Author's Note:

Hey everyone! BDD here. I've been a lurker on this site for a few years and decided to start posting my own content. Each chapter is going to feature a specific champion. I have no real narrative or structure planned, these are going to (for now, at least) be unrelated one-shots. This first story is rather dark, featuring a rather twisted character. I will try to make more of a variety; it all depends on what I'm inspired to write. If you have prompts or requests, please PM me! I'm always open to new ideas.

Rating for this chapter is M for horror/torture.

That's all I've got for now - thanks for giving my story a try, and don't forget to R&R!

Enjoy :)

Chapter One: Thresh

This takes place before the fall of the Blessed Isles, when Thresh is still human and hasn't yet been transformed by the Mist.

A man awoke again, and again he wished he hadn't. His wrists, raw and scabbed, were still bound by heavy chains, forcing him to drag himself about like a wounded animal. His back and sides were scarred and crusted with blood from wounds both old and new. The sharp gravel floor dug into his flesh, making even the slightest movement agonizing. His nails were blackened, cracked and ingrown. His hair hung in ropy, gnarled strands from his cracked scalp and ruined face, caked with dirt and gore. He huddled, shivering, against the low stone wall, surrounded on all other sides by thick bars that stood stalwart; silent sentinels in the oppressive dark. A pitiful moan escaped through his abraded throat, past sandpaper tongue and brittle, bloodied lips. Similar wails rang weakly from the darkness; a small comfort, a tragic unity. The murmurs faded quick; none dared risk drawing the attention of their jailor.

He cast his swollen, sunken eyes about his cell - small to most but to him his entire world. He had long since lost his sense of time. Time held no power here; just another tool in the hands of the Torturer, powerless before Him as all else was. With his butchering blade, He made every second last an eternity. In his absence, time poured through the cracks like water from a broken glass, making each bout of solitude between His "visits" pass in a blink.

The man spotted a small glimmer in the gloom. While he had slept, the shallow trough at the end of his cell had been filled. Filthy water and small, rotting granules of… something… were all that it held, a 'meal' not even fit for a hog. Yet he lapped it up ravenously, dragging his tongue through the dirt like a dog for every last shred of nourishment. He knew that days could pass before he received anything more, and fear of the punishment for leaving so much as a crumb behind far overpowered his revulsion.

Clang.

He stopped, suddenly, his entire being seizing up in abject terror at the sound.

Clang.

Again it rang, and again, and again, that hollow ring that heralded His arrival. The man dragged himself to the farthest, darkest corner of his cell. He burrowed, heedless of the razor stones, and prayed. Ice flooded his veins. His body trembled, humming with intense, fearful desire. Not me. He prayed to no god, to no celestial power. He prayed to the Warden - the highest power, the only power in his forsaken reality. He prayed to the Chains, that they may pass him by. He prayed to the Voice that it may fall upon another, that Its twisted laughter not fill his ears as pain becomes his world. He cowered and prayed and pass It did, leaving the same whispered promise It always did: soon.

Thresh hummed a tuneless melody as he walked slowly through the prison over which he lorded. He chose, this time, to leave his lantern behind. He did not need it; he had passed down this hall so many times he knew the way by heart. He found the light gave his prisoners hope, something they were not yet ready to receive. The mind is quite resilient, after all, and takes the most delicate blend of sensation to break. Give it hope too soon, and it may defy you for many days more. Give it too late, and it will have no effect, leaving the mind to crumble on its own and deny him the ultimate pleasure of watching it shatter in his hands.

Thresh understood this balance better than any other (having had many, many years to perfect his craft), and he knew that it was not yet time. No, he would wait, and when the time came, he would watch with glee the fleeting moment of light in their eyes, soon chased away by a darkness even more profound than before.

He let out a contented sigh as he opened the heavy wooden door, basking in the fearful symphony that greeted him. Bodies shuffled, voices groaned, and terrified eyes stared up at him, tempting him, inviting him to make them dance again with sublime, rapturous agony. He resisted the urge, however; he had a job to do, after all. For now, he could take comfort in the knowledge that each would get their own visit in time, and be given the attention they so dearly deserved.

Thresh grinned and renewed his humming, lumbering down the hall past his guests with renewed vigor. He made small gestures as he went - a rattle here, a whisper there - each deliberate and calculated, designed to bring every individual just a bit closer to the brink. They were not the purpose of his visit, though. Thresh reflected gleefully on the new addition he had made to his… collection. A visitor had come to the Aisles the day before, claiming to be many centuries old. He said that he had been cursed with long life, helplessly watching as everyone he loved and cared for died before him. His wife, his children, even his children's children - all died before his eyes. What delightful suffering! The man came to the monks begging to be allowed to die. They refused him, as was their way. They asserted that all life was sacred, and that he should cherish the curse, and treat it instead like a gift. They entreated him to stay with the Order and learn to love his life, and he had reluctantly agreed.

Thresh heard of this visitor and was unable to resist the temptation. He approached the visitor, telling him that he would guide him to the guests' quarters. Instead, he led the man down a secluded passage and strangled him into unconsciousness. It took an uncannily long time; Thresh was delighted to discover that this man's body was inhumanly resilient. This was likely a result of the curse. Oh, the opportunity! Thresh's body tingled with anticipation. He bound the man in chains and left him in his personal chambers, among the dissonant voices of Thresh's many beloved artifacts. He would tell them tomorrow that the man had left in the night, having been overcome with despair.

This was the reason for Thresh's visit; one of his oldest guests had expired, and he needed to make room for his newest. He collected the body and deposited it in the corner among the others. He loved the effect it had on the prisoners. He returned to his room to find the man awake. This pleased Thresh; he would take great satisfaction in watching his newest addition's reaction. The first glimpse of madness was oh so tantalizing.

He entered the room, and the man looked up with a start. "You, servant! Who are you? What is the meaning of this?" Thresh said nothing, instead grabbing the man's bindings and dragging him to the door, revelling in the sweet sound of the chains scraping the stone. He never gave any of the guests his name; names were power, and Thresh held all the power. He unhooked his lantern, opening the door and allowing his new addition to see his work in all his glory. Those inside recoiled at the pale light, blinding after having spent so long engulfed in darkness. He relished the way the man's face contorted in a delicious cocktail of shock, rage, pity, fear and sorrow. "What fresh hell is this!? You're mad!"

"Me, mad?" Thresh let out a raspy chuckle as the door thundered shut behind him.

"Quite likely."

AN: Whew! This one was pretty twisted. I was inspired to write it when I was reading a Reddit thread about serial killers. I've always found the idea of criminal insanity fascinating, and I thought it would be fun to try to write. Please let me know what you think! See you next time :)

-BDD