Noxus - Defiance
The crowds were gathering from all over the empire's towns, villages, cities and even some travelers and traders from the free nations of the west. The executioner's plaza was filled to the brim, with Noxian troops struggling to find newcomers seats and views. Every gate in the city was open, with people still pouring in. The stands were soon filling up as well, people of all ages coming to see Noxus' triumph over two of its most hated rivals and perhaps the beginning of a war, a war that would bring all of Runeterra under their rule as they deserved. The only ones not to attend were the merchants from across the sea, from Piltover, Shurima and Bilgewater.
Swain observed the gathering crowds from atop the Immortal Bastion, flowing like rivers conversing into one single great pool, a simple vision of a greater world that would be the future of Noxus and of Runeterra. She defied the might of Noxus many times, making it clear that brute force would be met with equal response. But that was Boram's way, a way he, Darius, Draven and the rest of his loyal Noxians made sure to eradicate, from the lowest bastard child to the highest royal heir. It was a weakness, a plague wasting away his beloved empire from the inside out. The first thing they did was fortify what they already had, but conquest was more than just a way of life for Noxus. It was their soul. It was all they had ever known. Peace had to be taken and enforced, not earned and brokered. So they would take it, not just by force but by any means necessary. Subterfuge, diplomacy, subjugation and espionage were only a few of Noxus' tools. To bring peace, fear had to come into play and in order to place it on the board, the ones who were the most susceptible to it had to be shown what happens to those who were not. Examples had to be made, either from Noxus or from the other nations.
"Sometimes I wonder if you come up here to just feel afraid." The gruff, stern voice of his confidant and friend Darius came from behind him. Swain couldn't help but crack a small smile.
"I wonder the same thing too. But when I come up here and look out there at all that, I don't see fear, old friend. I see truth. I see only Noxus and it is beautiful. The harsh steppes shaping those strong enough to survive, the beasts cleaning the bones of those who aren't, the skies bringing storms and rain, the caravans bringing all that belongs to Noxus to the city… I don't feel afraid at all. I don't see my fear, Darius. I see theirs. I feel safe." He rarely confessed his feelings about his empire to anyone, but Darius was a man of many actions and few words. If there was anyone that would acknowledge and keep secret his true feelings, it was him.
"Hmph. Even when that witch sends assassins after you?"
"LeBlanc's games are tricky for you to understand, my friend. You don't need to worry yourself about that, though. As far as she and I are concerned, I am ahead in the game, due in no small part to you." He turned, seeing Darius' relief, but also a tinge of concern on his stoic face. Over thirty years since they were mere foot soldiers, Legionnaires and finally leaders, he learned to read even the subtlest hints in his eyes.
"Something troubles you. You wouldn't have bothered me otherwise. Come, talk to me."
"I have a strange feeling about this, Jericho. This seemed too… easy. I know your plans were thought out to the last breath we and they took, but almost nothing went wrong. Especially with Crownguard." Darius voiced his unease.
"That is why we have taken every precaution to ensure today goes as planned. Once the executions begin, the entire city will go into lockdown. Archers will be posted on every overlooking roof and of course, you'll be personally doing the deed. I trust no one else to swing the axe at their necks. The heaviest pig iron chains are binding the Demacian and the girl is being restrained by magic-distorting seals tailor-made in Piltover. I have taken her weapon to the chamber of the Trifarix, where it is bound by my magic. Every available guard is patrolling the city, looking for spies or anyone that might interfere in the slightest. Everything except the harbor is locked down. I would lock it down too, but we need some commerce flowing for today. Even a single day's stop is bad, given our dependence on it. Every single person in the crowd is being searched for anything suspicious. Mark my words, Darius. Today must go off without any mistakes and we have made sure of it." Swain summarized Noxus' attention to everything. Today was about putting fear on the board and he had to make sure its place was cleared of suspicions, coincidences, accidents and interference.
"What did you see, Jericho? In their minds, I mean?" This, however, was new. Darius has never been one to ask about his visions, merely trusting and following them. He truly was uneasy.
"Fractures. Fragments of their homes. They are both divided amongst themselves. Ionia and Demacia are in turmoil. It is the perfect time to strike the nail with the hammer and crack their resolve." Swain subconsciously gripped his demonic hand.
"And what about them? What about Crownguard and the girl in particular?"
"Only useless memories and pain."
"Nothing else?"
"They resisted me."
"Even when unconscious?" The last question was asked with a hint of trepidation.
"Their wills are stronger than anything, my friend, which is why we must end them both today. You must end them both today, proving Noxus' triumph and strength over any foe. I know you will, though. Of that, have no doubts, just as I don't." Swain put his right hand on his shoulder. He preferred his human side over his… stronger one when it came to his trusted ones.
"Did it put you at ease?" Swain asked, already knowing the answer.
"It's a start." Came the expected response from Darius.
"Speaking of starting, it's almost time. We should get going." Darius hoisted his massive battleaxe on his shoulder. Swain, taking one last look at the land, followed him down.
The Executioner's Plaza was already roaring with praise to Noxus, Swain and Darius, with many others condemning their enemies. The guards, armored in the heaviest black iron armor and armed with the finest weapons and the sharpest arrows, were observing them, covering every angle. At the entrance, the sacred statue of the Wolf loomed over the masses, its sharpened granite teeth reminding them of the one inevitable truth of life and the fate of their enemies should they choose to defy Noxus. From the highest point, the Glorious Executioner observed, scoffing with boredom and a spice of envy.
"Bleh. Why does he get to kill them? I mean, I get privately, but in front of everyone? It really should be me down there, making a perfect spectacle out of it. Once in a lifetime opportunity and he gets it…" Draven, pacing back and forth while twirling his spinning axes, voiced his 'personal' disapproval.
"The General is the one who must strike the blow in order to inspire the empire. Draven, this is the twelfth time we're going over this. Can you just sit down, not get any bad ideas in your head and watch your brother do his duty?" Tamara, Darius' personal warmason, sighed at his brother's egotism. It was always present and she could tolerate that, but not when it came to important things or anything that concerned Noxus as a whole. She still held it against her general for telling her to stay with his brother, though. Before either of them could continue their banter, a pair of light footsteps made their way to the observation point.
"I see you two are getting along fine. They allow commoners up here now?" Katarina stepped onto the dais, looking down at the crowds.
"Spare me your insults, assassin. I didn't know your kind liked to admire their work. Or is it something else you want to watch?" Tamara bit back.
"Tam, come on. She did a good job capturing the Crownguard. Yeah, it probably wasn't flashy and had absolutely zero style, but even I know the importance of a well-placed dagger." Draven holstered his axes on the rack next to the seats, taking a seat on his personal chair decorated with golden seams, drakehound furs and Shuriman ivory, just enough to let everyone know it was his but not enough to outclass him.
"Huh… didn't know you were even capable of giving credit, Draven." Katarina sat to his right, sneering at the warmason on his left, who pretended to ignore her.
"Only where it's due, Kat. Only where it's due." As he finished the sentence, the crowds erupted once again as Jericho Swain and his brother stepped onto the plaza, heading to the center. Swain turned to the crowds, taking in the energy while at the same time looking for any suspicious activity. The Trifarian Legion Guards were among the most elite, but only he could see the proverbial little stones that would trip them up by the slightest or the dust specks that would obscure their vision. All was calm… for now.
"At attention, Noxus! Your Grand General has words for all of you!" Darius somehow managed to outdo a crowd of thousands in volume, a fact Swain was grateful for and Draven, Katarina and Tamara amazed by.
"Noxus! Since our origins, we have known only one way of life and that is war. War has shaped us, culled our weaknesses and developed our strengths. War has provided for us. Others have called us brutes, inhuman and monsters. They see our discipline, strength, will and convictions as a means to decry and demean our glories and our victories. But as war has shaped us, we must now shape it. We must use the gifts it has given us to save this world from itself and make no mistake, my fellow Noxians, this world is vast. Through our discipline, we follow the roads it has paved for us. With our strength, we march forward and remove those who stand in our way. Our unified will gives us and reminds us of our purpose. Our convictions hold us true to ourselves and to our empire. All of them together make us who we are, who we have chosen to be. They make us Noxian. We are one empire, one vision and one people. We… are… NOXUS!" As he finished his speech and raised his demonic hand which flared with power, the crowds erupted yet again, louder and more numerous than even before, shattering the air with the chanting of their empire's name. Even Draven and Katarina had to admit it was quite a speech, short but truthful, spoken from the heart and inspiring. Darius soon joined in the chant. The Trifarian Elites, while still vigilant, wore smiles on their faces, some obscured by their helmets. Swain kept his vigil but allowed himself a small smile, fueled by the chants.
This was Noxus' day and it was only just beginning.
The doors to Garen's cell opened, him raising his head after hearing heavy footsteps. An entire unit of Trifarian Legionnaires was here to escort him to his death. They secured his limbs first as two removed his chains, the rest of them with weapons pointed at his head, heart and other vital organs. As soon as the shackles were off, they immediately slapped heavier ones on his hands and feet and put a bag over his face, leading him out of the cell. He could hear the crowds already, even through the thick granite walls.
On the other side of the prison, Irelia was slowly being dragged to her feet by her runic chains, the guards keeping their weapons on her neck. Putting a bag over her head as well, they led her out of the corridor. She focused her mind, still keeping a grip on her shard; it was tiny and hidden under her circlet, but she was surrounded and bound. Without her crest, it would be impossible to fight her way to freedom. She only had one shot, but her mind was slowly coming to the realization that it would be the last shot she would take. She had to make it count.
The prisoners were led to the plaza, hearing the crowds more clearly now, all of their sneer, hatred, pride and joy. They were both surprised they weren't pelted with anything, but Swain had forbidden throwing of objects at the prisoners until after their heads rolled off their bodies; he couldn't completely deny them satisfaction as it wasn't beneficial to anyone. He wouldn't admit it even to himself, but a part of him would throw an orange at both their carcasses.
Their bags were taken off, letting them see everything; the people, the walls, the skies and their captors. After taking it all in, they turned, seeing each other for the first time. Garen saw the woman's eyes, filled with strength, courage, will and a tinge of curiosity. Irelia saw the man's tenacity, determination, pride and a little hope, its light tiny but bright in his. They were forced to kneel by their captors, both their necks on worn, cracking wooden posts stained with dry blood. The metal joints clanged shut, securing their necks in place while the guards chained them down for extra insurance. Garen's vision was shadowed by a large visage, one he recognized all too well.
"It seems you have won, Darius. Congratulations." He simply said to his rival. Darius scoffed, hefting his axe.
"No. It was not my victory. If it was, you'd not be kneeling and your head would already be rolling off your shoulders. This victory… belongs to Noxus." He spoke the truth. If there was one thing he learned from fighting him, it was that he always meant what he said. Garen heard the disappointment in his words and understood it. When they first met on the battlefield on the northern border, they matched each other perfectly. Unlike Katarina, who usually turned tail when a fight was going south for her, Darius got back up. In the end, neither of them relented to the other. They loathed admitting it, but they found respect for each other that day. Now it seemed so distant, unsettled and cast aside in the wake of Noxus' 'victory'. Garen turned to his fellow captive, her eyes focused on Swain, burning with cold fury not unlike Shyvana's or Fiora's. There was something else there, however. Bitterness… judgment… condemnation… it was difficult to tell.
"Who is she?" Something prompted him to ask, unsure whether it was curiosity or a simple request.
"She's a dead woman." Garen turned to Darius, disgust and disapproval meeting deadpan and dour.
"Consider it my last request." He said half-joking.
"Noxus doesn't honor last requests."
"I wasn't asking Noxus." Something in that sentence got to Darius. Garen saw it in his eyes. He gave him a moment. Darius was a man who rarely thought of himself most of the time. He considered it a form of strength… for Noxus.
"She's one of the more famed figures of recent Ionian history." Darius relented, keeping the fact that he did it out of respect to himself.
"At the climax of the Noxus-Ionia war, she rallied the Ionian forces at their most holy site, called the Placidium. She fought Swain, cut off his arm and drove the invasion back almost single-handedly." Darius pointed his eyes towards the Grand General. Garen on the other hand, looked at Irelia, a young woman close to his age and yet so determined, decorated and dedicated to her home.
"Very much like you, Crownguard." As if reading his mind, Darius finished his thought. He turned back to him, his axe's blade at his own feet scraping the granite, as if being honed by it.
"Fitting you two share the same fate at the hands and eyes of Noxus." He finished. Swain turned to Darius, signaling the beginning of the end for the symbols of their rivals. The guards went on full alert, weapons at the ready. The crowd fell silent as Swain walked before the prisoners.
"I will grant you both one final decision. Who will go first?" He asked them. Irelia looked at Garen, who kept looking at his captors. She thought fast; should she risk it and go first or let the Demacian do it? He didn't know of her plan to fight and kill as many of them as possible. He beat her to it, however.
"I will." He answered without turning to face her, bowing his head and exposing his neck. She readjusted her plan, the small unnoticeable blade shard shimmering to life, awoken by her will. Her mind turned to her fellow captive, however; what were his thoughts? Would he fight with her? Would he even have the will to break out of his bonds? Would they stand together or fall divided? She felt her grip on the shard loosen and immediately tightened it, steeling herself for one last dance in the mortal world.
Garen prepared himself as Darius loomed over him, slowly lifting his axe. His mind drifted far away from this place, to a place of green hills, fertile grasslands filled with crops, trees ready to bear fruit and rivers flowing slowly towards the great blue ocean. He thought of the commoners, pillars upon which Demacia was built, working the fields, picking crops and living their lives in peace. He thought of the children running around in the fields and streets, pretending to be one of the famed heroes of Demacian history and hearing stories of them. His thoughts turned to the capital, to parades celebrating Demacian holidays and current heroes to busy markets on a sunny day. He found himself on the steps of the Citadel of Dawn, where his friend and soon-to-be-king Jarvan IV welcomed with a hearty hug, taking him in where he found many, including his parents and the Seneschal welcoming him with pride and joy. He looked up to the throne, seeing King Jarvan III extend his arm. A glint of light and they were all gone; he was back in High Silvermere at the Crownguard estate, the commoners and servants living there welcoming him home. He walked to the entrance, seeing a lone figure at the entryway, shimmering with golden light although the sun's rays were nowhere near it. The figure's hair came into view, its golden locks loose on her shoulders. Her face revealed a warm smile and eyes brighter than the sun itself. His sister's arms spread, inviting him for a hug, something rarely shared among both of them. He didn't care, however, and went straight for it, arms around her, her hair brushing against his chin. He was home… truly home.
Darius saw his rival's eyes close and face change to that of content and peace. He rarely saw these kinds of faces in his enemies, never truly understanding how they accepted their fates that their mistakes led them on instead of correcting them. Perhaps he never would. It did not stop him from wanting to know, though. His axe was fully above his head, casting a looming shadow behind him. He looked to Swain, who nodded.
It felt like a long deep breath, freeing them of the world's troubles and trials. The silence gave way to serenity, the clouds parting slightly to allow one tiny ray of light to shine on the dais. The axe swung; a glint reflecting of its honed edge and into the crowd's eyes. Garen breathed out, letting his sister's warmth wash over him one last time.
And then, he opened his eyes.
The shard was fast and unnoticeable. It flew past Swain's vigil, not even a whisper of a wind to mark its presence and struck Darius in the exposed chink in his armor under his belly. He staggered, making his axe swing wide and into Garen's shackles, shattering them. Time slowed down for him, the illusion of Demacia and his closest ones cleared and his swaying executioner right in front of him. The feeling of freedom took hold of his hands, then his neck and finally his mind. His will returned. His hope returned.
With a heave of sudden might and a few precise motions, he broke loose the chains binding his feet and the wooden post binding his neck. Before Darius could recover, Garen threw the chains around his neck and arms, breaking his hold on his axe, grabbing it and putting the sharp end on his neck. Before Swain could react, the crowds were in an uproar, the legionnaires struggling to figure out what is happening, much less keep them at bay. The archers were at the ready, but their general having an axe to his throat and his captor positioning him in front of their arrows made it difficult to get a clean shot. From the high stands, Draven was already out of his seat, grabbing his axes and rushing down the stairs.
"Draven! Dammit, not now… What are you looking at, peasant?! Get after him! I'm going down the roof." Barking out orders at Tamara, who had no time to retort, Katarina jumped from the stand, navigating through the rooftop hoping to get to a better position in time. Darius was in a bad spot and Swain, no thanks to his policies of not having an escort in order to display his strength, was completely exposed. Who knew what other tricks that blade witch had in mind, but her mind was strangely on Garen, hoping he wouldn't make a bad move. Part of it reminded her he already made the worst move possible in that situation, but she ignored it and kept going.
Garen scanned his environment; the only exits that were unblocked were the two leading back towards the prison. Swain was holding back, but his demonic hand flared ever so slightly, ready to blast them. A grunt came from beneath them; the Ionian woman was trying to get his attention, her eyes pointing to the runic bind on her head. Edging near her, he lifted the circlet with his free hand. The moment it was off, Irelia felt her strength return. She slowly dug the shard out of Darius' flesh, slicing the runic cuffs that held her like paper. She rose up and stood ready beside her Demacian ally. They shared a look, Garen conveying gratitude and Irelia telling him their lives are still hanging on a thin thread. Darius' mind finally recovered from his failure and sought to fight. He loosened the chains on his that they exposed his mouth enough to speak.
"STOP STARING, YOU IDIOTS! FIRE!" Garen covered his mouth with the chain, but the order was out. Swain moved out of the way, silently praying the archers' aim was true. They came from all sides, sharp lines blotting out the sky plummeting down on them. Irelia breathed in, steadying her mind; her body felt the wind being pierced by the arrowheads, sensing their trajectory. She waited until they were close, the moment right for her motion and reach. Eyes up and open, she guided the shard perfectly across the air, slicing the arrowheads in one fluid motion, feeling the aimless wooden sticks fall to the ground. Garen watched in awe, marveling at her skill, although his lawful part reminded him this was some form of sorcery. He silenced it forcefully, gratefulness overcoming tradition. The last three arrows, however, escaped her shard's path, heading straight for Garen's neck. She turned to warn him, but he reacted faster, moving Darius' massive pauldron in the way, the arrows bouncing off harmlessly. Irelia silently thanked the Spirit for giving her a worthy ally. They were still surrounded, but they would either be free or take as many of them as they could with them to the next world.
"Reload!" Swain gave the order, the archers loading a second salvo in seemingly practiced unison. The crowds were growing restless; some of them trying to get to the prisoners while other screamed for them to die, let their general go and other profanities. Through them, Draven shoved his way through, trying to reach the dais; the first salvo was lucky, but Noxians are Noxians. Strength is all that matters to them and his brother was no different. He would die by his soldiers' own hands if it meant pulling the execution off. Images of his corpse flashed across Draven's mind, littered with arrows, a torn cape at his back and a broken axe gripped by his lifeless hand. He started shoving harder, hope and despair melding together inside him, spurring him to get there before the second salvo was fired. The archers' bows and crossbows were strung, arrows at the ready. Irelia steeled herself for another deflect while Garen tightened his grip on the chains, hoping to use Darius as a shield. Swain readied his eldritch magic; once the salvo was fired and the blade witch distracted, he would launch his demonic wave at Darius and pull him out of Garen's hold, hopefully unharmed any further. It seemed today, however, that even his own chess pieces worked against him.
Draven leapt over the legionnaires, throwing one of his axes at Irelia, who barely dodged it. She saw the other coming a little too late, however, raising her arms in futility. A loud clang and pain-filled groan made her lower them, seeing her ally move his captive into the axe's path, its edge striking and shattering his other pauldron. It was now or never; he looked to the prison entrance and then back to her. She glanced at the entrance, understanding his intent and nodded in agreement. The axe that hit his brother's pauldron was now slowly twirling towards Draven, who preparing to catch it. It gave Irelia the opening she needed; she directed her shard, hurling it with lightning speed towards Draven's left leg, kneecapping him and making him trip and drop the axe. The archers were at a complete loss, having too many important people caught in the crossfire. Swain silently cursed the buffoon for foiling his plan, making him drop his guard for a moment, which Garen noticed. With a swift motion, he unfurled the chains from Darius and shoved him towards Swain, opening the crucial window in this suffocating confusion for them to escape. He and Irelia dashed away into the prison entrance, dodging and deflecting the occasional arrow. Making sure Darius was able to move, Swain wasted no time with his frustrations on his brother.
"You imbecile. I had a plan. All these years and you still act like everything revolves around you." He would've raised his voice further, but appearances had to be maintained even now. Draven just scoffed, making sure his brother's injury wasn't too serious.
"You're welcome." He said, the light disdain in his voice not going unnoticed by both of them.
"Enough! We need to lock down all escapes and establish a perimeter around the city. They cannot be allowed to escape. The citizens will help. Their posters are in every tavern, home and wall. They won't get far, but we need to contain this now." Darius found himself being the voice of reason, a fact he was getting used to being between his brother and his general. This was the worst time for it, however, and they needed their heads back in the game, especially Swain.
"What a mess… How did that bitch even-! Nevermind. I'm taking a platoon and covering the south-west exit." Ignoring the pain in his leg, Draven signaled Tamara's squad which just came in, speeding out at the lead with them following. Darius grabbed his axe, his rage-tightened grip nearly bending the iron handle.
"No." Swain stopped him, knowing immediately that he wanted to follow them down the entrance.
"I can't let them get away, Jericho."
"We won't. They'll slip up, just like we did. Patience, Darius. I have a feeling the girl will soon be coming to us." Swain turned around, heading through the crowds towards the Immortal Bastion.
Garen and Irelia came to a halt in an isolated supply room, catching their breath. They looked at one another, unsure of what to say; it had been easier in the heat of battle for them to understand each other, but now they weren't even sure they spoke each other's language. Garen was suddenly grateful for the language lessons Lux made him attend with Xin Zhao.
"Thank you." He spoke, Xin's thick Raikkon accent imprinting itself in his speech. Irelia's surprise was hard to mask.
"You… speak Ionian?"
"Some of it, yes. It's mostly the basics… like conversation starters, metaphors, idioms… those sorts of things." Garen explained.
"My name is Garen." He introduced himself.
"Gay-ren?"
"No no no… Ga-ren. It's just like it sounds. Try it." He encouraged her. They were having a pronunciation lesson in the middle of escaping from the capital of one the most warlike, unforgiving and brutal empire on Runeterra. The absurdness of the situation was not lost on him.
"Ga-ren. Huh… it feels weird, but easy to say. Ga-ren. Gaaaaa-ren." She was already having fun with it. He didn't know whether to be insulted or happy.
"I'm Irelia. It's pronounced Aye-"
"I'm honored to meet you, Irelia." He made the Ionian courtesy bow and pronounced her name perfectly. Irelia was jealous, but more curious as to how he knew Ionian customs. Luckily, she remembered there were more important things to worry about.
"Right. Well, now that that's out of the way, why did you lead us down here?"
"There is a high probability this prison has more exits than one."
"What makes you say that?"
"They put bags over our heads, didn't they? Noxians don't take chances with prisoners. They must not have wanted us seeing our surroundings before our executions, meaning…"
"One of those hallways outside leads to the city. Well, that's step one. What's step two?"
"Honestly, I'm making this up as I go. This is my first time here and I have to say, not one of my top vacation spots." Garen cracked a half-joke. Irelia, however, had something in mind for step two.
"Well, once you're done sightseeing, the city's lockdown will catch up to you. Your only way out is the harbor. It's the only thing open for trade with our execution in the process. If you're quick, careful and lucky, you can stowaway on one of the ships bound for either Freljord or that other city in the south, what was its name... Piltover." She said with ears perked for any sounds from outside.
"Wait, what are you going to do? Don't tell me you plan to die fighting here."
"What's it to you?" She asked, half-miffed and half-earnest. Garen had neither an answer nor a justification. The question just came out of him.
"Anyway, I need to get to the building with the three triangle towers."
"The Immortal Bastion? Are you insane? That's the seat of power in Noxus. Everyone will be there, armed with everything."
"I know, but my weapon is there. I need my blades back. They're… the only things I have left."
"…Seriously?! For a few blades?" He couldn't believe that he was hearing she was willing to march into the Immortal Bastion for such a mundane motive. Her angry look made him pause, however.
"They aren't just blades, Demacian. They're all I have of my family. I'm going to the Bastion. You can't convince me to back out, so stop trying." Her cold fury cut through his logic, making him give up, something he wasn't used to. Then again, he had never seen a true Ionian, much less talked to one. He didn't know how they thought or felt.
"Fine. But say you somehow miraculously retrieve your weapon. What happens then? How will you get out?"
"I don't know. I'm making this up as I go."
"… That's not funny."
"Oh, so it's only funny when you say it?"
"That's not what I meant by- Fine! I got it. I get to the ships and you die in glorious combat against Noxus. Sounds like a plan… of some alien sort. But we first need to escape without being seen. And I think I've got an idea." He spoke as they heard two pairs of heavy metal footsteps approach. Luck was on their side today as they were male and female. Irelia quickly grasped his plan and waited until the soldiers were close enough. Once they opened the door, the duo quickly and swiftly ambushed them, Garen knocking out the female through her helmet with a single punch while Irelia sliced through the male's exposed tendons, cold-clocking him with her knee. After making sure their armor was the right size, they stashed the unconscious guards behind one of the heavy racks.
"Ow. Not only is their armor tough on bone, it's pointlessly heavy too." She spoke, barely able to keep her balance with all the extra weight on her. Garen moved effortlessly in his, making sure everything was strapped on tight.
"We better swap out helmets. Don't want them seeing our faces before we even get a chance to escape." He said, handing Irelia a masked helmet. She groaned as she put it on, the mask smelling of sweat and flies.
"Seriously… don't they wash these things? And how is your fist not injured from the metal? I think I almost broke my knee on that damn head of his." She pointed to the guard.
"Training. Lots of training." He shrugged. They scanned the halls, hearing another patrol coming by.
"All right. Here's the plan."
"All exits are blocked, Draven. No way are they getting out without being spotted." Tamare informed the Executioner. He twirled his axes impatiently.
"Which means they're planning to ambush us down there. They would've had some time to study the layout, though. We gotta do this with style. I can only fight in a more open space, however. Tam, have your squad clear a hallway for me to fight in once we confirm their location and headings. I need a clear shot." He was being focused and serious, a change Tamara was not used to. Darius being taken hostage like that must have shaken him. It certainly shook her. She followed the orders without her usual snark. From down the hallway, two legionnaires appeared and saluted.
"Report."
"Sir, they're in the northeast wing, last spotted in a supply room. All other platoons have been alerted to their location and are gathering there now, surrounding them and awaiting your orders."
"Good work. Stay here with Tam. The rest of you, with me."
"Sir, what about the girl's weapon? We heard she was a mage and may have more of those hidden blades on her." The other one asked.
"Pffft. Don't worry about it. The girl's crest is in the chamber of the Trifarix in the center of the Bastion. She won't be getting it." He scoffed, heading into the prison.
The legionnaires saluted as they and Tamara watched them go. They reached the supply room, the other squads covering every exit and hallway.
"They're in there. We think they might've barricaded themselves, but we can't be sure. They're definitely armored and armed. What do we do, Executioner?" One of the legionnaires briefed him. Draven knew behind that door was an ambush waiting to be sprung, but who would be caught in it was up to him.
"Once that door opens, move out of the way. I'll toss an axe at it to give you enough room to maneuver, but we have to rush them. It's the only option we and they got. On my mark…" Draven readied his axe, while the legionnaires readied their weapons and repositioned themselves. One shot was all it would take, but they had to make it count.
"Go!" At his command, they knocked the door down, Draven throwing his axe with enough force to shatter granite inside. It embedded itself in the wall while the legionnaires rushed inside. There was a moment of silence as they scanned the room.
"There's no one here!" That sentence churned his stomach; where were they?
"Wait! Behind the racks." The legionnaires spotted their fellow guards tied and unconscious. One look at their missing armor was it took for Draven to realize it, horror dawning on his face.
"Ta-Tamara!" He rushed past the guards back to the entrance. From the distance, he saw her body on the floor, his mind assuming the worst and yelling at him that it was his fault. He reached her, turning her over. She was only out cold, lifting the weight of his stomach and mind. Another dropped on them, however; the prisoners were out in the city, amongst the crowds wearing disguises. A groan snapped him back.
"Those… bastards… they were-" She struggled to say, but he shushed her.
"I know. Sorry, Tam."
"You… better be… Ow…"
"Stay still, all right? You, inform my brother. The prisoners are out into the city, wearing disguises. Put everyone on the exits. Have them send troops to the harbor. It's one of the only ways out of the city. Move!" He barked at a guard, who rushed out. Draven helped the woozy warmason on her feet, her face clear almost clear of pain and starting to fill with anger.
"We gotta get after them."
"Agreed. Together, this time."
The city was still in turmoil, people in the streets searching for any sign of the fugitives. Posters were being handed out to the citizenry while guards were scrambling about the walls. Through the masses, two figures blended in, taking a poster as to not look suspicious and following the crowds. Irelia spotted an isolated alley with no windows facing it and plenty of cover from the street and motioned Garen into it. They took off their helmets, Irelia glad to breathing fresh air again although the armor still weighted on her.
"Not bad, Demacian. From the looks of things, we're near the center of the city. The harbor is northeast of here." She surmised, eyes cast towards the Bastion looming over the city. She turned to her ally one last time.
"This is the last time we will speak, Garen. You should go. Get to the harbor, find a ship and get yourself on it somehow. I can handle it from here. Thank you for everything." She moved to leave, but Garen grabbed her by the hand.
"Are you sure about this? Do those blades mean that much to you?" It was an honest question, but filled with fading hope that she will answer differently than before.
"They mean everything." The least she could do was return an honest answer. He hesitated yet again, Irelia kneeling beside him.
"This is my choice. Please, Garen. I need to get to the Bastion." Her eyes locked with his, conveying her emotions as much as he could understand. He closed his with frustration, but opened them with resignation.
"Good luck, then."
"You need it more than me." She stood up, facing the alley's northern exit. She smiled at him before putting on her helmet.
"Farewell, Garen of Demacia."
"Farewell, Irelia of Ionia."
She blended into the crowd perfectly, following a street to the Bastion. Garen breathed in before putting on his helmet and leaving.
The streets were bustling, tension and mistrust at a risk of breaking out. Noxians' wills were tough, but this recent debacle was testing their limits. It was easy for Garen to maneuver through the districts and locate the one leading to the docks. Passing through the tall black gates, he reached the harbor; it was busier than the whole city put together, with merchants offloading wares from almost every corner of the empire. There were things there he would never have thought to have seen of Noxus; art, pottery, supplies in droves, exotic fruits and vegetables and even a few bits of Piltovian technology, although they weren't functioning. The docks were separated into various districts, with different crests marking them. He recognized the Freljordian armor crest, the Piltovian gear crest and another one with a serpent coiling around a blade, no doubt the Bilgewatian crest. A lot of their ships were getting ready to set sail, the ocean welcoming them almost as much as tempting him. Freedom was his, but he had to reach carefully for it lest his hand gets cut off.
He turned looking at the Bastion, its shadow looming over the entire city, promising only death for him should he turn around. There was nothing left for him back there and those ships only offered a small window, especially the Piltovian and Freljordian ones. Doubt and hesitation gripped him; why did he want to return? She chose this, she said so herself. Horns sounded off from the Bastion, calling all guards back. It was her. No doubt about it. This was his opportunity to escape. There was no more hope for her…
He started running towards the Bastion, his mind using every synonym for the word 'idiot' on him, his heart quietly smiling in content.
Irelia ascended the steps of the Immortal Bastion along with a squad of Noxians she joined, luck being with her as their route took them through the castle. She passed the walls, wincing slightly at the shadowy and oppressive architecture; even when building things, Noxians were truly merciless, both in their construction methods and their designs. There was only form and function for them; no senses, no heart, no soul… She snapped back, her body inside the massive structure, with more rooms, halls and stairs draped with flags styled with the Noxian symbol of strength, their very emblem that represented dread to her and her people and the adversities they had to overcome. It was all around her now, its ruthless gaze reminding her that she does not belong here and she should leave lest she dies. Bravery had been her greatest attribute, however, and she looked back the blackened eyes in defiance, just like she did all those years ago. She searched for the stairway leading up the tower to the center circle of the Bastion, where she felt something calling out to her. It was feint and muffled by some form of magic, but she recognized its shimmers, its warmth and its caress.
'Just like O-ma's… Hold on. I'm on my way.' She hoped the message would be conveyed to her family as she headed for the source of the shimmers in her mind; the Xan family crest, one of the deadliest weapons in Ionia and the symbol of Ionian defiance, will and grace. Evading the guards in plain sight was easy, but climbing the stairs in the armor she was wearing was not; she had to stop to take a breath every few minutes, usually out of sight as to not arouse suspicion. She finally reached a massive black door, the Noxian crest marking the first line of defense she had to overcome. Behind this door was her crest, all that was left of her family apart from her memories of them. The door stared back at her, as if asking was it truly worth her life. Irelia thought not of her family, for they were already so close. Neither did she think of what else could be behind that door. Her thoughts were of Garen, wondering if the Demacian made it. He seemed stubborn, if not determined. A small part of her wished they had more time to talk; his was the only friendly face among thousands of soulless demons. It didn't matter anymore. Her crest was waiting. Her family was waiting. Her soul was waiting.
She took off the armor, pieces falling to the ground with loud clangs, as if cleansing her of filth. The smelly helmet certainly needed it. She breathed in the fresh air, taking in freedom for what seemed like the second last time today. The small blade shard floated to her side, ready to take its master home or accompany her to the next world and to her family. She breathed out and pushed the gates open, as if the breath itself blew them open.
Swain stood in the room' center, his legionnaires in formation in front of him and the Xan crest bound in crimson sorcerous chains behind him.
"Welcome, little blade witch. We've been expecting you."
Katarina stalked the rooftops, her lithe steps and jumps carrying her through breezes, gaps and noisy alleys. She received information a few minutes ago that the prisoners are wearing disguises. Looking down to the streets, she searched for even the slightest suspicion in any of the guards. She inspected the harbor first; that's where he'd- they'd go. She couldn't get it out of her head, that small human part of her hoping he was alone, hoping they would end up in the dark together. The assassin part of her told her he was nothing more than an enemy of Noxus. He had chosen his side. Both parts agreed that even if they should find themselves in the dark together again, he would try and drag her out in the light. They always crossed, but they always pulled in different directions, thinking that it was the best for the other. Her thoughts gave way to reason when she spotted a lone guard walking towards the southwestern watchtowers. Noxian guards were in uproar and struggling to get their bearings straight. This one walked with a purpose. It had to be him. She followed, staying out of sight, behind any light and against the wind. She couldn't risk anything… at least until she faced him.
Garen walked towards the stairs of the watchtower; the trebuchet at the top was crucial to his would-be plan. Reaching the top, he was confronted by the crew.
"What news from below, guardsman? Why are you alone?" One of them, no more than eighteen years old, asked him. Garen didn't want to hurt the boy, but the realities of war and the consequences of his choice reminded him to stay the course. He knocked him out with an uppercut, grabbing his iron mace and throwing it at another crew member who reached for his horn, knocking him out as well. The last two members, twin girls not any older than the boy, rushed him, their blades out and screaming as loud as they could part to distract Garen and part to alert anyone close enough to listen. Garen grabbed them by their throats, ducking beneath their swipes and slamming them as hard as he could to the ground. Delivering a swift kick to each of their chins, he looked to the loading mechanism of the trebuchet; it was oiled up and well-maintained. Part of him was grateful for Noxian attention to details when it came to war. After checking below the hatch for anyone hearing the commotion, he began pushing the massive catapult to face the Bastion's center structure, a small triangle connecting the three immense pillars together. It was meant to symbolize the unity of the Three Principles of Strength, but more importantly it was the also the location of the chamber of the Trifarix. The logical part of his mind flared to life; what guarantee did have he wouldn't hit the Ionian? What would happen afterward if he inexplicably hit the mark he intended? How would she know what to expect? What was the point of coming back for her?
He silenced it and lifted one of the heavier boulders, carrying it on his back. Loading it on the sling, he drew back the mechanism, the sling completely pulled back and the trebuchet aimed at the center. He took off a gauntlet, feeling the wind in his hand. Before he could act any further, a small shift in the shadows behind him alerted him. He didn't even need to turn to know.
It was her.
"I'm surprised you didn't find me sooner." He put his gauntlet back on, facing the redheaded assassin, taking the boy's polearm to substitute his sword.
"What are you doing back here, Garen? The harbor's that way." Katarina brushed a loose strand of hair of her face, her blades drawn at her side. She didn't spot the Ionian anywhere. Taking a look at the trebuchet's aim, she scoffed at the assumed notion.
"Are you kidding me? One last strike against your enemies? Come on. You're… smarter… than this…" The realization slowly dawned on her; the Ionian bitch was inside the Bastion. Her weapon was there. Something else flared up inside her.
"You came back to help her?" It ignited a strange feeling inside her, a feeling that was distracting her. She was having a hard time silencing it and focusing on him.
"We're escaping. You're welcome to join us or to try and stop us." That sentence only threw oil on the fire. She raised her daggers, readying herself. Garen took his stance as well.
"After everything you did? Are you serious?"
"No, but it was worth a shot." He charged first, Katarina barely dodging the thrust. Grabbing the polearm, she used his own strength to propel herself in the air, aiming for his neck. He grabbed her right arm, spun around and slammed her into the ground. She leapt away immediately, ready to strike again.
"You ever not gonna go for that move?" He taunted.
'Good. I need you overconfident.' She thought, making a grimace to mask her intentions. It was time to use it. She dashed towards him; Garen recognized this move as well. It was a special technique that only she could; a lightning fast blink in an unpredictable spot, aided by her enchanted daggers.
'Why is she taking that risk…? Unless…' He noticed the dagger beneath him too late, a dagger she slipped when he was keeping his eyes on her during her initial strike. Katarina blinked to his right, going for his tendon. He moved the polearm just in time to deflect the dagger, but the foot to his chin went unchallenged, staggering him. She blinked away again, ready to attack.
"You've gotten slower, Garen. Usually that leg would've been caught." Now came the slow disarming. He was distracted by something, that something probably being his plans going to hell. It was another tool for her arsenal against him, however… and it took a colossal arsenal to bring someone like Garen down.
"Maybe I have, maybe you've gotten faster. Maybe I don't care." He said, already recovered from the blow. It frustrated her how quickly he healed. She had no time to be angrier as he charged her again, polearm swinging low. She leapt over the swing only to be brought face first into his fist, knocking her to the ground. She got up yet again, but Garen lowered his guard.
"Katarina, let me go. We can either settle this with words or I can beat you into unconsciousness. Your choice." That was the last straw. She was done trying to save him.
"You threaten me in my own city? Ok, I'll humor you. What does a lone Demacian in a city of Noxians armed to the teeth thinks he can do to me?"
"Noxians, one Demacian and one Ionian. Be careful with your words."
"No. I'm done with them." She lunged at him again, blinking behind him going for his neck. A swift elbow to her gut stopped that plan, Garen continuing his offensive and swiping at her. She kept moving back until she was against the stone slabs, the streets beneath inviting her to death. As he swiped, she vaulted over him, putting a scratch on his cheek but receiving a blow from the polearm's handle to her hip as a result. Before she could even begin to rise, he was charging her; she remember how fast he could be and scrambled to get to her feet, but Garen reached her first, swinging an uppercut strike with his polearm. She had no time to dodge and brought her daggers up; they only shattered against the swing, the shards scratching her hands and the force of the blow knocking her back against another slab.
"Enough, Katarina! We're done. Either move out of my way or I will shove you out." There was steel in his voice sharper than anything in her arsenal. He always made good on his promises, even if he didn't say the words. Words… questions… were they all that were left between them?
"Why did you come back?" It made him pause. Did she honestly want to know? Was she stalling for something? Taking a breath? It was his turn to humor her.
"I don't know." Same answer, different context. Rage turned to pain inside her. He didn't know… but she did. It's who he was, who he would always be. She was just another soul that needed his help, both that time and now. He offered it freely, but he wasn't a fool. He knew when someone didn't want it… and when someone didn't know the difference between kindness and pity.
"I tried, Katarina. By the gods, I tried… but we have too much between us."
"Like what? Your country that's in turmoil because of the foolish laws you follow and enforce? Your Demacian pride that's shoving your head so far up your glimmering ass you can't see anything? Your petricite tower which protects you from the dregs beneath you, clamoring for the scraps you throw at them, calling it mercy?" The pain gave way to strength, pushing her on her feet one last time. He paused, every single accusation in that sentence hitting its mark. He didn't want to believe it, but deep down he knew; Demacia was far from perfect. The laws were meant to protect them from themselves, but they only succeeded in dividing them. Their pride was meant to be a source of strength, unity and courage, but it only pushed those they tried to help out. Their walls were meant to protect them, but they imprisoned them. Nothing was perfect there…
… And that's why they had to do something about it. That's why he had to do something about it.
"You're right. The laws aren't perfect. They are still heavy stones, unable to be moved by anything and easily cracked by anyone with a whim. But I believe they can one day be diamonds, solid and shaped perfectly by the unison of my people… of all Demacians." Hope started out a small spark, a tiny light in the endless dark. And then… it grew…
"The laws aren't perfect and maybe they never will be, but that is no excuse for us not to strive to make them such." He removed his helmet.
"Our pride has made us tough, but brittle. I was, and maybe still am, the best example of that. I believed through and through that we stood united because of it. Over the years, it has turned us blind to the real problems plaguing our kingdom. It made us ignorant to the problems of those we were trying to protect." He looked to the skies.
"Our pride should make all Demacians equals, not separate us into castes." He turned to her.
"Our walls kept our eyes closed to the outside world, to its troubles. They kept us safe, but also sleeping, drowsy and oblivious. The petricite kept the magic at bay…" He hesitated; his mind couldn't believe the words that were forming after that sentence, but his heart spoke something else after seeing Irelia's skill, intent and will with one small shard, her human instinct and a simple wish to recover what was rightfully hers. He realized what the laws of Demacia were obscuring.
"… but not all magic is evil." Though he couldn't fully believe them, he spoke them either way. His convictions turned to another target, however, one that was still having a hard time finding her solid feet.
"I have known her for only a few hours, the briefest glimpses of her true self, and I know she is a mage, but I would trust the Ionian more than I would trust you, an assassin dedicated to an empire that knows only hunger and blood, that only takes and pretends it belongs to them, that masks its stolen cultures with illusions of inclusiveness and merit, rewarding dedication by bleeding you dry even more until you are nothing but bones for its drakehounds. This is my choice, Katarina. What is yours?" The way stood there, eclipsing her, his expression stoic and judging her actions awoke a deep buried memory of her father. It was another sore spot for her, even if Garen didn't know it. It was also her breaking point.
"Oh, just put a lid on it already! What do you know of Noxus, huh? We weren't born in a nurturing land, rich mountains and fertile fields. We weren't born friends or raised with ideals while having our faces stuffed with food and drinks. The steppes forced to either kill and eat or get killed and be eaten. Our enemies rode down the slow and gave up on the fast. Don't you get it?! There were always only two choices for us. There was no time to make peace with yourself or your family while you're busy trying not to die. We earned our place on this putrid planet, unlike you and that Ionian whore, born with gifts and raised into greatness by the very lands you now protect and kill for. But it didn't stop there. OF COURSE IT DIDN'T! We turned into our enemies, realizing their strength was now ours. We had taken what we killed, put it to better use that they did, for all those that participated, that joined us. Others began calling us monsters, but we were more human than all of them, the weaklings, the frail and the fearful. We kept fighting, forging and pushing until we began shaping our own fates. AND GUESS WHAT?! We were still monsters in their eyes. Nothing but 'bones for the drakehounds', huh? Drakehounds are more useful to Noxus than bones, Garen. But everyone that defied us now serves us because we have earned their respect and their loyalty. We had to show them strength… because there was no. OTHER! WAY!" Everything that had been building up since she met him, every tiny fraction of judgment and every single fracture between them was now out of her, her soul flaring in her eyes and fists, her heart thumping in her ears and blood rushing freely throughout her unhindered. She looked into his eyes in defiance…
… and got only stoicism in return.
"Did you ever ask nicely?" He responded. Katarina's anger turned into confusion; was he mocking her, after everything she said?
"Wh-What are y-?"
"Did you ever ask for help?" It stood there, floating in the air, turning it volatile. One single spark from either of them was all it would take.
"It never even crossed your mind, did it? Back in the ravine, if I hadn't offered to patch you up, would you have asked me to help?" He looked at her. Her mind now went blank. She just stared at him, a lost soul not knowing where she is. Now his kindness turned to pity.
"Even the mightiest human warrior can starve to death, bleed out from an unseen cut or succumb to an infected, untended wound. We are not invulnerable, Katarina. Noxus is not invulnerable nor is it eternal. It is just another empire in Runeterra's history. It will either crumble or disband with only books, stories and myths to keep it from dying completely. Demacia is also just another kingdom, made from mortals, by mortals and for mortals. It was not made to last, no matter how many of us wish it so. Same goes for you and me. We are human. We are not the stars, the great Aspects of Targon or the legendary Ascended. Our stories may be told, some true while others embellished, but make no mistake… we will die. What matters is how we treat each other now, in the briefest moments of our lives being together. And that, Katarina, is what someone like you will never understand. That is what an empire like Noxus will never learn to do." He said with decisiveness in his voice, signaled by him putting his helmet back on. A red glint of power shimmered from the center structure of the Bastion. It was now or never. He ignored her and moved to the firing mechanism. Katarina regained the tiniest part of her senses and instinctively drew another pair of daggers, lunging at him.
"Do you know when an assassin is most vulnerable, Katarina?" He asked, her furious scream muffling most of the question. She leapt over him, one dagger thrown at his right knee while the other went for his jugular. He dodged the first one and effortlessly caught the other, disarming her and holding her by her wrists. He stomped on her left foot to keep her from squirming and looked her in the eyes one last time.
"When they become predictable." Answering her question, he slammed her head against the wood, knocking her out for good. Lowering her to the ground, he felt the wind a second time. It was perfect, giving him hope that his aim and the moment would be as well. Without further hesitation, he pulled the lever and launched the boulder.
Irelia clenched her fists, focusing the fires inside her soul into the shape of a sleek, curved blade, cooled by her love for her home, her family and her people. The shard turned towards her adversaries, its sharpest tip pointed towards Swain's head.
"I knew you would find your way here. It called to you, didn't it? I felt its strange magic even as you were separated by a mile from it." He touched the chains, feeling the weapon's shimmers through them. He felt something else as well; a buried memory of a long-forgotten failure, when he was younger and more eager to prove himself to fools who would never acknowledge his deeds. It was fading now, his accomplishments recognized by Noxus itself, not by fallible human rulers. Now those accomplishments were being challenged by a single emotional, impulsive and dangerous human, the very things he swore would never threaten Noxus, even if it was himself. At this moment, the girl before him threatened to destroy all he had accomplished just by being defiant. He would not allow it.
"Did you really think you would enter here unnoticed? Every single guard knew who you were the moment you crossed that palace gate. They were fortifying every exit, closing and locking every single door after you, making sure you had no escapes. Should you try to run, you will find it a bit more challenging than staying here." He pushed the crest aside and stood ready, his demonic arm flaring with power and his legionnaires pointing their weapons at her.
"Do you remember our conversation, Grand General? Back in the dungeon, where I was shackled and you loomed over me, proud and triumphant?" She asked him, a sly smile on her face. Swain steeled himself.
"Shall I remind you? You told me strength is pure will and the ability to do what is necessary. I told you, you would never know its true meaning. But then again, you never did let me explain and I didn't have the words for you then." She closed her eyes, her face tranquil and focused.
"Allow me try again… in a way you'll understand."
A single flicker of light was all Swain and the legionnaires could register from the shard as it sped past their spears and through their shield formation's chinks. Two fell at first, their throats sliced open, blood pouring out from beneath their helmets. They advanced, another two falling before they could even reach her. When their spears were in point's reach, they thrust towards her head and heart. Effortlessly dodging beneath their tips, she swiped her shard at their legs, each hit slicing through the armor and crippling their front lines. When they collapsed, she jumped into the fray, cutting necks, arms, spear tips and their very breath. She twirled through strikes, dodged shield bashes and sidestepped charges. Before long, the entire battalion was at her feet, bleeding out or dead. Her dance was not over yet, however.
"Now then… where were we, General? Ah, yes. Strength." Irelia walked through the groans and corpses, a sharp-talon flame-wreathed phoenix eyeing its prey, a lone raven amongst a field of death. Swain stood unmoved and unfazed by her feats.
"What now, little girl? Are you going to educate me on the subject? Mayhaps try to appeal to my human side, thinking that it will give me compassion? Or is it something else you consider strength? Fighting for your homeland, a people so chaotic they turn on you the moment you disagree with them… or honoring bones of those still whose memories drag you down?" Swain slowly accrued the demon's power through him, the collected memories and secrets empowering his flesh and mind. She kept her pace, as if the proverbial wings on her back were furled for the right moment. She listened, but did not fall for any of his words.
"No, General. It's not any of those things…" She came to a stop a few feet in front of him.
"It's seeing every injustice, corruption, soullessness and ignorance barreling down on you… and standing your ground. It's telling the ones who cannot fight that you will do it for them. It's fighting against all odds and when you fall… you get back up again." She took her stance, readying herself for one final duet with death.
"Bold words, girl…" His body began to change, darkness overtaking him, black wings spreading on his back. His eyes and veins pulsed with blood red light, the demon fully released from within him and melded with his body. His voice uttered one final challenge in an eldritch tone.
"… BUT THEY MUST BE PROVEN!" He raised his hands and blasted her with demonic power, knocking her back. It took almost all of her strength to hold herself on her feet, sliding across the bloodied floor. A brief moment of respite and she dashed with a shout as Swain rose from the ground, absorbing power from the dying soldiers. The shard floated to her side like a feather from a wing and she brought it down on his hands, which erupted with power once again, blocking it effortlessly. Phoenix and Raven clashed talon on talon, ground and wind rattling from their magic.
"Your magic has gotten better, little girl. I wonder if your mind has kept up…" Swain, the demon empowering his vocal chords, questioned his foe. Launching a demonic claw under her feet, he dashed to the right. Irelia recognized the attack, but she also recognized his strategy; he was buying time for himself until he was fully charged. This was just a ruse to get her to keep her distance. She dashed towards him, her magic carrying her through the air and his energy blasts. His claw returned to him, but his plan hit a snag when she sidestepped it and kept swinging the shard at him. He kept firing blast after blast at her, trying to keep her moving. She had grown, both in mind and power. The second he stopped, she moved in closer. He raised his demon hand to block the blow, but it never came.
'The crest!' He barely blasted it from her reach, keeping her away from it. He had hoped it would stall her mentally. Instead she laughed.
"What's the matter, General? Are you afraid?" She was tired, but determined.
"Of course, girl. Only fools fear nothing. And you marched in here without fear to hold you back. Of course I fear you, blade witch. I cannot, after all, predict what a fool would do." He wasn't afraid to speak the truth. Although she was trapped, she was erratic, stubborn and deadly, the worst kind of fool he could encounter. Things usually had a way of crumbling before these types of people no matter how much preparation was done to avoid it. He had to finish this battle quickly. Luckily, his time was almost near.
"It appears I underestimated you. You do know strength…" He fired both a claw and a lightning blast at her, maneuvering her into position. When she was near him, he focused his magic into a single point, summoning a demon eye above them, a bright red light shining out of it and covering the room. Irelia saw it too late, trying to regain her footing and sight. The magic hit her, pain coursing throughout her entire body and sapping her mind. She forced herself to endure it, but before she could move, Swain grabbed her by the throat with his demon hand, making sure his grip was tightened around her larynx. Behind her from the door, a new battalion arrived, blocking her way out should she try to escape, if she could somehow break out of Swain's grasp.
"… but you are too manic to wield it, too weak to control it and too emotional to be prudent with it." He squeezed, but she kept him from piercing or breaking her neck with both her hands and what was left of her will. Even when dead, she refused to stay so. It irritated him. His power was fully charged; it would finally be the end of it. Then they could focus on finding the Demacian. Noxus would have compensation for these insults. He would make sure of it.
"Give my regards to your people when you see them. Farewell, little blade wi-" He gave one last goodbye, but his empowered hearing picked up a whooshing noise from outside the Bastion. It was closing fast… and heading straight for the room. He turned too late; the boulder smashed into the structure, bringing the walls and part of the ceiling down on him. He threw himself out of the way, but the force was too much for him; he was blasted into his troops, his magic going off uncontrollably and blowing many of them into pieces, armor chunks and screams. His vision almost went dark, but he kept going. The demon inside him retreated, exhausted and weakened from the blow; when he let it meld with his body, it was a two-way link and Swain knew it. Whatever pains his body felt, the demon felt it also. He looked around, face straight but mind horrified at the massacre and mistake he just committed.
"Where did that boulder come from…?" He uttered silently, but his ears picked up something else. Chains falling to the ground… blades hissing and whirling to life… iridescent with magic and emotion…
He looked up, the final nail of his coffin of failure embedded in it. The Xan family crest floated free above Irelia's head, pulsing with magic, separating itself into blade shards. She had fully regained her powers, the mirage of a soaring phoenix crossing his eyes, her blades turned to mighty wings and her eyes blazing, eyeing their wounded prey. It wasn't real… but it made her look terrifying.
"Round two, you Noxian bastard."
Irelia charged him, her blades flying at her side. She threw one out at him, but he dodged it and blasted her again. The blades contorted into the crest, shielding her from the blast and when she was close, she pushed it outward, striking him in the chest and knocking him off balance.
"Is that all, girl?" He taunted, still going strong. She smirked and connected the blade he dodged to her crest, firing dozens of tiny shards at him from both sides. He spotted them too late, his armor cracking under the assault, the blades chipping his knees and face. As he staggered, Irelia brought the blades directly into his stomach and chest, managing to pierce the armor and leave a few stab wounds before being blasted away by his lightning, her blades missing his throat by a hair's width. Swain struggled to maintain his feet, his knees almost buckling. He heard footsteps from behind the door and limped out of the way. The doors were swung open, Darius, Draven and Tamara arriving with a squad of elites, ready to defend the General.
"Jericho!" Darius went over to his leader, trying to get him on his feet.
"I'll be fine, Darius. Thank you. The girl is still an issue." Swain took his shoulder, supporting himself. He turned to the defiant blade witch, who was retreating, a giant hole in the structure revealing the open sky and howling winds. She knew she only risked being overwhelmed once again against this many, but then noticed the crumbling opening. Running to it, she looked outside; the boulder had been launched from somewhere and by someone. She scanned the walls until she spotted a catapult out of place, a lone legionnaire at its front, pacing left and right looking at the structure for something. Even from this distance, he spotted her, waving at her enthusiastically. Her mind was baffled, but her heart and soul soared; it had to be him. There would be time for that later; she had to escape. She looked downward, people and soldiers already gathering to see the commotion, but what she looked at were the walls. The granite was tough enough to hold her. She turned to her opponents, dodging Draven's thrown axe, it falling below and bouncing off.
"Thank you for holding on to this for me, General. Until next time." She said her farewells and jumped off. Twirling midair, she thrust her blades flat into the wall, stepping on the flat parts like stairs. She began running down, rapidly making 'blade stairs' and descending in zig-zags. From the tower, Garen watched in awe at the Blade Dancer's feats, a smile forming uncontrollably on his face. Shouts of anger alerted him to the crowd gathering below; they weren't focused on him, only on Irelia's escape. Archers were preparing to fire at her, their arrows coated in oil and sconces aflame near them. Without thinking, he leapt from the tower, a thunderous roar with his homeland's name on it.
"DEMACIA!" Its boom was loud enough to break through the commotion and orders, startling everyone beneath him. He crashed into them, knocking many of them to the ground and skewering three unfortunate enough to be right under him with the polearm. He pulled the polearm out of their carcasses and started swinging it, decapitating two soldiers with one swipe and knocking others to the ground. He thrust into a charging legionnaire, piercing him and two more behind him, but the force was too much for the polearm and it snapped after Garen nailed them to the ground. One of his victims carried a massive black iron broadsword, however, similar to his sunsteel one. He wrenched it from her hands, turning to the approaching squads surrounding him. He gripped the broadsword tight and charged in. Once he was close, he started spinning, slicing through their armor like paper. Once he had enough room, he continued on to the Bastion's wall where his ally was descending.
Irelia ran towards the bottom, dodging volleys and spears thrown at her. Reaching the bottom she found a battalion waiting for her. They were no match for her anymore as she tore through them, slicing up limbs and heads. She searched for Garen, spotting him surrounded by another battalion that was too afraid to come near him, the pavement at his feet littered with carved bodies and chunks of armor. She moved unfazed, the unarmed Noxian crowds too scared and too smart to get in her way.
"IONIA CALLS!" Her warcry broke the formation as she threw her crest forward, it exploding outward into a deadly formation of blades marking the legionnaires with magic. She summoned her six largest blades back to her and dashed effortlessly soldier to soldier, carving and killing the entire battalion almost zealously. She stopped right behind her ally, recalling all her blades and reforming the crest above her head.
"Are all Demacians as insane as you?" She asked him, very irked and very glad at the same time. He just smiled.
"That's right, kettle. Talk to the pot." He retorted in the same tone.
"What?"
"Demacian expression. I'll explain later, if we survive. This place is gonna be crawling with Noxians soon. I know a way back to the docks."
"What? How?"
"I scouted it out while coming to get you. Follow me." He ran ahead, the Blade Dancer following behind watching their backs. They snuck through another alleyway, this one leading to a hole in the ground.
"The sewers?" Irelia was less than thrilled.
"Either that or the afterlife and I don't think I can come back for you there." Garen was already halfway down the rusty stairs, careful not to put too much weight on each one.
"Ugh. Fine." Irelia followed him down. The escapees reached the bottom, raw sewage, rats biting at each other and whatever scraps they could find, strange oozes and a smell that could knock a full-grown basilisk out surrounding them.
"…I hate you." She needed it off her chest. He chuckled and continued onward.
"The docks were west of here. Hopefully the section we're following will lead us right to them." He passed through the sewers, following lit torches and running water. Noxians were at least serious about keeping things orderly, even in this place.
"Why did you come back for me?" He expected it, but he wasn't prepared for it.
"…Garen?"
"I couldn't leave a friend behind, all right? It just… just…"
"Wasn't in you? I know the feeling." She put a hand on his shoulder. They continued on in silence, reaching an opening, noise and running water entering into another marking it as the one they've been searching. Irelia contorted her blades back into a crest, letting it hang on her back. She peeked out, scanning for foes and more importantly for a soon-to-embark ship.
"What do you see?" He asked. Irelia turned to him, a solemn expression on her face.
"We can sneak by if we're careful and lucky but…"
"But what?"
"The only ship that is embarking is a Bilgewatian one. There are no Piltovian or Freljordian ones left." It managed to wound him. He had a way out, but no way home. Fate brought him his just deserts. He composed himself quickly, seeing no reason to mope.
"Then we go on that one."
"…Are you sure? It leads me closer to home, but you further from it."
"I chose this." He said, his forced smile easily betraying the sorrow behind it.
"…That's really not funny." Irelia's smile was gloomy as well.
"Well, it takes a while to get used to my sense of humor… Come on, Irelia. We don't have much time. Do you see a way to the ship?"
"Beneath the water. There are a few unwatched boats we can use to give us some air until we get to the anchor. We can climb up and sneak aboard. The opening is wide just enough to get you through without your armor… so you're gonna have to ditch it." She planned out their escape.
"Pity. I was starting to like it."
"Black looks terrible on you, to be honest." They both snickered, her attempt at levity soothing them enough to regain their focus.
"I have a plan, which involves stealing one of those boats, precise timing and long-held breaths." Irelia spoke, the glint of inspiration in her eyes. Garen just nodded, not having much to offer at this point. She scouted out the patrol routes of the guards, seeing every unwatched opening.
"All right. I'll tell you when. You ready?" She prepared herself.
"After you, my friend."
"Damn it! DAMN IT! Not again…" Draven was running ahead of the pursuing party.
"Slow down, Draven. The docks are the only place they can go to. We still have time." Tamara felt like a mother chasing after her petulant, hyperactive child. They and their squad reached the docks, which were on high alert, searching supplies, crates, dockhouses, Noxian war galleys and questioning the bystanders and merchants. Noxus was a large empire, which only made the task more difficult; there were people all over the empire gathering to the only open trade hub in Noxus Prime and all of them weren't helpful, though not of their own making. Nobody had spotted the escapees or any suspicious behavior with all the commotion in the harbor.
"Fan out. Assist with the searches. They can't be far off." Tamara ordered her soldiers.
"Tam, what's the next ship that's going to leave the harbor?" Draven asked.
"A merchant vessel from Bilgewater. They're set to depart in five minutes. You think they'll be on it?"
"If they aren't already… There it is. Let's go." He spotted the ship, a large and heavily armed palm-carved vessel sporting tri-sails and a mermaid bow. Its crew was already hard at work loading up their last supplies and getting ready to depart. Draven strode over up the brow and onto the deck, searching for the captain. He spotted her, a chestnut-haired woman with a blue captain overcoat, albatross-feathered dark green tricorne and a massive cutlass at her hip strap.
'S'cuse me, gent, but we're departing soon. What's yer business here?" One of the crew members, a large bald fellow with a scar across his stomach, a black seadog beard and a wonky right eye approached him.
"Name's Draven, but in Noxus and beyond I'm known also as the Executioner. Scratch that, the Glorious Executioner." Draven flipped his back, not that it needed flipping, and bowed flamboyantly.
"Huh… Oh, right! The twirly axe fella. I've heard o' ye. Yer far from the Arena, aren't ya?" The man recognized him. Draven smiled; at least introductions went smoothly.
"Yeah. Business is business, though. What're you gonna do, right? Speaking of business…" He pulled out a poster of Irelia and Garen's faces.
"We're looking for these two. If you can talk to your captain or let me explain myself to her…" Draven asked, the man stopping him right there.
"Say no more. I'll take ye to 'er. I'm sure we can make time for a quick search o' the ship if the cap'n wills it."
"My man! Thank you kindly." Draven followed the man up to the deck.
"Cap'n Opal. The Axe Twirler we've heard so much about is here on official business." The man introduced him. The captain turned around, revealing her smooth, pale and freckled face, her brown eyes measuring Draven.
"Welcome aboard, Glorious Executioner. Or should I just call you Draven?"
"Baby, you can call me anything you want…" Draven whispered, taken in by her beauty.
"Hmmm? Excuse me?"
"Oh! What I said was just Draven is fine though. That's exactly what I said… Anyways, I'm sure you've noticed we're kinda in a mess here."
"Aye, all the commotion. We've noticed, Draven. What's it to us, though?"
"I need your permission to search the ship, captain Opal. We're searching for these two." He showed her the posters, the captain studying them carefully.
"You think they stowed away on my ship?"
"It's a possibility we can't ignore, captain."
"All right, then. Kole, have the crew search the ship, top to bottom." Opal ordered her crew member, who began barking out the orders to the others. Draven himself joined the search, careful not to get himself caught in anything the escapees might have prepared. After a few minutes of fruitless searching, they reconvened on the deck.
"Well, that was a bust… Where could they be…?" Draven was stumped. Have they found some other way to escape? All other exits were either watched or blocked.
"Draven, don't mean to rush you, but we're on a schedule here. Things are hectic back home, too. That new girl that took over after Gangplank bit the bullet wants things running as smooth as possible." Opal urged him. Draven nodded, but turned after she spoke that one detail.
"Gangplank's dead? Huh… didn't think that was possible, after what the old bastard's been through and what he's done." Draven sounded genuinely surprised to hear the Saltwater Scourge was at the bottom of the sea now.
"Well, explosions do have a way of killing people. If that's all…"
"Yeah, that's all. Thanks for your time. See you, captain Opal. Oh, and if you're ever on shore leave here, do stop by the Arena. Just tell 'em Draven sent you." Draven winked at the captain and waved as he ran down the brow. Opal smiled.
'Well, he's not half-bad looking…' She mused to herself.
"Serpent fer ye thoughts, cap'n?" Kole snapped her out of it.
"Just thinking of home, Kole. Speaking of which…" She took the rudder and turned to the crew.
"All right, you sea mutts! Loose the sails! Hoist the anchor! Cast off!" She bellowed, the crewmen scampering about carrying out her orders.
Draven watched as the ship sailed off. He was baffled as to the whereabouts of the prisoners. Tamara gripped his shoulder; she wasn't sure how to soothe him, given that she's never done it before.
"We'll keep looking, Draven. We'll find them."
"I know, I just…"
"Yeah…" She looked out to the leaving ship, its white sails marked with the Coiling Serpent.
"I remember the last time I sailed. It was a pleasant experience being chained and locked up in a Shuriman brig." She recounted her trip back from Piltover. She missed the noise and the tech, but home was irreplaceable.
"You still miss… uhm, what was her name…"
"Noami. Well, she was different from the rest, I'll give her that… I don't know, though. If we weren't on different sides, maybe…"
"Tam, it was a 'yes-or-no' question." He smirked. She let her guard down and he took full advantage of it. She had only herself to blame. He wouldn't say anything to people that he didn't mean, though. It was one of his few good qualities.
"Yes, then." She breathed in; it was a tiresome, sweaty, painful, startling and really difficult day. She needed a break, one that didn't involve a blow to the back of her head. She kicked herself for being too easily fooled by the prisoners. Then again, the situation appeared out of nowhere, no thanks to the Ionian blade witch. She understood why Swain had to make the execution public, but for it to turn into such a disaster… Noxus would never truly recover. She turned back to the ship, it now having fully cleared the harbor, its heavy anchor being raised up…
"Draven!" She spotted two figures hanging on the anchor, waiting until it was fully raised and then slithering inside the opening. Draven spotted them as well, his fist clenched.
"Artillery! Prepare the long nines!" Draven yelled out at the tower cannon crews.
"BELAY THAT!" Tamara yelled out too. Draven turned her to him a bit forcefully.
"What are you doing, Tam?!"
"What are you doing?! Draven, that's a merchant vessel from an island nation of pirates who just got rid of the most troublesome political opposition to Noxus and are now trying to fix things with the surrounding nations. That includes us, you numbskull! We can't even stop the ship. The only reason the captain even allowed you to search it was because of good will."
"But they're on it this time! If we just signal the-"
"They're on a tight schedule for a reason. There are weeks of open sea between here and the Blue Flame Isles. There are storms and sea monsters to navigate. Draven, if you compromise that ship in any way, Bilgewater is gonna take it as a sign of mistrust. Do not ruin that." Tamara reasoned as best she could with him. Draven kept looking at the leaving vessel, which was unaware that two of the most dangerous and powerful enemies of Noxus were stowing away on it.
"Damn it… Not again… We let them slip by!" He slammed a fist into a crate, puncturing it and spilling the fruit in it, alarming the nearby merchants who weren't already alarmed by their argument. Tamara apologized and promised recompense to them, returning to a fuming Draven.
"We lost, Draven." She said the bitter words. More were on her lips but she dared not let them out. Draven did it for her, though.
"No, Tam. Noxus lost."
Irelia and Garen slipped through the anchor opening, shaking off the saltwater. Irelia squeezed her hair dry and let her mind free the grip on her crest, putting it aside and breathing in. Garen put the stolen black broadsword against a crate. They looked at each other.
Disbelief… Reality… Happiness… Freedom.
"We did it… We did it!" She almost screamed out, but kept her voice low even when overwhelmed by joy.
"Goodbye, Noxus. I will not miss you." Garen spoke his farewells. Irelia's smile lingered for little, slowly turning solemn the more she looked into his eyes.
"You're a long way from home, Garen. It's getting farther and farther now." She brought the mood down with a little realism. It was needed, but it also pained him deeply. What was happening back home right now? Were Jarvan and Lux alright? What about the rebellion? What happened to Sylas? The questions started plaguing him now that survival wasn't a priority on his mind.
"Where is this ship headed, again?" He asked her.
"The Blue Flame Isles. It's an archipelago southwest of my homeland, populated by island folk who revere sea monsters. We're apparently headed directly to Bilgewater, judging from the crates." Irelia pointed to insignia stamped on the crates all around them.
"Bilgewater is the capital city, I assume?"
"Yes. I haven't seen much of the land, given that I almost never mine. I don't know what awaits us there, Garen. I'm just as much in the dark about as you are." Irelia explained, worried about the trip. Garen sighed, memories flooding his mind trying to soothe it.
"Well, my sister always did tell me I needed to see more of the world… Maybe this is it." He said, looking at his companion, who had a puzzled look on her face.
"This is what?"
"The start of an adventure." He said, giddiness seasoning his voice that he would get to be an explorer like the one of the legendary pioneers of his homeland. Irelia hung her head, smiling lightly.
"You sound like Zelos… He always wanted to explore the world beyond too…" She spoke to herself.
"Hmmm? Sorry, I didn't catch that."
"It was nothing. So… got room for one more on this adventure of yours? No one should explore the world alone." Irelia's smile gave him light and warmth. He couldn't refuse even if he wanted to.
"I most certainly do. Onward to Bilgewater!" He proclaimed, eliciting a giggle from her. The ship sailed onwards, the sunset painting the horizon hues of orange and pink, the calm seas and winds marking the beginning of journeys home.
