The Tempest Flats of Valoran were among the most unremarkable locations across the continent; forever in the shadow of the Great Barrier, a mountain range separating the North and South, dividing the city states and their territories from the ancient battlefields of Rune Wars long past. However, after the terrible invasion of the Voidborn five years previous, the Flats had become an underground meeting place for the survivors of the genocide, a place of refuge where the Void King and his armies never thought to look.
It was sundown when the Flats found a man, covered head to toe in a haggard dark blue cloak, winding through the gently rolling hills that grew in size as they approached the mountain range. He moved in a hurry; the cloak covered his feet, and from a distance is looked as though he were glided across the landscape. It was common knowledge that the Voidborn were weakest during the day and strongest at night, and all underground refuges would be locked as soon as the sun set.
He approached the site of a landslide where boulders had tumbled off the Great Barrier's terrible mountainsides and pierced the fields of grass; it looked like a lonely graveyard with its tall, sharp rocks slowly growing into the peaceful land beneath it. He looked up at a particularly large rock next to a big, flat hill and approached warily.
He circled the boulder, searching for some sign of entrance. Once he'd made a complete perimeter of the hill to no avail, he pounded his fist upon the heavy rock in frustration. He glanced at his gloved hand, curious of the density of the rock, and removed his fist; there was a strange rune symbol carved into the side. He hadn't seen runes in ages, but it was clearly to see what it read. "Home".
Warily, he placed his palm flat upon the stone, above the rune, and felt a strange warmth. This had to be the entrance. He waiting a few seconds, wondering what the next step was. There had to be a way to access the door.
He removed his hand and looked at the rune. Perhaps if he spoke the ancient language…? He replaced his hand, and from beneath his cloak, a terrible voice emerged. It echoed and rang, like a blade drawn slowly over a metal sheet, but quiet and calm. The words it spoke were of an archaic dialect, long dead…
"Ka Ere Viol Kyeri," he said carefully, enunciating each word.
The rune grew hot beneath his hand, nearly too hot to touch; but his hand remained, and before his eyes the stone began to shake, though the ground around it did not move. It seemed to glitch in and out of existence.
Then, suddenly, it was gone. The stone that stood before him disappeared, showing the hilly sunset landscape before him. The grass and hill that once held around it still maintained their perfectly molded appearance, as though the stone had just been plucked from existence, leaving everything as it had been before. The rock had been planted very deep in the ground, and now a wide crater of dirt and soil stood in its place; however, in the middle was an even deeper hole, much like a well, dark and shadowy. Carefully, the man stepped down into the crater.
As he did, the light faded around him and he was plunged into absolute darkness. He halted, only a step down into the crater, and pressed his hand into the air behind him; the boulder, it seemed, was reforming behind him. Some very powerful, deceptive magic was at play; the location had to be kept incredibly secret if they were to stay alive. Cautious and wary, completely blind in the blackness, he instead took a step further into the crater.
Opening or closing his eyes made no difference. He walked carefully, feeling around the ground for the well in the centre. As the ground depressed beneath him he crouched, feeling with his hands. The first few inches or so down were bare around the rim of the well, but beneath were several steel rungs, dug deep into the side of the well. It was a ladder, of sorts. With a grumble, he began to straighten up, but immediately hit his head.
The ceiling of the boulder had shrunk above him; he could hardly straighten up. This was very irritating magic. Carefully, he swung his legs in front of him, feeling around himself. The stone seemed to shrink every time he wasn't using up the space. When he felt his legs hanging over the well he slipped down carefully, pressing his feet up against the rungs. Then he lowered himself down until his head was completely within the well; then, he pressed up with his hands. The stone had grown over the entrance. How on earth did anyone get out…?
He climbed down the well one rung at a time, carefully and steadily. The darkness around him was getting disorienting; it became difficult to tell whether his eyes were closed or open. He climbed for minutes, though in the depth of the void around him it felt like hours. Finally, when his eyes were open – or so he believed – he thought he could distinguish something on the wall. As he climbed, it became clear that a light was shining beneath him, growing stronger and stronger. It was fiery, and flickered steadily, casting shadows across the nicks in the hard walls of the well.
Finally he felt his feet reach solid ground. The ground was smooth and gave nothing, but it appeared to be soil; some very powerful magic was at play, he thought once again. The light came from a lit torch fixed into the wall of the well; it glowed to reveal a thin, long hallway right across from the ladder. With intent, he began making his way down the hallway.
The air was hot and thick beneath the earth, but it hardly fazed him. However it did raise the question… how far beneath the surface were they? The only way this underground structure could possibly still be holding was by magic, and if he's heard correctly about this place, it was all attached by one mage. What would happen if the mage were to fall…?
Finally, the hallway ended at a thick metallic door. A guard wearing heavy armour stood there with a long, sharp spear. The warrior within the man analyzed the defense. The armour was heavy, but cheap; a few blows and it would shatter. The spear was a different story. It was powerful, and by the way it seemed to emit its own strange glow, it was clearly enchanted. It would be easy to defeat the guard and force his way into the door, but he would certainly be weakened.
"Halt," the guard said in a deep voice. The man in the cloak stopped a fair distance from the door. "Who are you and what is your business here?"
The man in the cloak thought carefully. "I am here," he began, his voice still metallic and echoing, "to see Lord Evander."
Even behind his helmet, the cloaked man could tell that the guard was caught off guard by his strange voice. "And your name?" the guard asked, attempting to recover.
"None of your concern," the man answered swiftly.
The guard twisted his hands around the grip of the spear. "I cannot permit you to enter without knowing your name," he said sturdily.
Beneath his long sleeves, the cloaked man held his hands in tight fists.
"I believe it would be in your best interest," he began, his voice echoing even deeper, "to allow me through."
He prepared himself for a fight as the guard lowered his staff, pointing it towards him. Certainly Evander could find another guard to replace him. But just as the cloaked man prepared himself to attack or defend, the door behind the guard swung open, knocking the guard forward.
Clumsily, the guard regained his balance, placing a hand on the wall. All tension was broken immediately, and as serious a person as he was, the cloaked man could hardly stifle a laugh. In the doorway stood a tall, thick man with a rough, curly brown beard, his thick hands pressed onto his hips in a serious manner. He wore a simple tunic and leggings, and some big fur pelt around his shoulders. He certainly didn't look the part, but he held an air of regality around him. Some mysterious force compelled the cloaked man to respect him.
"It's quite all right, Glam," Lord Evander said in his low, hearty voice. "We've been expecting this visitor. Come through, sir."
The cloaked man nodded, and followed the Lord through the doorway once he turned and stomped his way back in. The guard, clearly embarrassed, tenderly closed the steel door behind him.
They found themselves in a tall, wide hall, quite dim despite all of the torches that lined the walls. The air was even hotter and thicker than in the hallway. To his surprise, there were people everywhere; big canopies and booths were set up around the hall, with carpets and rugs laid out across the dirt ground. The hall was almost… loud. The cloaked man nearly stopped; it had been years since he'd seen so many people in one place. Men, women and children walked around, conversing and arguing, crying and laughing, haggling prices and cracking jokes.
"Incredible, isn't it?" Evander had stopped with him, turning around. "This is the Home, all right. For the past five years, people across Valoran have come here for safety. The last hidden city in all the continent."
Safe, of course, was a matter of opinion, the cloaked man thought as he continued to follow the Lord through the hall. Several hallways lead off the large main hall; down one of them, two men were fighting. One was on the ground, struggling, his limbs flying everywhere, while the other held him down and wailed on him with his big fists. Evander paid them no heed. Down another, a man held a woman against a wall, one hand at her throat and one at her hips, lifting her dress. His pants were down around his knees, as despite his throttling, the cloaked man could still hear her weak cries of help. Two children chased each other past the hallway, not even casting a glance.
It was the only place left for humans in Valoran, one big cesspool of activity and rage. A disgusting city for the scum of the earth.
"Trinkets, m'lord?" a weak, scratchy voice called. The cloaked man looked around for the source, then down. An old, withered she-yordle, draped in rags, gestured to her booth a few feet away. Wards, orbs, lenses and mysterious stones were lined up on a tattered carpet. He was almost caught off guard; he hadn't seen a single member of the tiny, hairy humanoid species since the rise of the Voidborn five years previous. He'd assumed they'd all been hunted for sport as soon as the Voidborn took control.
But here she was, croaking at him irritatingly. Like most yordles, she was only about three feet tall, and covered in thick hair. Her large ears were bitten and tattered, her big eyes watery and bloody. Besides humans, yordles were the most dominant form of intelligent life on Valoran… a trait clearly not echoed in this saleswoman. He continued walking past her, paying little heed.
"Bastard!" she shouted in her hoarse voice.
Evander snorted. "Not exactly the kindest place, my friend."
They kept walking, the cloaked man drinking in the energy. How long had it been since he had last seen a human or yordle…? "I know what you're thinking," Evander said over his shoulder, still walking. "Must've taken a lot to energy to create this place. But since the Voidborn Invasion, Summoners like me have been hunted down more and more… the pool of magic's been expanded for the ones remaining. I've never been stronger," he boasted. "I could take on a whole army if I needed to."
The Lord led him through to another tall door at the end of the hall, set into the wall on the top of a dais. He opened the doors grandly and marched through; the cloaked man followed.
The room was large and sparsely decorated, much reflecting of Lord Evander himself. Furs hung over everything, and large stuffed heads were nailed into the walls. If one were to see the Lord and his room without knowledge of him beforehand, they may think he was simply a successful hunter or scavenger, and not one of the most powerful Summoner mages left in Valoran.
Evander sat behind a big wooden desk at the far end. It was only then that the cloaked man noticed that a woman standing against the wall behind the desk; she was elderly, with dark grey skin, and had deep purple tattoos cutting across her face and bare arms. She wore a strange, purple garb, draped around her elegantly, covering everything from her neck to her feet, except for her arms. Around her wrists clattered several cheap metal bracelets; her gray-streaked black hair was pulled up around her head in a strange fashion. She seemed to mould into the shadows of the room, watching him carefully.
Evander groaned and stretched, relaxing in his chair. "So," he said once he was settled, "am I correct in assuming you are the one who sent my son, Elgin?"
The cloaked man nodded.
"And Elgin was sent with a message, claiming you would pay handsomely for a meeting with a Seer," Evander continued. "Is this true as well?"
The cloaked man nodded again. "Where is he now?" he asked.
The Seer behind the Lord opened her eyes wider, slightly startled by his voice. But Evander showed no signs of surprise. "My son left as soon as his message was delivered," he explained. "All he said was, a cloaked man in the Great Barrier is searching for a Rune Seer. Then he was off again." Evander shook his head. "That boy… it's a miracle he hasn't been caught yet."
The cloaked man nodded, then reached into his cloak. He retrieved a large, heavy bag that jingled brightly as it was moved; at the sight of it, the Seer's eyes lit up in excitement. He brought it closer and the Seer stepped forwards to receive it, but instead Evander swiped it out of his hand. "You'll get your share when it's time, whore," he snapped in his loud, booming voice, shouting over his shoulder at the Seer. She stepped backwards, disappointed.
Evander opened the tie on the bag and opened it onto his desk. Several big, golden coins poured out. He counted them carefully, and once he was done, he waved at the Seer. "Do what you must," he said carelessly, now placing them back into the sack.
The Seer moved around the desk gracefully, her dark eyes never leaving the shadowy face under the hood. She faced him, then slowly lowered herself to her knees, still watching him. The cloaked man sat down across from her as well.
Never breaking her gaze, she reached into a layer of her cloak and pulled out a rolled up scroll, as well as a little velvet drawstring bag. First she pulled the scroll open, revealing what looked like an ancient map of Valoran. It was still curling up at the edges, but after slowly gliding her hands just an inch or so over it, moving from the centre to the edges, it lay flat on the carpet. Next she opened the bag and dumped a pile of small, flat, smooth stones onto the map. The cloaked man gazed down: more runes. The tiny etches were unremarkable and difficult to read unless you held them up to your face.
She opened her dark, cracked lips. "What is the truth you wish to seek?" she asked in a voice that sounded as if she hadn't spoken in months.
"I wish to find the downfall of the Voidborn."
The Seer's eyebrows lifted. Even Evander looked up and snorted. The cloaked man didn't move an inch, stoic and solid as a statue, and retained his eye contact with the Seer, his eyes invisible to his company.
"A very broad request," she said. Her tone sounded as if she were doubting her own abilities. "I will try my hardest."
She took a deep breath and held out her hand. After a moment of internal conflict, the cloaked man pulled back his sleeve and held out his hand to her. It was a grayish blue, his hand large and clawed. She seemed surprised, but not as shocked as she had been with his request. She clasped it in her own hand, then held the other over the map and the stack of runes.
Then, she raised her head and closed her eyes. For what seemed like an entire minute, she sat there completely still, full of absolute silence. The cloaked man began to wonder if he had been caught in a scam… but Evander would never trick someone if money was involved. The Seer's face didn't move a muscle; it was as if she were becoming as much a stone as the runes beneath her.
Suddenly, her eyes popped open. Instead of the dark colour they'd been before, they glowed a bright blue; no discernable iris or pupil could be seen. Her mouth fell open, and the cloaked man thought he could see the light tumble from her lips as well. A wave of ancient magic crashed upon him like an ocean wave, breaking through him. This was no scam.
Slowly at first, the hand above the runes began to twitch. Her runes then began to glow, the same blue as her eyes, as though the markings were inlaid with tiny gems. Then, one by one, they started to fly off the map, though she didn't touch them. Finally, when only a handful remained, she seemed to flick them back and forth; they flitted around the map, landing haphazardly on different spots. A few more flew off, but the majority seemed to dance across the drawings in a strange choreography.
He looked back up at her face as the light began to fade from her eyes. Then, very suddenly, she gasped loudly and her entire body shuddered, as though she'd just broken from a terrible nightmare. Then she collapsed down, her shoulders slumped; he hadn't realized that she was almost being raised from her knees during the reverie. Her head fell, chin against her chest.
Evander half-raised himself from his seat. Both him and the cloaked man remained completely still for a few moments, until Evander got too impatient. "Speak, hag!" he growled. "What have you seen?!"
The Seer, breathing deeply, raised her head. She seemed exhausted. "Far too broad of a request," she panted, avoiding the cloaked man's steady gaze. The dark shadows that covered his entire face was beginning to unnerve her. "I couldn't… be quite certain…"
"What did you see?!" Evander demanded, impatient as ever.
She then raised her eyes to gaze straight into the dark hood. "If you seek to defeat the Voidborn… ban them from Runeterra… you will need to find a Summoner…"
"I'm a Summoner," Evander muttered.
"…from the Voodoo Lands," she continued, speaking over him. "A Summoner in the Voodoo Lands will guide you to battle."
The hooded man nodded. He opened his mouth, about to thank her, but thought perhaps his voice would startle her even more; she seemed very ill, and a little unnerved. Whatever what was in her vision had to be terrible.
"But I warn you," she managed to say, her words slurring a bit. "The road is not always successful. I… show the path. I cannot guarantee your success…"
The hooded man got to his feet. Evander nodded to him. "If that's all you need," he said in his gruff voice, "then I trust you can find your way out. I'll hold the gate open for you for twenty minutes, and not a second longer… it's getting late and we don't take many chances around here."
The Lord of the Home closed his eyes for a moment, clearly dispelling the enchanted gate in the Flats above, then opened them and smiled at the cloaked man. Evander got to his feet. "Unless you'd like to stay with us for awhile longer. Boris told us you were a very powerful mage yourself… a skilled warrior. Not that we fear any attacks – we're the most hidden civilization in Runeterra. But you saw the kind of security we have. We could use a man like you."
The cloaked man shook his head. "I'm afraid," he said quietly, trying to dim his harsh voice, "I can't accept your offer. I'll be leaving for the Voodoo Lands immediately."
Evander frowned. "You're not seriously seeking a fight with the Voidborn, are you?" he asked, the doubt thick in his voice. "Powerful as I am, I've had my fair share of encounters with those ugly creatures… and they're tougher than us humans. I can't imagine what their higher-ups must be like."
"I can handle them," the cloaked man answered simply.
Evander opened his mouth to speak again, but a chorus of loud shrieks suddenly echoed outside of his door, dimmed to almost a whisper-like volume through the heavy iron door. The Lord, the cloaked man and the Seer all turned.
The blood from Evander's face seemed to drain away. "No," he said weakly, as the screams grew louder and were copied over and over until it seemed the entire population of the Home was wailing in the Hall. He then hurried to the door, grabbed onto the handle with a shaking fist, and turned it.
Through the door was complete and utter chaos. At first it was difficult to see exactly what was happening; people and yordles alike were running in all directions, screaming. It wasn't until a fountain of blood shot into the air that the cloaked man could comprehend what was happening.
A swarm of small, quadrupedal creatures were scuttling across the floor on needle-like feet, chasing the people of the Home. Many were already in their grip; the disgusting purple insect-like monsters lunged forwards, stabbing and slicing their prey with their foremost legs before consuming the flesh with its disguised mouth. Before his very eyes, one, which was consuming a screaming shopkeeper, suddenly shivered and then grew to twice its own size. It was now nearly as tall as the man himself.
Voidlings. He knew these creatures very, very well; he'd been seeing them for years, even before the Voidborn invasion.
His eyes were then attracted to the site of an even larger fountain of blood, and possibly the loudest scream yet. It pierced the very air around him, loud and shrill. As a Voidling moved out the way, he suddenly saw a woman, lying on her back, with her lower body entirely inside of another creature's maw.
He did not have to look very hard to recognize her predator. It was Cho'Gath, the Terror of the Void.
He knew this creature even better. It was a hideous bipedal Voidborn monster, covered in a shiny purple and red exoskeleton; its body was long, and a thick, spiked tail swung behind it as it engorged itself on its prey. It was hunched over, with four arms protruding from its torso: the two topmost ending in gross scythes, and the bottom two with pincer-like claws. As the screaming did not subside, he thought he saw a look of annoyance upon the creature's hideous face just before it clamped her head in his pincer and crushed it like a fruit. The face was the work part; its mouth dominated the insectoid visage, full of sharp fangs and dribbling spit. Two bull-like horns came from either side of its head, creating a frame for its large, glowing green eyes.
Before the cloaked man could see any more, Evander swung the door shut behind him. The man was now visibly sweating, his eyes as big as moons. The man locked the door and began pacing, his hands on his head. The Seer, obviously confused and still disoriented, was swaying on the ground.
"Fuck!" the Lord shouted. "They've found us… we're dead…"
The cloaked man looked down upon himself. It seemed that he'd had a good run of anonymity… but unless there was a secret way out – and Evander's reaction seemed to suggest there was none – he would die there unless he fought.
He raised his arm, and felt the power within himself flow freely. As much as he wanted to deny it, it felt good to allow it to breath once more… on his right arm, a blade, crafted of perfect Void energy, extended, its origin just an inch off the back of his hand. It sliced through his sleeve, leaving the torn ends of the fabric vibrating with a dull purple energy.
Evander looked at him in horror; even the Seer saw it and was amazed. The blade was long and ever-moving, a beautiful ray of purple light imbued with the very essence of the Void. To see that energy in the realm of humans and yordles was almost enough to take their breath away. With the blade, the man sliced the rest of his cloak off his body quickly and precisely. Naked, he stood before them, his form revealed.
He was brilliant, a marvel of half-man, half-Voidborn. He was taller than most humans, and his body seemed to contain more muscle than a normal human could. His skin was a pale grey, nearly blue; apart from these defects his body was almost completely human. His face, however, was too terrible for the humans to look at.
His eyes glowed a bright yellow, and there was no nose to be seen. His mouth was that of a humans, but from his jawline came four long, tentacle-like appendages; they moved at their own accord, waving in the air like larvae of some disturbing, ancient insect. He was truly one of the Voidborn, they thought, and Evander stumbled back, terrified.
"Y-You're one of them!" Evander shouted.
"No," the man answered in his metallic voice. "I am not. I am Kassadin, purifier of the Void."
A moment after, something hit the heavy door of Evander's room. The Lord shouted in fear, jumping backwards; Kassadin merely moved his gaze to the door. He had to think quickly.
He looked back at Evander. "You are a Summoner," he said. "Lend your powers to me."
Evander looked at him with an outraged expression. "Are you insane?!" he shouted. "And let myself die?! You can go fuck yourself, Voidborn!"
Another bang echoed around the room, and a faint hissing sounded.
"Listen," Kassadin urged. "I was a Champion of the League of Legends. I fought for years against the Voidborn. I pledged my life to stop them from entering Runeterra… your only chance of survival is through me!"
Evander simply shook his head and held his hands out. A faint bubble formed around him; only the edges of it could be seen, making the air shimmer like a mirage.
"I trust you not, Champion or not," Evander said, his voice thick and frightened. "Why should I believe you?!"
"Because look at what they've done to me!" Kassadin shouted, his voice filling the room.
As his voice rose to a peak, the door flew off its hinges with a loud bang. The Seer let out a wail and tumbled to her side, hands covering her head. Because the walls, ceiling and floor were all made of dirt, a giant cloud of dust and dirt flew into the air.
Kassadin jumped lightly and allowed himself to be caught in the air, levitating just a few inches above the ground. As the fog began to settle, he used the distraction to strategically locate himself behind the desk, at least keeping something between him and their invaders.
As it settled, he first saw the Voidborn's large green eyes cut through the smoke. Then, with a terrible growl, Cho'Gath himself lunged into the room, towards the unmoving figure of the Seer. Immediately, the Voidborn's jaws clamped around her legs, and the Seer let out a deafening shriek, her hands leaving her face. Kassadin could only watch; the longer the assailant was preoccupied with his prey, the better.
The Champion had seen death, hundreds of times before… but something in her face, the look of pure helplessness and agony in her eyes, was an entirely different experience.
Cho'Gath did not stop until ever last inch of the Seer's flesh was consumed. When he was only halfway done the woman stopped her screaming, instead falling to the floor, obviously dead. Evander stood to Kassadin's right, his bubble of protection still around him; his eyes were as wide as moons, his skin as pale as snow. Sweat dripped down his forehead and into his thick beard.
Once Cho'Gath was finished, he raised his head, and fixed both eyes on Kassadin. At first the Voidborn seemed confused; then, with the swiftness of a river crushing a dam in its way, a rush of memories seemed to come back to him. Cho'Gath smiled.
"Kassadin!" Cho'Gath snarled. The Voidborn's voice was growly and thick, as though something was always bubbling in its throat. It was hard to understand what he was saying, but after years of almost constant battle with the Voidborn, it was easier for him. No doubt Evander heard nothing in the rough growls.
"Brother!" the Cho'Gath continued. "It truly has been too long… where have you been?! We've been searching for you for years!"
"I am no brother of yours, Voidborn," Kassadin said, snarling with venom.
"And tell me… where have you hidden that glorious armour we bestowed upon you…?" Cho'Gath said mockingly. "You'd been wearing it for so long… I almost thought you'd come to appreciate it!"
"When your King and your terrible kind invaded I stripped myself of anything that could have traced me back to that hell you thrive in," Kassadin retorted. He then lifted his left arm just slightly, and with a twitch of his fingers, a ball of purple energy grew from the air around his hand, pulsating and glowing a deep purple… magic from the Void. "I suggest you return to it, Cho'Gath. Otherwise I will not spare you or any of your kind."
Cho'Gath made a noise that sounded as though he were choking. Then it began laughing, throwing its terrible head back. "You?! Fight us?! You knew using your Void magic would draw us to you… you haven't used it in five years! You're rusty, Kass! You stand no chance!"
Kassadin said nothing. Cho'Gath clicked in amusement.
"Though I would love nothing more than to eat you here and now," the creature continued, "I know I'll receive a hefty reward if I bring you in to Malzahar… now that's a fight I'd like to see!"
Kassadin still saw Evander in the corner of his eye. The old Summoner was going nowhere… and if he stayed put, maybe, just maybe, he could make it out alive.
The Champion analyzed his possibilities. He had to find an opening to attack Cho'Gath. The Voidborn was right: he was rusty with his abilities, and he couldn't hope to face that creature in all of its flesh-fed glory in hand-to-hand combat.
Cho'Gath sighed. "You're quite a shame, Kassadin, you know that? We could have done so much for you…"
Kassadin looked up. There was a hairline crack in the ceiling; had it always been there? Or was Evander's concentration slipping due to his fear?
"I'm sure our King could still make use of you, you know…"
"Is that so?" Kassadin asked. "Well, perhaps you could send him a message for me."
Cho'Gath chortled. "And what would that be, you abomination?"
Kassadin grinned for a moment… and then, with utmost speed and precision, he flung his left arm forward. The ball of Void magic that was accumulating shot through the air towards Cho'Gath; immediately, Kassadin leapt to his right, still floating carefully, landing carefully behind Evander. With a vicious snarl, Cho'Gath dove out the way as well, moving to the right. But the Voidborn recovered quickly, and prepared to pounce.
Kassadin gazed up at the ceiling and lifted his left arm again, fingers stretched out. In a coned shape, another burst of energy exploded from his fingertips, pushing out like a wave; it collided with the broken ceiling, disappeared as it made contact. A deep rumbling sound emanated from somewhere, and dust began to fall from the hairline cracks; then, like a waterfall, rocks, dirt and dust poured from the fissure.
Evander yelped like an injured dog and raised both hands to stop the avalanche. He succeeded, catching all of the falling debris before it even hit the ground in some invisible net of sorts, but did not manage to hold it there for long. A second later he screamed again, louder this time, and sharper. The old Summoner looked down slowly, only to see a glowing purple sword, crafted of dark matter, sticking from his chest.
Kassadin removed his blade and allowed the Lord of the Home to fall to the ground; the debris crashed to the ground just as the Voidborn pounced, catching Cho'Gath under the cascade. For a few seconds, the disgusting alien creature was preoccupied.
The rumbling in the distance grew louder. From the main hall, Kassadin suddenly became aware of the screaming again; it was growing louder, and even more panicked. Deep fissures grew in the ceiling and walls around him, and dust fell from the cracks. The Home was caving in on itself.
Through every pore in his skin, Kassadin could feel an energy seeping into him. It was as though he were a sponge, absorbing the suddenly flow of magic that pulsed out of Evander's failing body. If the source of magic in Runeterra was a network of piping and plumbing, and the Summoners were the faucets, the death of a Summoner mage was equal to ripping a tap from its pipe. A sudden outpouring of magic was released into the mortal environment, only to close off once the pool of magic could heal itself again.
He had not much time. He could see Evander writhing on the ground, bleeding from his deep chest cavity… there was no way to save him. And Cho'Gath was already making his way up… but still, the Champion had to wait for the perfect moment.
"I will feast upon your flesh," Cho'Gath choked with a loud hiss.
Just a moment later, the ceiling caved in, beginning in the centre of the room and rippling outward. Giant chunks of rock and dirt tumbled around; the network of magic that kept the Home stable, hundreds of feet beneath the surface, was failing along with Evander's body. Cho'Gath screeched as a boulder tumbled onto him, completely obscuring the creature from view.
Kassadin closed his eyes. He gathered all the energy he could hold within himself, until he could feel the magic pulse through his very veins. He twitched and convulsed, his body racked with the effort it required to contain it all… but he had to focus. He straightened up and imagined the surface above him… clean air, rolling hills, green grass.
Just as a boulder fell above him, he released the magic, and disappeared in an orb of purple light.
The Tempest Flats were peaceful aboveground. The night sky stretched above the gentle plains and curved hills, the stars glistening like glitter upon a deep blue backdrop. The Great Barrier could only be faintly seen in the distance, a dark silhouette against the stillness of the sky. A gentle breeze brushed through the grass, whistling through the landscape.
Only a faint rumbling could be heard from the surface as the earth struggled to reclaim the space it had lost. Nobody would know that hundreds of feet under the earth, thousands of humans, yordles and Voidborn alike were suffering, struggling for breath as they were buried beneath tons of rock and dirt… crushed for the rest of eternity. A silent grave for the nameless survivors of the Voidborn invasion.
The silence broke first with the sound of a bubble being formed; then, just a few feet next to the giant stone that protected the entrance to the Home, a purple orb grew out of the air itself, larger and larger. Then, with a loud gasp, riddled with the metallic tone of a Voidborn, a human shape emerged.
Kassadin flew out of the orb and landed gracelessly on the ground, falling on his back. He breathed deeply, his body heaving; breath was difficult in the Void-riddled body he was trapped in, but he had never teleported that far before, and he was absolutely winded.
He lay there for minutes on end, gazing up at the stars. He had survived; and he knew where he had to go. The Voodoo Lands were his destination.
He pushed his right hand into the ground and grabbed the long, soft blades of grass. Somewhere deep beneath him, thousands of lives were extinguishing, a death as quiet as their existence… the Void had taken them too. Despite all of their success, they'd finally caught up with them.
And Evander the Summoner, Lord of the Home, protector of all those people… was dead. He made a sacrifice, a choice he had no say in, to save Kassadin's life. All the Champion could do to repay it was by eliminating the Voidborn.
Finally, he got to his feet. He was still naked, devoid of his armour and even his cloak. He had to find a cover, a mask for his terrible body… the body that the Void had given him.
With one last glance at the Great Barrier, Kassadin turned his back to the mountains and began his long march south. If the Voodoo Lands held a Summoner that would help him, then he would find it… or he would die searching.