Again and again. One by one. More shurikens and daggers were cutting the air at impossible speeds, but they were but the simplest task to dodge. Again. A hooded man seeking justice darted out from behind a shadowy dune, garbed in night blue accentuated by the sibilant silver gleams from his blades. One after another, these justice seekers. What kind of twisted justice are they seeking? The man tumbled, backlashing with a spinning shuriken. Easily dodged. Pathetic. Insulting. The assassin leaped, revealing an arsenal of blades under his sinister coat. He reached in, lining his knuckles with an impressive array of blades, the only light visible in the dark night sky.
"Disgraceful sinner!" the assassin shouted in the winds, spinning and releasing the shining metal towards his target. The blades danced in the air, slicing through the sandstorm. Yet not the target. The swordsman, with great agility, dashed through the rain of metal completely unscathed. With an unseeable uppercut, he slashed through the air with such impossible force, the very air that surrounded the assassin turned into a weapon against him. The assassin was covered in cuts and tears in his entire lower body, causing him to stumble to the ground. The swordsman dashed through him with a clean flash of steel, decapitating him with a single blow. Another day in the life of regret.
The moonlight glimmered on the piece of tainted steel, blood dripping from the tip of the blade into the sand below him, staining the ground a deep crimson, each drop sinking into the sand like heavy rain. The swordsman sat down and laid his sword on the dead assassin's body, observing the callous act. He pulled the dark night hood over the decapitated head, in a futile attempt at respecting the fallen. The swordsman picked up his sword, and with a flourish, swept off all of the blood and sheathed it. Uttering a quick Ionian prayer, he got up and began walking back eastward, towards the city-state of Noxus. The place where he will finalize his relentless pursuit. Or at least hope to.
"The story of this sword..." he muttered, his eyes averted to the bloody, guilty steel in its sheath. How many lives had it ended in Ionia's futile bounty on his head? Hundreds? Possibly even thousands? Betraying his elder, his nation, his people, his own comrades, and even their innocent families... including his own. He thought of the families of the fallen, receiving news that the bloody traitor had slain their parents, leaving them lonely and scarred for the rest of their lives. And to what avail? Killing his own people to prove to his own people he wasn't a murderer? An oxymoronic, paradoxial act in it's own sense, but it went above his reputation. It now became his purpose to keep breathing, as he knows of no place to call home anymore. All that's left is his sword, and his honor.
Yes. Everytime the lone swordsman doubted himself, these words rang in his head to remind him of his purpose. His reason to live, and to fight. His hypocritical purpose, and his relentless pursuit to fulfill it.
The night dragged on. The sandstorm outside Mogron Pass had let up a bit, but it still raged on alive as ever. He must be nearing the Institute. Rustling of weed, sand and earth filled the raspy desert air as he trekked on, eyes closed in order to heighten his hearing senses and avoid getting sand in them. He knew this area far too well. And it's not as if he could see anything in this dark, barren wasteland anyway.
The extremely bright beacons of light beaming out of the Institute became visible, as well as the sounds of what sounded to be an ongoing match. The familiar blue and purple pillars of light became the brightest lights in the night sky. Even miles away, he could hear chanting of the announcers and spectators alike, cheering on the match. He wondered if he would ever take place in such a match.
As he passed the Institute onwards to his destination, he wondered what conflict was being settled, and immediately hoped it didn't involve Ionia or Noxus. He couldn't afford to be caught in a crossfire.
It was almost dawn already, and he noticed had gotten no sleep in the past two nights. Even though he was miraculously still in prime fighting condition, he decided he needed some rest, even if just for a fleeting moment. Big plans were ahead, and he couldn't afford to take any breaks behind enemy lines. Tough enemy lines.
He located a flat bedding in a mountain to the south, next to the Pass and climbed to it. Pulling out a scrap of cloth used as some makeshift sheet, he unrolled it and laid down. He fumbled around for his small knapsack, and quickly lit a match to create a fire for a very quick moment to get a look at his surroundings should he be attacked. He promptly blew out the match to avoid catching any attention.
Ten seconds later, it seemed that fleeting moment was too much. An arrow pierced the ground just a foot from him, jolting him upright and unsheathing his sword like it was a natural body function. Well, at this point, it was. A body jumped down from another flat holding in the mountain, gracefully landing without making too loud of a sound. A screech of what sounded to be an eagle rang out above him, causing him to frantically search for his attackers.
"Who?" the swordsman shouted into the night. He lit another match and threw it on the ground, revealing the immediate area around him. To his surprise, it was neither an Ionian nor Noxian assassin. Instead, it was a raven-haired woman, whose origins he could not discern, clad in a leathery attire modeled after the rare Demacian eagle. She wielded a lightweight crossbow, adorned in golden wings. Her golden eyes pierced through the swordsman, brilliant in the light of the fire. She wore a tired, yet battle-hardened expression on her face.
"You're not Noxian," she muttered as she observed the swordsman. He merely shook his head, not lowering his guard for a moment. "Why are you here? This is Noxian territory."
The swordsman frowned. "You're not Noxian either," he stated grimly. "So why don't you tell me why you're questioning me, and why you're here?" he stabbed back. She raised an eyebrow.
"It's rude to make a woman introduce herself first."
"This isn't a place where etiquette means half a shit, is it?" She smirked at this.
"Fair enough. My name's Quinn," she said as she whistled for an eagle to perch on her falconer glove. "This is Valor. We're scouting this newly acquired Noxian territory for our army back home; looking for an assassin," she said, motioning in the general west. Must be Demacian. "And you?"
"Yasuo. I'm... Ionian," he revealed with a tone of regret. Silence took over as he gathered his thoughts. He hasn't spoken with anyone in a very, very long time. "Or, I was. I've been exiled."
Quinn sat down near the match. "For?"
Yasuo sighed. He hated talking about his past, given his devotion of his life to erase it. But he had been so deprived of non-violent human interaction for so long, he made an exception. As long as she wasn't an enemy, which she didn't appear to be so far. At least, he'd keep it short. Not too many details.
"I was framed for a murder. Now, every Ionian is out for my blood. I'm seeking vengeance in Noxus." He sat down and sheathed his sword, leaning back on his arms. He lit another match, as the light was too dim to see the other. He sighed. "I've killed hundreds, maybe thousands of my own people. I've even killed..." he trailed off, memories of Yone rushing back like reality.
Quinn bit her lip. "Sorry to hear," she sympathized. "I've lost so many close to me as well. It's depressing, the tragedies we, as humans, have to face." Her expression had turned solemn as she averted her golden eyes to the ground, saddened. "I wonder how many hearts have been broken by war..."
Yasuo looked up to see her almost on the verge of tears, and immediately looked back down. "Nothing compares to the heartbreak of losing those close to you." He didn't mention his brother, slain by his own hand. "I've brought upon that heartbreak to countless families. There's no way I can be forgiven."
"What do you fight for?" Quinn asked. Yasuo froze, unsure of his own answer.
"I would say redemption, but it's a bit too late for that." He paused, noticing Quinn's gaze locked on him, seemingly interested. "Whether I prove myself innocent or not of the first murder, I'm still guilty a thousand times over for the thousands of murders I've completed after." The words echoed in his mind again.
"I'm shedding blood in order to not waste the blood that has already been shed. It's too late to do anything else." Quinn smiled.
"Good answer," she commended. "I respect that. You're living for a reason, unlike a lot of the people in this forsaken world. I too, fight for some sort of vengeance, but I'll never get it." Yasuo looked up at her. She stood up, looking off into the distance. "You'll learn someday, that no matter how much you fight - fight and fight again - you won't cleanse your sins through bloodshed. In fact, you won't even come damned close. That's just how war works. We're all the defeated. You just have to accept it sometimes, and just move on." A tear rolled down her eye, remembering her brother.
"Whose loss are you 'moving on' from?" Yasuo questioned. Quinn looked back down at him, sadness in her eyes. She took a deep breath.
"I wanted to be a knight one day, fighting on the front lines for glory, honor, and triumph in the name of our nation. It was a promising life. My brother and I both wanted to pursue it. Day after day, we'd spend endless hours adventuring and training in hopes of one day joining the army together, and fighting for real on the same battlefield together. But one day, my brother was killed while we were in a wilderness forest in our own motherland." Yasuo's heart dropped. He wasn't alone. "It may have been my own fault... I shouldn't have left him alone. I'll never even know how he died... Ever since that day, I've given up on fighting as a knight. I think I fight for the same reason you do. I'm killing to end the killing. War is a plague that needs to stop spreading." He couldn't help but agree.
She walked over to Yasuo, reaching out her hand to him. "You're not so bad. Stick around with me to Noxus, it's uncharted territory here and we could both help each other out."
He was reluctant, but for the first time since he left Ionia in exile, he felt he had someone he could trust. Someone who knows his anguish and acknowledges his sins. Someone he can share the pain with. Maybe this could work out after all.