Summary: No matter how hard the Prophet tries to read him, the Void Walker will never cease to be unpredictable. Kassadin will also never cease to ruin Malzahar's plans. Oneshot, somewhat onsided KassadinxMalzahar.
The weather of the Shurima Desert was cool for the first day in seemingly months. Droplets of rain pelted the soft, sandy terrain below, blanketing the rolling dunes in much needed water. Outside a ruined town that lay in shambles, this rainwater pooled into miniature oasises, filling the large craters that were haphazardly made by several stray blasts of concentrated magical energy.
Homes had been long since evacuated, leaving behind nothing but dust and cobwebs in the barren desert houses, giving the once thriving town a particular ghostly feel. It was here that a large portion of Void energy had been concentrated, which brought forth the arrival of the Void's Prophet. But, when he arrived, he hadn't expected the outcome of the events that were sure to follow.
Now, he stumbled, backing up against the indoor wall of one of the smaller houses, clutching his bleeding side as he withdrew ragged breaths. His body had taken several heavy blows, leaving him bruised and bleeding as he tried to recollect his broken thoughts. As always, right on cue, the Walker of the Void had made his presence known.
It was all going according to plan, until he arrived. Abuse the concentrated dark energy to open a portal to the swirling nether and bring forth several more beasts to put at play in the mortal realm... that was the plan. Malzahar had nearly succeeded, he was almost through with the process of channeling the energy when he was struck by a swiftly cast sphere consumed by the essence of the Void itself. It had singed the back of his dark purple cloak, and left his concentration broken – just long enough for Kassadin to deliver a swift right hook and send him to the ground.
Of course, Malzahar put up a fight, just as he always did; he immediately grasped his dagger and drew it against the Void Walker. Landed a few good slashes, accompanied by plaguing the the Void Walker's mind with visions of terror and attempting to break him from the inside out. Sadly, Kassadin had long since grown used to seeing the visions that could easily break the spirit and mind of the strongest of men; they plagued him for a short moment at best, before he shrugged them off and continued his assault.
Malzahar's tactics were falling useless to Kassadin's own.
Glowing blue eyes that were once bright with life were now dull, Malzahar's vision growing hazy as he stumbled through the hall of the house, gloved hand sliding across the sandstone walls that were cracked and caked with loose sand. He couldn't focus his mind enough to allow himself to float, nearly stumbling over his own two feet as he tried to walk at a brisk pace to a safer location. Glancing down at his heavily bleeding side, he growled in detest.
Kassadin's Void blade was unlike any other. While normal blades of steel and metals were capable of striking him, they would never leave marks due to his supposed immortality. Malzahar simply couldn't die at the hands of mortal weapons, as the grip the Void had on him was far too strong to allow that to happen.
However, when struck by a weapon that came from the depths of the Void itself... it left him bleeding as though he were a normal human being. Only Kassadin's blade was capable of leaving marks – scars that held memories of their squabbles. And this wound was sure to leave one behind.
Not paying attention to where he was walking, Malzahar's foot snagged on a large stone that had fallen from the wall. He stumbled, and dropped to his hands and knees on the ground with a muttered curse. The Void Walker wasn't far behind him; the Prophet knew he was taking his time in this game of cat and mouse, mainly because he knew he could afford to.
This time, Kassadin had won.
There was nothing more Malzahar could do. As he crawled his way over to the wall and leaned against it, he closed his eyes and gripped tightly onto the wound that plagued his left side. It didn't help that his cloak and clothing were tapered to his body from the dampness caused by the rainwater – in fact, it only made his wounds sting worse than they normally should.
"You've fallen. Are you giving up so easily, Prophet?"
The words that were spat only made Malzahar smirk, not needing to even open his eyes to know that Kassadin was hovering only a few feet away from him. After all, he could easily feel that piercing golden gaze just from the hatred that always filled his eyes whenever he caught sight of Malzahar. In a way, the Prophet couldn't help but find his eyes charming, but only because they reminded him of finely polished, shining gold.
"I've no choice," Malzahar began, pulling his dark cloak around him despite the wetness, "I've been defeated. My legs refuse to carry me further, and my side feels like it's on fire. I can no longer focus my energy."
Kassadin raised an eyebrow underneath the large helmet that sat atop his head. "And all this time I thought you were stronger than this... I guess I was wrong."
The cool edge of the Void steel that licked at his throat made Malzahar open his eyes, only to find Kassadin kneeling in front of him with the tip of his blade poking through the large scarf that was wrapped around his shoulders. A wry grin found home on the Prophet's lips, underneath the purple guise that covered the lower half of his face. To feel that blade at his throat... it brought back a lot of old memories of their past battles. And he knew that right here, and right now, if Kassadin chose he could end his life once and for all.
After all, that was Malzahar's weakness – he could only be killed by the significant other that possessed the same powers as he. Turning the Void's powers against it could easily reverse the immortality he was given. All it would take would be one thrust of the ethereal blade through his throat or chest, and it would be over.
"I am strong... but I cannot help that you have grown stronger." Malzahar chuckled, admitting that the Void Walker had indeed grown in strength judging by how swiftly he was able to put the Prophet in his place. Now, he would need to work and study the Void Walker once more in order to learn his strategies. "You have bested me fairly, brother... for that, I concede defeat."
Kassadin heaved a sigh, one filled with frustration and seemingly disappointment. Malzahar couldn't understand it; he had bested him in combat, and successfully put one of his plans to a dead halt. For what purpose did he have to be disappointed? The Prophet's mind couldn't register it, brain still in a daze from taking one too many null spheres to his body.
"Tell me, brother... why do you not drive your blade through my throat and end my life? You have me right where you've always wanted me, and yet..." Malzahar stopped for a moment, noticing the way the Void Walker's golden eyes met with his own in a stare filled with both anger and concern, "you hesitate. Just like you always have."
"Because I'm not like you." Kassadin hissed in reply, deep voice muffled and distorted due to the thick helmet he wore, "I see no need to take your life and end your existence. I would much rather see you suffer for eternity at my hands for the problems you've caused. For the lives you've taken."
Without hesitation, Malzahar's hand rose to lightly grasp the wrist that the blade was bound to. Easily, and even without so much as a fight from Kassadin, the Prophet forced him to lower the blade down to his side. It was enough to prove the Void Walker's words true – he definitely wasn't bluffing.
"So you say..." Malzahar mused, carefully, and slowly, raising his body up a bit more into a proper sitting pose against the wall. "Or could it perhaps be that you realize that, without me, you'd be alone?"
The Prophet could tell that a nerve had been struck in Kassadin, judging by the way his eyes seemed to glow brighter as they widened. It only made the grin he wore under his mask widen. He knew how to play on the Void Walker's feelings, and also knew how to read his thoughts like an open book; nearly a year of dealing with him and feuding had given the Prophet that ability.
"You're only keeping me alive simply because without me, you'd have no one beside you. No one with the same powers, cursed with immortality to walk the land filled with the essence of the nether." Malzahar stated, removing his bloodied hand from his side to raise it and drag a thin streak of crimson down the cheek of Kassadin's helmet with a single finger, "we are bound together, whether you enjoy that thought or not. I will always be in your company – enemy, or not. We are keys, and we are bound to the Void's will. Together, we will bring forth the Void unto Runeterra, and see to the destruction of mortals-"
The Prophet was silenced abruptly by a hand latching onto his throat, dragging him up the wall until he was dangling a few feet above the floor. Kassadin certainly did possess a strong grip, considering he was easily strangling the life out of the gasping Prophet even through the thick cloth of his scarf. Scowling, Malzahar's hands clawed at Kassadin's armored wrists through the cloth of his gloves, even if it wasn't effective at all due to the way his strength was already weakened.
"Silence!" Kassadin ordered, squeezing tighter until a pained wheeze came from the Prophet, a pleased smile appearing on the Void Walker's lips, "You should stop trying to read what you don't understand, Prophet..."
Malzahar's vision had faded, to the point he could barely even see Kassadin remove his helmet and drop it messily to the ground with a loud clank. Though he did feel the single finger that trailed its way along the rim of his mask, entrancing the Prophet's sense of touch as it seemed to trace delicate patterns upon his cheek before pulling the guise down so it rested just below his lips. It did allow Malzahar to intake a sharp breath, one that wasn't hindered by the fabric of his mask – and in that moment, the grip around his throat eased enough for him to breath, if only slightly.
Gasping the Void Walker's name in a desperate attempt to tell him to stop, Malzahar's hands fell helplessly from his wrists. His vision had grown black, and his lungs felt as though they were on fire, but he was still barely conscious. Conscious enough to feel the softness that then graced his lips, sliding along them and enveloping his mouth in a feeling that left his aching body at sudden ease.
He could feel the way Kassadin's lips curved into a smirk – taunting, and teasing him, knowing fully well that Malzahar could do absolutely nothing to stop, or accept his actions. And as he kissed the Prophet, even if only for a short minute before he felt the other slip fully away into unconsciousness, he reveled in the moment. Perhaps he would pay for this later in some way, or come to regret it, but Kassadin didn't care; he had always held dominance and strength over the Prophet, and whatever was sure to follow later he knew he could handle with ease.
As he released his grip and carefully lifted the unconscious male into his arms, Kassadin stared down at him for several moments. He was delicate and peaceful as he slept – something he never thought he would be able to admit about Malzahar. Something he wished he could be even when awake.
But, he dismissed those thoughts, and turned himself so he faced down the long corridor of the hallway. With Malzahar still in his arms, he riftwalked a good distance away from the town until he came upon the small home that he knew to be the Prophet's; the home that he once had during his mortal life. Creaking open the wooden door and floating to the bedroom, he lay the sleeping Prophet down onto the long since abandoned bed, before exiting the room for just a short moment.
Kassadin returned with a long roll of bandages, to which he immediately undressed Malzahar's torso and began to apply them. In a way, he still kept the 'caring' side of him – the side that he had when he once cared for his family, and his daughter. It was what drove him to want to take care of the Prophet in his time of need, even if he may never admit to it, and may also need to beat him senseless just to stop his vile actions. He had never been a violent man, not until that fated day in Icathia.
Once finished, Kassadin inspected his work with a smile. He raised his hand, helmet seemingly appearing from a small portal that had opened only for a quick second, just long enough to place the item in his hands. Though, before he put it back on his head, he took one last look at the Prophet; his gaze held hints of sadness, laced with mixed emotions of anger and disappointment. He couldn't deny that there was something there – a longing to be with the Prophet on friendlier, happier terms... to cease fighting, and maybe turn him against the Void.
Though he knew the Prophet to be far too stubborn to turn away from the thing that had granted him such a massive power.
Come tomorrow, this event would be forgotten, and they would resume their usual activities of fighting and trying to thwart the other's plans. If only Malzahar would remember the small action that Kassadin had graced him with. Such a small and quick kiss, but also one that held a lot of meaning.
It was too bad, Kassadin thought as he placed his helmet back on and averted his eyes from the unconscious male on the bed – too bad that Malzahar probably wouldn't understand nor accept the concept of being close to someone else. To be on friendly terms... that was nothing but a dream to the Void Walker. And as he riftwalked away from the house and left Malzahar behind once more, he knew that by tomorrow things would resume to being as they always were.
Their relationship being nothing more than enemies with more than their fair share of things to fight about.