Eternal Life, Endless Torture

There had been a time when Urgot fought for something he believed in. The days when he would sow terror amongst the front lines, when he would demonstrate his worth with a near suicidal charge.

The Noxians value strength above all else, and Urgot had that in spades. As a child he was always daring. Eager to prove himself, he would show senseless bravado in situations where adults would flee in terror. As a young teenager, he took a sword in hand and went into the Voodoo Lands, where he slew the monster that had been terrorizing Noxians for years.

He was a hero, he had the distinguished honor of being a symbol of Noxus as many had before him.

He, as a growing boy always heard the legends of Sion, the Noxian General who fought hand in hand with his soldiers, who would refuse to give an inch! And would ultimately pay the price.

The ultimate sacrifice, when soldier put his nation before himself, Urgot always thought that to be sacred. He himself had given that sacrifice.

Though in Noxus, death is a promotion.

There were times, when the rational, long forgotten part of Urgot's brain would resurface. He would spend this time staring at his reflection, wondering at what he became. His reflection disgusted him, his body as twisted as the machines that gave him life. It was these times where one would find Urgot weeping. The pain, this was no reward for serving his people and comrades. This was punishment for being a symbol.

Was this the reward for such sacrifice?

Urgot was no longer the man he once was, he didn't charge into the fray, he scuttled, he used to strike terror through his actions.

Now, he strikes terror when eyes are laid upon him.

There was no honor in this. This was no proper way to honor a Noxian hero.

Then Urgot would question himself.

Was he a hero? Do Noxian's refuse to allow their legends rest?

He found his answer on the rift. In his hero.

Sion.

Sion was like him, he too, would be reused by Noxus until the time where he was nothing but dust. Through he furious warcries and screams, Urgot could see pain in those red eyes. He could see the man inside, only able to remember the shreds of his old self in the heat of battle, not even able to distinguish friend and foe. This was no hero

And neither was Urgot. For in Noxus' attempts to keep their legends alive, they forever buried their legacies under a mountain of dishonor and disgust.

There were times when red and green eyes would meet on the rift. When for just a moment, the battle would be forgotten, and understanding and pain would be passed wordlessly.

For both, it was like a reflection.