A/N: Hey, I noticed I got my first follower, shout out to that person, made me feel like writing the second chapter. For a part of this I used the official Katarina lore, better use what little they give us right?
In the last chapter I called Kat's father Marcus, I think I must've gotten that from another Fanfic, I can't remember which but I'm sticking with Marcus.
[Katarina]
The large wooden doors to one of the Institutes many training rooms blew back and Katarina burst her way through. It's for situations like these that there is so many rooms, champions could train alone and in peace. Everybody knew what would happen if Darius ended up training in the same room as Jarvan, many champions just couldn't get along, the Institutes solution to this was to build many rooms. Many, many rooms lined with training dummies, sword racks, and much more. But Katarina didn't want to train right now, she wanted to tear apart poor defenceless dummies. The Sinister blade set to work on a particularly unlucky dummy, quick and deep strikes with her twin runic blades tore it apart in record time.
"If only people fought more like wooden dummies, my job would be much easier" she joked to herself. Her profession was an art to her, albeit a very dangerous and costly art, she enjoyed it nonetheless. Wood chippings and paint scattered the floor, nobody could tell what once stood before, her anger was placated...for now. Somewhat contempt with her work she sat down to rest her tired muscles on a long mahogany bench lined up against the dark bricked wall. The cool touch of the wall sent a shiver down her spine as she leaned against it. Half-heartedly the Sinister Blade picked up one of the knives and launched it at an unsuspecting dummy. It hit the dummy square in the heart that was marked on with red paint. She smirked, this is what made her what she was, her pinpoint accuracy and sharp reflexes, that is what made her the Sinister Blade, the most successful assassin in Noxus.
Katarina wondered back to what happened earlier, she knew she could be far too angry and get far too flustered, how could she ever call herself a commander in this state. The word flustered rang through Katarina's mind, bouncing off the walls of the inner workings of her brain, it tormented and twisted her, it belittled her as if she was a child. Memories of her days as a commander flashed briefly through her mind. The task they gave her was aggravatingly simple: assassinate a low-ranking Demacian officer. As she set to her work infiltrating the enemy camp, Katarina discovered an opportunity too tantalizing to pass by – the arrival of a Demacian General. Stalking him to his tent, she quietly dispatched his guards and slit his throat. Pleased with her impressive kill, she disappeared into the night. Katarina's elation faded the next day when her original objective, the Demacian officer, led his forces to ambush unprepared Noxian soldiers. Though the Noxians fought valiantly, they suffered heavy casualties. Furious at her mistake, Katarina set off to complete her original task. Returning to the camp, she spied her now heavily guarded target and realized a stealthy kill was no longer possible. Drawing her blades, Katarina swore the officer would die, no matter the cost. She leapt into battle, unleashing a whirlwind of steel. One by one blades flashed and guards fell, each strike bringing her one step closer to the officer. A final thrown dagger restored her honor. Bloody and bruised, Katarina barely escaped the Demacian forces, and returned to Noxus a changed woman.
It was that event that turned Katarina to an emotionless killer, people would not die needlessly because of her pathetic mistakes, she had to lead and set examples. Katarina's eyes began to tear up. She could not cry, she thought. What would people think of her if they found out? What kind of example for Noxians would she be? Katarina choked back her tears and wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her signature black leather jacket. She strengthened herself, and moved a foot in the direction of the door. As she strode closer her assassin senses picked up a faint noise,"footsteps" she cursed. Knowing that nobody could see her like this, she shunpo'd up above to the beams that held the roof high, she would be unseen here in the darkness. This is an assassins true home.