Chapter 1
The streets of Noxus were unforgiving. A death note to those who enter. The roads have certain senses that leave it unforgotten even by the sane who leave, only to return again for another shot at the forsaken place called home. The scream of the unfortunate, the swish of looted coin, and, of course, the dripping of blood.
Yes, there was crime as usual. Another day in Noxus.
One could almost forgive these people for their heinous crime. The path to power in Noxus is one that will not change course or even end till someone had blood in his hands. To establish a terror like figure is impossible by today's standard if you chose to let your enemies live. He who walks this path must also be prepared to throw behind all sense of justice and honor, for this sacred twain are but weakness to they in higher places. To assert one's self in the world of politics and power in this forsaken place will require a soldiers discipline, untamable strength, and of course a kind of blood lust that would send the echo of ones name leave all who hear quake in fear of his coming.
It is a custom, however, that when those who reach their position of desire to leave all that they have done behind and relax. After all, who would dare touch them? What fool would even think of giving their meaningless, pathetic existence a chance to rise from the ashes and hope for a burning glimmer of hope and strength, enough to save their life at that fatal minute when the fabric of their ties to this world tend to yield to such enormous pressure? In the end, they were the strongest, and they have proven it far enough.
But not to him.
To him, the path to strength never ends.
To him, one must always hone his skill to remind those around him of his power.
To him, only the living will listen to the tales of his assassinations.
And that, by far, was enough.
*Tap*
*Tap*
*Tap*
The blades shadow was pulled back to reality at the sound. An seemingly impatient figure was standing adjacent to the side of the roof Talon had taken. It motioned to him to come.
It was time for pay.
Talon jumped to the other side, almost losing his footing when he landed on the railing. He adjusted himself and looked around. The fire escape that would lead upward had collapsed sometime before. Looking up, he jumped a little backward, grabbing the above railing. Pulling himself up, he jumped over it and walked up the remaining stairs.
"Your getting slow, assassin." Said the figure, looking the opposite direction of the fire escape. "You better get your skills up if you plan to leave the city any day now."
"Say's the old man who had to teleport because he was to lazy to even 'walk' up the stairs." Replied Talon.
Silence had fallen on their lips. Only the sound of Beatrice cawing at the insult was on their ears.
"You should be glad," Swain said, turning to face Talon. "That Darius is not here to rip you apart. I need the likes of you around." The Tactician walked towards his hired blade. "But remember: I may not be Du Couteau , But I am still the one who owns this city. And if you do not do as I say, then I will have you and all alive in your house executed. Do I make myself clear?"
He thought back for a moment before giving a nod of understanding.
"Good. Now you have killed the exile, I have no doubt, Correct? I want a full summary of what you did and how."
"Pay."
An aura of green power started to surface.
"She had the window open. It was easy to get inside. She awoke before I could make the kill, however." He raised a hand to the Grand General, seeing a hint of an attack. "So the first attempt failed. She attacked me, but I was able to get behind her and land a blow."
"And she died?"
"No."
"My patience, assassin, is getting thinner and thinner."
"She tried to fight back, swinging her blade a bit. In the end, she landed on the wall and bled to death, to exhausted to make another move. Someone was coming from the corridor, but I managed to sneak away before they had discovered her body."
Swain went into deep thought, though the green aura was still sending a threatening pulse to the Blades shadow.
"You have left nothing behind? No evidence that it was you?"
"None."
The aura faded in an instant.
"My thanks for cooperating, Assassin. You have done a great service."
The Master tactician lifted his and and pointed to the murderer.
"Take him away, Men."
Before Talon could react, he received a sharp blow to the back.
The rest was a blur.
He is being dragged by two people to a cart.
"This weakling is surprisingly heavy." Said one of them. His voice was deep, like a Generals.
"Wait," Said the other one. "I think he is awake."
Talon received another blow. This time harder.
"Trash."
He felt the constraints first.
The assassin wrestled with the bindings as soon as he noticed them. He was in a dire situation. What did Swain want? He had fulfilled the contract! What was the problem then? What was going on!?
He stopped his struggle when he realized that there was no hope of escaping. The room was dark. He had no Idea about where his stuff was. He had lost his weapons and gear. His clothes were gone. He was dressed instead with pants, his torso completely bare.
"I see we have awaken now, have we." Said a heavy Zaunite voice.
Talon tried to find the source of the voice, yet for some reason even the single lit lamp did him no good at all in this situation.
"Do not worry. This will all come to an end soon."
The roar of a machine was heard.
"Take the designated piece off, would you my sweet?"
Before Talon could understand fully what was going to happen, two metal hands grabbed onto his right arm.
His scream echoed back and forth through the place.
"Ah, the pleasing sound of success." Laughed the voice.
Soon, Talon's thoughts went bleak.
Consequence.
A van is moving through what seemed a twisted jungle.
By definition, an event or condition to a choice made by an individual. Whether the intention of the choice be good or bad. It is as some say: Lying about consequence is an error that cannot be undone.
The van slowed from its fast speed.
Indeed, no other words could be true.
The van comes to a halt.
For now here lies a wronged man.
The one of the men on the back picks up a body.
Wronged by his own choice.
The body is thrown onto the ground.
He chose this path, lying to the people he cared that there would be no the consequence.
The van's driver picks up an object that shines with the nights moon.
He throws it to the body.
He made the mistake by forgetting that nothing of him would be left behind to tell his tale to the living world.
The van drives away.
And now...
A wolf howls in the distance.
Only the dead will listen.