So, first League of Legends fanfic! I didn't intend to end up writing for this fandom, but the game became too addicting and I wanted to explore characters and backstories.
The summoning, as always, was incredibly disturbing in a way no experience she'd ever had could replicate. As her body ached and complained, light washed over her, bathing her in eerie radiance until she could see no more. Her mind blanked -
And then Riven stood upon a stone platform, the soft blue light of runes glowing beneath her feet. That blue light was everywhere; from the massive crystalline form of the nexus to the ominously-carved turrets that stood sentinel over it.
"Can you hear me, Exile?"
The voice was female, and quiet; even in the confines of her mind Riven had to struggle to hear her.
Barely. And don't call me that.
"My apologies...Riven." This time it was quite audible...thought-able...whatever. "Better?"
Yes.
She kept the conversation short; besides the simple efficiency of the action, she disliked talking to summoners. The linking spell kept their minds distinct, true, and only allowed intentional communication, but it felt too much like the summoners could hear every stray thought. Riven was too used to the solitude of her own mind to be wholly comfortable with sharing it
"Very well. As you know, this is a practice match between the champions of Freljord and Ionia. Queen Ashe has requested that we summoners limit our influence so that the members of her team can find a natural balance between them. As such we will not be directing your actions, and our only input will be the utilization of spells, should you find them necessary."
That seemed just fine to Riven.
Understood.
"I will be monitoring your thoughts; only ask if you require the use of my spells. Good luck, Riven."
The summoner's voice faded away, just as the dulcet tones of the Fields' announcer declared that minions had spawned. The rest of her team was already splitting off; she caught a glimpse of Tryndamere's broad back as he vanished into the jungle. The Cryophoenix's vast wings propelled her along the middle lane; Nunu and Ashe were already out of sight.
It was time to start, then. Riven hefted the broken remains of her sword and jogged up towards blue team's top turret, easily keeping pace with the minions. The journey was intentionally designed to be long, giving her time to consider her strategy.
This practice match had been in the planning stages for quite a long time, both Freljordian and Ionian eager to see what strength the other side could muster. Her presence on Ashe's team was both an irregularity and an accident; originally the team composition had called for Volibear to handle the jungle role. Something had come up: Riven was hazy on the details, but it had something to do with the Winter's Wrath and her enmity towards Ashe At any rate, the Ursine chief had gracefully withdrawn from the match, causing the summoners to search for a replacement. Their equivalent of picking names out of a hat had yielded hers, and now she was here.
The blue turret loomed before her, the statue of the vaguely boar-like creature intimidating in its sheer size. She stopped within its radius and watched as the minions continued their mindless march, plowing straight into the identical line of purple minions that opposed them. The two sides of mannequins hacked at each other brutally and without finesse. Bits of the magical essence that composed them flaked off as they fought.
Riven waited a beat, then dashed forward as one minion wavered. The jagged remains of her old runeblade swept down like an executioner's guillotine. What passed for the minion's head bounced away as the rest of it disappeared, purpose fulfilled.
The Exile set to farming in earnest, butchering the purple minions as they flailed wildly at her own. The chink of gold echoed in her ears, a sound that had no physical origin. It was unnatural, just like everything else on the Rift.
She checked in with the other members of her team via the summoner-maintained link - Tryndamere had just killed the golem, Anivia was holding off a frustrated Ahri with some ease - when a note sounded, high and clear through even the confused minion melee. It continued, rising in pitch and loudness, as Irelia Lito emerged from behind the purple turret at a dead sprint and dove towards her.
Riven had never fought the famous guard captain; her legendary stand at the Placidum had occurred after Riven's break with Noxus. What she knew about the warrior charging at her was only the common scuttlebutt: that the Will of the Blades was some kind of witch, wielding her weapon without requiring such mundane tools as her hands, and that she was possessed of a strong hatred for all things Noxian.
As eyes the color of frozen emeralds bored into her soul, Riven could believe it.
Their swords collided with a loud clang; the Ionian's forward momentum checked by Riven's greater strength and mass. The Exile ducked a swing of that tremendous blade and tried a cross-cut, the jagged edge of her sword slicing so quickly through the air it hissed. Her opponent's hand twitched; the floating blade hurled itself downwards to knock Riven's weapon aside. The Exile was forced to retreat as Irelia pushed forward, always pressing her advantage. She wielded her great blade more like a spear now, thrusting it point-forward so that Riven had to swing frantically just to keep from getting gored.
Something needed to change; the Will of the Blades was fast, and if Riven didn't change the combat the announcer would be calling first blood.
Riven braced herself, calling to the runes in her blade. They came alive, flaring with cold green light. She let Irelia drive her back, letting her breath out in loud pants as she gave ground. Suddenly, she planted her feet and rallied, shouting a wordless battle cry. No longer was she on the defensive; her blade danced and weaved, bleeding trails of emerald light as it met Irelia's strange sword head-on. This time her guard was strong; she put every scrap of strength remaining into her blows, turning aside the Ionian's own attacks and even placing her on the defensive when one particularly strong swing almost gouged out an eye.
Those same eyes narrowed, orbs of emerald raging with a fury denied. The attacks came faster and faster, abandoning the vaunted Ionian grace and delicacy for pure, unsophisticated power. As a Noxian, Riven could appreciate that.
The next swing was faster than any of its predecessors, whatever Ionian magic fueling its flight augmented by human frustration. It should have been easy to block, quick though it was, but as Riven brought her blade up to guard, her grip slipped. Pain flared, hot and sharp, as one of the blade's prongs slashed through her upper arm. Blood spurted, shockingly red in the dull ambience of the Rift.
Irelia shouted in triumph and pounced, leaping as gracefully as a Noxian sabercat. Riven backpedaled frantically, but the Ionian closed with tremendous speed. Her weapon split - was it really one blade or many? - into four parts, whirling viciously like a Piltoverian buzzsaw. She was close enough for Riven to see the light of victory in her eye -
A roar echoed through the Rift as Tryndamere burst from the river's edge, blade high above his head as he bore down on the now-vulnerable Ionian.
Riven allowed herself a small smirk as she saw panic flare in those green eyes. Irelia turned to flee, arms outstretched as if to Bladesurge away. It never happened; the Barbarian King slammed into her with all the force of a charging horse, throwing her clear off the ground and into a nearby bush. Riven had to give her opponent credit, she leaped to her feet quickly, fast enough to vault away from a violent swing that would have cut her head off. The barbarian cursed, turning ponderously to follow, and Riven saw her chance.
She dashed forward, trailing emerald light in her wake, and her hand closed around Irelia's forearm. The Ionian pivoted, eyes wild with rage, but before she could lash out, Riven screamed in her face.
Her enemy reeled, dazed and disoriented. The blades she held in her telekinetic grasp reacted likewise, slashing wildly at the air and any minions unfortunate enough to be around. Riven released her opponent, gripped the broken blade with both hands, and struck.
The captain of the guard tumbled to the floor like a heavy sack of potatoes, and the announcer's triumphant declaration of "First Blood!" echoed throughout the Rift.
Riven paused to lean heavily on her knees, panting hard. That had been close, far too close for her liking. It was well that Tryndamere had come when he did; any longer and she might have been in trouble.
"Not bad, Noxian." The barbarian himself was leaning on his sword, looking at her with something that might have been approval. "You're stronger than you look."
Maybe it was the giddiness of nearly dying, or the euphoria at defeating a formidable opponent, but the rush of victory loosened Riven's tongue. She smirked at her teammate, swinging her blade up in her right hand. "My right arm is a lot stronger than my left."
Tryndamere let out a guffaw that shook the nearby bushes. He shouldered his sword and vanished back into the jungle without a word, but the sound of his mirth lingered in the brush.
A smile curved up the edge of Riven's mouth as she returned to farming the enemy minions.
Twenty minutes later, that smile was long gone, replaced by a pained grimace as she limped past one of her side's super minions, bloodstained hand clutching her side.
"Heads up, sword girl!"
Nunu's shout accompanied a shimmering orb of light as it zoomed past her ear, barely missing her. Her reactionary glance fell on Ahri, who was smiling cheerfully as she hurled another bolt of magic. Riven took it on her sword and dashed towards her, side-pain forgotten.
"Mm…" the kitsune purred, casually dodging the first overhand swing. "What a big...sword you've got there."
Flirting? That was new. Riven struck again, trying this time for a short thrust. The fox slipped aside that one too; as she did so pink light formed around her palm. With a grin and a wink, Ahri blew a kiss at Riven, the light coalescing into a heart and flying at her.
Shit-
Then the charm struck her.
What…?
Heat bloomed in her chest, as well as certain...other regions. It was not a slow process either; her body suddenly felt far too hot, and even the relatively light jacket and pants she wore seemed too restricting. Riven shifted restlessly, friction dancing pleasantly across her skin.
The exigency of the battle vanished as the fox danced before her, lithe body moving so seductively. She wanted it, needed it writhing underneath her as the fox called out her name in pleasure. She took a step forward, her blade hanging loosely in her grip -
A cry of pain, clear as a church bell, slashed the air. Riven stumbled back, the lustful haze vanishing like mist. Ahri clutched her face, blood dripping from a long cut across one porcelain cheek. Frost crystals glinted among the crimson gash, dissolving in the warm heat of flowing blood.
The Frost Archer advanced into Riven's field of vision, firing a steady stream of arrows. Ahri snarled and threw out a hand. Three balls of blue flame sprang into being and hurled themselves at Ashe. Without a thought, the Exile dashed forward, forming her will around her. She slid in front of Ashe just in time, the spirit flames dissipating upon the shield of light she'd drawn around herself.
Ashe flashed her a grin, then fired once more. The arrow quadrupled in size as it sliced through the air, shedding bits of ice along its path. Ahri had just enough time to blink before the arrow detonated in a shower of crystals, coating her with rapidly-hardening frost. Another shriek of outrage erupted from the archer's victim, partially muffled by the shroud of ice.
That wasn't an opportunity to waste: Riven covered the distance in a single leap, flipping through the air. Emerald light flared around her blade as she gathered momentum, before gravity brought wielder and weapon down upon the trapped mage in a blaze of green light.
The kitsune's corpse disappeared, leaving trails of ice still creeping across the stone floor.
"That was awesome!" Nunu cheered, as Willump lumbered over, blood and glass coating the yeti's massive paws. Master Yi's goggles had apparently fared just as badly as the rest of him.
"We're not done yet, Nunu," the Freljord queen chastised her subject. She gestured with one hand at the purple nexus, glowing gently as its last two towers continued to rain down bolts of energy upon the relentless march of blue minions. "We still need to -"
A single note sounded, the high and clear clash of metal on metal. It was the only warning Riven had.
Ashe's chest suddenly exploded outward in a shower of blood, a very familiar blade emerging from her body. The force of the impact lifted the Frost Archer off her feet, limbs spasming helplessly. Blue eyes flashed with shock and pain, and then the Freljord monarch's body fell to the ground, crimson vitae leaving in a steady gush.
The Will of the Blades stood there, red armor now made even redder with the addition of Avarosan blood. Riven caught a flash of triumph in the Ionian captain's eyes, even as Willump roared in rage and launched himself at the woman half his size.
Massive fists slammed down onto the unyielding stone floor, narrowly missing their target. Irelia came out of a fluid sideways roll and lashed out with her blades. They chimed almost melodically and Willump reeled back, stunned. From his perch atop the yeti's shoulders, Nunu shouted and hurled a ball of ice. The frozen comet hurtled through the air, but again Irelia slipped aside, a fierce grin on her face. Her blade split into its four sections, spinning like one of Kennen's shurikens, and slashed into Willump's arms, drawing a rumble of pain.
Riven charged forward before Irelia could attack again. Her broken blade came down on the Ionian's head, only to meet solid steel as one of the four blades deflected the strike. Irelia turned, emerald eyes flaring vindictively, and with a single gesture one of her blades buried itself in Riven's thigh. It went in smoothly, missing bone, and Riven gasped in pain as steel slid easily through her leg, severing muscle and tendon and sending fire up through the nerves of her leg.
Another blade slashed down for her neck; only a quick wrist movement parried the deadly strike. The Will of the Blades leaped upward into a forward kick, and her boot smashed squarely into Riven's cheekbone. The exile flailed instinctively with her sword, a clumsy motion easily dodged as Irelia vaulted backwards, blades hovering protectively around her. She landed in a crouch, eyeing Riven predatorily.
The Noxian staggered to her feet, clutching the now-open wound left by an Ionian blade. Sweat dripped from pale white bangs, running down into russet-red eyes as they tried desperately to anticipate her opponent's next move.
An angry howl told her Willump was back in the fight; Irelia's eyes flickered left and she rolled sideways to dodge the yeti's charge. Nunu hurled another snowball as the Will of Blades moved, and this one struck home, coating the Ionian's armor with ice and turning a graceful roll into a clumsy tumble as she tried to recover her feet.
Both combatants charged, blood in their eyes. Willump raised both fists to pound the slender Ionian captain to red mush...and then toppled over as four tiny red blades buried themselves in his chest. The yeti fell on his back, yells of protest barely audible as his passenger struggled to free himself.
Irelia turned back to Riven, the smirk of triumph reappearing once more. The Will of Blades gestured once, a cocky motion with the fingers of her right hand. Her blades rotated around her, threatening and ominous.
Riven weighed her options. She wasn't healing fast enough to fight at full capacity, whereas Irelia was fresh from killing Ashe. In a prolonged fight, the guard captain would dispatch her. Retreat wasn't an option either, not with her bad leg. There was really only one option open to her.
As a line of minions scurried past her, Riven forced her battered body into a sprint. Irelia's smirk widened, and she surged forward to meet her, blades melded together once more. The ancient weapon, forged with secrets known only to Ionian armorers, speared straight through Riven's body with a wet slurp. Irelia's momentum carried her straight forward into her opponent, bringing their faces close enough to kiss.
Green eyes stared into red victoriously, and then Riven made her move.
Her left arm looped around Irelia's back, crushing her in a tight parody of an embrace. Her right arm came up, the broken remnants of her sword bursting into life one last time. Runes blazed with light as the sword reformed, power molding itself to replace the lost edges. A deft flick of her wrist spun the blade so that it pointed downward, perpendicular to the ground.
The entire time, the Exile maintained eye contact. Irelia's eyes were incredibly expressive; they raged with fear and hatred as she struggled to escape, but Riven was three inches taller and quite a few pounds heavier and the guard captain remained where she was.
The blade came down, piercing both bodies. Green light blazed, wiping out Riven's vision.
And then, nothing.
