"The guilty will know agony"
Lux rolled her eyes at the murmuring of the man beside her. The strange man never said two words outside of the battlefield, but get him in here and suddenly he couldn't stop talking about how short his life was and how much pain he was going to cause.
Varus was mostly unaware of the young woman next to him. His lilac eyes searched for the hint of a target, aided by the markings of the Owl. He wanted this to be over quickly, for tonight he was heading to Noxus. Tonight he had a real target.
The match itself went extremely well, Varus' eagerness translating into being ruthless in chasing down his opponents. Though, Lux reflected, it was aggravating that the man had been so reckless. The number of times he had almost been killed was only so low because of her prismatic barrier coming between him and several kill shots.
Not that she would get any thanks for it. As soon as their match was over the Arrow of Retribution scuttled off. Lux rolled her eyes again, seriously? Not even a single thank you? She did her best to shake her irritation off and lit her face with her biggest smile. Her fans were out there, after all. She would return to the palace and share her victory with her brother. Maybe she would at least get a few words of praise from him.
Now?
Images of blood, and of rending flesh from bone. Images of a small body held in his arms while he wept. Varus saw images of a strange man with a crow on his shoulder, of a master tactician who was pushing Noxus forward in his image.
Varus shook his head and ground out a harsh "Not yet".
Pallas was excited, urging its host forward in the promise of actually killing again. They had been with the League for so long, it was beginning to wonder if they were ever going to taste real blood again.
Varus had been following a paper trail for quite some time. Documents held by various champions and higher ups that he had stolen or taken from corpses. He finally had a name. He finally knew whom it was that had given the order to attack his village.
Swain. The man had obviously wanted the power of Pallas for himself. Part of Varus could see the logic: The man was badly crippled and, if nothing else, Pallas would have given him new legs.
Actually, Pallas would have taken his old legs. The difference between the two statements was like night and day. The substance that formed his lower torso and legs looked like cords of muscle and usually did as he bade. The claws that now formed his feet were not his. Nor were the clawed hands that sat at the end of his arms. They usually did as they were told. His control was strong after years of denying the spirit that was slowly consuming him. However, even a single moment of relaxing his tight hold meant that someone was killed. Pallas, it seemed, had a hunger for destruction that would never be sated.
They moved towards the great entrance to Noxus, wearing a long cloak and a hood that covered his face. He approached the gate, surrounding himself with civilians coming home from watching the games today. He felt some satisfaction when he heard the two in front of him complaining about Draven's poor performance. Varus had personally put an arrow between the Executioner's eyes three different times.
Now?
Surrounded by Noxians. Surrounded by the enemy! The images of putting an arrow through the pair in front of him had a strange tinge of hope to them. Varus quelled the rising blood lust. He could kill civilians later, on the way out. For now, they had to wait until they could get into the city.
Honestly, as long as Swain died, Varus wasn't sure if he wanted to leave the city. With the man dead would his quest for vengeance be complete?
Would he finally join Theshan and his wife? Was he truly even human enough to reach the resting place of his ancestors anymore?
He knew, deep within himself, that his lapse of control had condemned him forever. His body would not truly know a natural death. His desire for revenge meant it would be consumed by Pallas. Not even the clever Owl could save him from eventually becoming a spectator in his own body.
The crowd passed into the city, so different from Ionia. This place reeked of death and corruption. Worse, the people of Noxus took pride in their filth. Took pride that innocents had died in the city's pursuit of power.
Soon, he thought to his partner. Soon you will revel in their blood.
The membrane that kept his bow inside his arm quivered in pleasure and he closed his hand into a fist. Even after all these years, the alien feelings were sometimes still too much for him.
Getting into the city was easy part, now he had to get to master tacticians quarters. He had memorized a map of the city beforehand, and used this to navigate streets of houses with some appearance of confidence. This city did not have a palace the way that Demacia did. The headquarters of the Noxian Command was less ostentatious but no less intimidating. The brick building loomed several stories high, thick glass windows glaring at any who would dare look inside.
Getting to Swain would be significantly more difficult than getting into Noxus had been. Varus moved around the back of the building and found what looked to be an entrance to the cellars. Pallas made quick work of the lock on the doors, crushing it with a disconcerting eagerness to please. Varus slid down the steps and closed the door behind him. The cellar was dry and cool. Racks upon racks of wine made up most of the area and everything was spotless. Apparently, Swain kept a clean house. It was now late in the evening, after the champions have returned from the games. He heard no noise coming from the doorway at the top of a flight of stairs and so he proceeded forward.
So used was he to dealing with champions that he was almost surprised at how quickly the two Noxian guards dropped in the entryway. The force of his arrows was so great that the two almost seem to pop. He avoided stepping in the pools of blood as he made his way forward, though a tendril moved away from his leg and lapped some up. It was almost as if Pallas was testing the texture and quality of his prey. His feet made no noise as he moved onward and upward through the building. Varus suspected that if Swain were to be found here it would be in the highest room. It felt fitting for the man. However, that didn't mean that Varus couldn't kill anyone that got in his way in the meantime. He had yet to come across any of the Noxian champions, but he had accumulated a small body count as he made his way.
He finally found a young man who had stuttered out the directions to Swain's room with the promise of mercy. Varus had been right, the strange mage resided several flights above them. The surprised look of hurt on the man's face while Varus smothered him under corrupted flesh seemed to make Pallas purr. Images of great beasts relishing their meals and an image of a young child humming in delight around a piece of sweetbread filled his mind.
Sometimes, Varus wished the spirit would just talk instead of using its strange method of communication.
As he started to approach the master tactician's door a flash of sickly green magic filled his vision, forcing him to his knees. Swain's piercing eyes were the last thing Varus saw before dark magic knocked him out.
It had all been so, terribly, easy.
