voice had a strange echo to it, as though it were not just one voice saying the words. His tone cut right into Garen's heart, and though the voice sounded inherently alien, the words it spoke somehow made complete sense to Garen.
"And why should we trust you?" shouted a soldier to Garen's left.
The warrior appeared to give a small grin. "If I wished to kill you, you would all be dead. But I wish to watch you triumph this day, and if you ever want to see your families again, I advise you to listen to me."
"Very well." Replied Garen, without even realising he had said it. "What would you suggest?"
"Follow me"
Aatrox deflected the swipe from the Noxian blade, spun in a deft circle and opened the throats of both the man attacking him, and the two soldiers next to him. The blood flowed straight from their wounds to the sword, and Aatrox felt their life force feeding in to him. He ducked the wild spear stab that came towards his head, batting the soldier off with an effortless flick of his wing. He pivoted on one foot, reversed his grip on his sword and plunged it through the prone soldier, the momentum carrying it through all the way in to the ground. Without thinking he punched out with his right hand, the cruel gauntlet slamming through the chest of the swordsman who had tried to sneak up on him. The soldier died instantly and fell to the ground, the blood spurting from his chest being drawn to Aatrox's blade.
The slaughter was truly glorious to behold; Aatrox himself had slain countless numbers of the Noxian soldiers, and the Demacians were almost keeping up with him. They were outnumbered at least ten to one, but somehow they were managing to carve a crimson path through the hordes, some of whom now appeared to be realising that this battle was not actually going the way they thought it would. In the distance he could see a huge figure, clad in armour and wielding a huge axe bellowing commands at the soldiers. One of the terrified soldiers turned to flee, and without a second thought the knight swung his axe and decapitated the soldier, the axe's enormous blade slicing cleanly through the bone and flesh. The soldiers surrounding the spectacle instantly returned to the battle, evidently not wishing to suffer the same fate.
Aatrox turned to the soldier he had impaled, gripped the sword's handle with both hands and swung round, bringing his sword down in a brutal sweep. The strike was parried, and just as he was about to slam his shoulder into his adversary, he realised it was the Demacian knight he had spoken with before. They locked eyes, and shared a moment of recognition that only two soldiers fighting for their lives know. Aatrox grinned and slid the sword past the Demacian's blade, over his shoulder and through the face of the Noxian behind him. The knight ducked under Aatrox's arm and charged off, issuing the name of his city as a brutal war cry.
Out of the corner of his eye, Aatrox saw a Demacian soldier being set upon by three Noxians who were all slashing at him with cruel looking swords. The Demacian was putting up a good fight, but he was bleeding profusely from various wounds, and it was clear that he would not be able to fight on much longer. Aatrox concentrated for less then a second and felt the power of his blade click; he swung his blade in a horizontal arc, the blade's power slashing out and send an ancient power towards the Noxians. The purple magic slammed into them; they fell to the ground and did not get back up. The Demacian nodded his thanks, then swore and pointed behind Aatrox.
"We must save Garen!" he cried.
The knight was in the midst of the Noxian troops. slashing with his enormous blade. As Aatrox watched, he spun in a circle and cleaved the five soldiers around him, but there were many more and Garen was on his own. Aatrox leapt into the air, jumping towards Garen. He pushed forward through the air with his wings, over the heads of the Noxian and Demacian soldiers below him. As he came down he brought his sword towards the neck of the nearest Noxian soldier; the swipe cut him from shoulder to hip, the top half sliding off and hitting the ground with a wet thud. Aatrox turned to his left and rammed his sword upwards, stabbin the Noxian who was threatening to execute Garen through the chin and upwards until the blade protruded through the top of his head.
Suddenly Aatrox felt an immense pain spread through his shoulders. A Noxian assassin had caught him unawares, and plunged a blade deep between his shoulder blades. Aatrox fell to one knee, unable to think past the pain in his back. He could do nothing but watch the assassin pull out another knife, and move to slit his throat. With grim determination Aatrox lashed out at him with his gauntlet, but the assassin sidestepped it easily. From out of nowhere, an enormous gold and blue sword dropped from the sky, cutting straight through the assassin and splitting him in two. Aatrox turned to see Garen, his own sword plunged in the ground looking at his handiwork.
"That" he said, turning to Aatrox "is the justice we serve in Demacia."
The blood that was now staining the very earth from the assassin now began to flow, as if it were a river, towards Aatrox's sword. Aatrox felt the power of the assassin seep into his body, and the pain began to subside. In less than ten seconds it was gone completely. He wouldn't even have a scar.
"Weakling!"
Aatrox turned to see the Noxian knight he had witnessed executing his own troops earlier standing in front of him, his huge axe pointing towards him and Garen.
"You have killed the slave warriors. They are nothing. I am Darius, the Hand of Noxus, and you shall suffer death by my hand!"
Darius leaped towards Garen, slamming the pommel of his axe into the Demacian's stomach. Garen was thrown off his feet by the force of the blow, and Darius leapt in the air, swinging his axe over his head and down towards Garen's chest. Aatrox dived forward, blocking the force of the blow with his sword. His momentum carried him bodily into Darius, throwing the knight back. The fury was evident in eyes as he rushed forward towards Aatrox. He swung his axe upwards, seeking to slash Aatrox in the face, but Aatrox ducked underneath the swing and lashed out with his wing, pushing Darius away. The Noxian lashed out with his axe, using the wicked hook that it formed to pull Aatrox towards him. The two warriors were eye to eye for just a second, before Darius darted forward and headbutted Aatrox square between the eyes.
Unfortunately for him, he didn't realise that they grey skin on the top of his head was harder than stone, and Darius stumbled backwards, taken aback by the pain now coursing through his head. His forehead was now cut, but he appeared to shake it off, the anger of him being made a fool of fueling him to continue fighting.
"Retreat, Noxian." growled Aatrox.
"I do not retreat" snapped back Darius. "I carve my path through the world, you and your pathetic magic can not halt the rise of Noxus". With that, Darius let out a mighty roar and slashed in a horizontal circle with his axe, which Aatrox deflected by sweeping his sword upwards.
With a great cry of "For Demacia!" Garen leapt at the Noxian, catching both he and Aatrox off guard. Garen lunged forward with his sword, stabbing it through Darius' shoulder. Darius froze for a moment, then looked down at the huge blade immersed in his shoulder. His axe fell to the ground with a clang, shortly before Darius slumped to his knees. Garen wrenched the sword out, a gout of blood issuing forth after it.
"You... shall... regret... this day" Darius stammered. He fell forward and lay still.
That appeared to be the last straw for the majority of the Noxian troops. The ones who had witnessed the spectacle threw down their weapons and attempted to clamber over the ones behind them in their haste to escape. Aatrox concentrated, and extended his consciousness to the Demacian troops. Hunt them down. For Demacia. Leave none alive.
