Both of Jarvan the 4th's body and mind has been broken by the master tactician they call Jericho Swain. Dressed in his royal attire a heavy armor meant to represent his royal blood, was now in tatters. Bits and bits of tiny shards of his now barely recognizable regalia now fell to the floor some soaked in his blood while others were pieces of his skin, he could not tell which from which.

Pain so unbearable, most men would beg for death and this is what Swain, The master tactician was waiting for. He wanted the pleasure, the absolute pleasure to have the Demacian Prince beg for the sweet embrace of death, he looked upon the body of the prince who looked at the concrete ground of the prison like cell, the water of his tears, the liquid of his blood, the golden shards of his armor-all fell to the floor as he stared at them blankly. Truly, he was someone that could have been classified as broken.

And he truly was…

Swain looked on holding himself up with his wooden cane, truly this was his dream. Looking at his rival-if he could call this broken man his rival at least, the joy of torturing both someone mentally and physically gave swain pure pleasure. Though, it was not all his doing, he was helped by the huntsman's pride Urgot, physically he broke Jarvan, by using all sorts of methods none may speak of. He would have decapitated Jarvan hours ago but was stopped by Swain. Swain wanted the pleasure to take the demacian's prince's life not only that he wanted for him to beg for it, in doing so will give Swain the ultimate form of victory.

But even if Prince Jarvan the 4th no longer spoke, no longer had the eyes that glared at Swain from the floor-he was still fighting on, a fact that both Swain and Urgot acknowledged. Truly, breaking this man would take a lot of work. If this goes on any longer He would surely die…

Swain did not want that, he loved the dying part. He just did not want the dying part without that person begging for it. He stared at the Demacian prince once more, a man who was laying face down to the floor with an empty look in his eyes and his arms outstretched, as though he is trying to pick himself up to no avail.

Mercilessly, Swain used his wooden cane to stab the Demacian Prince's right hand, what followed afterwards were the sound reminiscent of branches being stepped on, with no remorse whatsoever Swain continued, as his ears were filled with the melody of bones breaking. Jarvan, Still quite emotionless was cringing, he was in pain-it wasn't though that he was trying to endure the pain, but it was another reason, he basically didn't have the energy to show his pain anymore.

"You know how to end this, Demacian." Swain said with a voice that taunted Jarvan making him grit his teeth. "Fighting back? It seems like you still have some fight left in you…let me fix that…" Swain uttered as his voice echoed across the room. He released his cane from the prince of demacia's hand giving Jarvan a much needed time to breathe. But what soon followed was a blur…

-Present day-

Jarvan lay sitting, looking across the field of Demacia from his ever faithful stead, Jarvan was no longer the prince that smiled, a prince that people often called prince charming-no, he was someone, truly different. As if he was replaced. When questioned, Jarvan would often stare at a distance, looking beyond something no else could ever see, only he was someone who knew it, because he lived it.

The people closest to him often looked at him in confusion, he was the same person in their eyes, but whenever Jarvan either looks at them in the eyes or turn his back at them, they could not help but wonder, if truly, this was the Demcian Prince that everyone knew.

Jarvan had a reason. He didn't want to be in that situation anymore. Jarvan could take the torture that he endured, caused by Urgot, but he could not take the torture that Swain has caused, it wasn't because Swain used the dark arts to make him feel pain that was unearthly. But instead used a tactic, a tactic most sickening.

Jarvan witnessed his entire army of proud demacian soldiers, tortured and slaughtered afterwards…

Jarvan no longer wanted to be like that, he was too careless. He wanted to be stronger, he wanted to protect everyone. He wanted power...He wanted the power of an entire army, that way needless bloodshed could be avoided.

Jarvan brought out a map from his caravan, a map, dusty and wrinkled. A map to the Great Barrier, Jarvan was tired of all the bandits, and petty crimes surrounding Demacia, No-He needed a challenge. The great barrier was a place that promised just that. It was rumored to be the ground where strange beings lived, at least from some rumors.

But in reality Jarvan knew, he was told by his father the truth. No one has ever come back from the Great Barrier, at least not the same man they once were. Those words echoed throughout Jarvan's mind, he heard that only a handful of people made it out, some were left broken, while other never came out at all.

But Jarvan know for a fact that he, as tragic as it may sound, was broken. A broken man, broken once more would be left useless, though Jarvan knew that in his broken state he was already worthless, unfit to be called a demacian prince, much less their king. This was Jarvan's way of thinking, if his past self would've gazed upon his mind right now, he would be left speechless. Jarvan was no longer a prince charming from the fairy tales. He was no longer even a prince in his eyes. He was just someone, who had nothing left but to atone.

And the great barrier is calling to him…He should follow it.

And without another word Jarvan ordered his squad, handpicked by him towards the Great Barrier. These men were not ordinary, they all had something similar with Jarvan, Families slaughtered, Tragedies in the past-they all had their stories, Jarvan could tell because they had the same eyes as him, the same eyes who looked beyond, beyond something…horrifying. And lived to tell the tale, These men were like him…

…And by the end of this story, these men, would all perish…