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Poppy's eyes fluttered open. She sat up, surprised at finding herself in a bed. She examined her surroundings, which she judged were pleasant. It was a small, rectangular room, with stained oak planks lining its walls. Her cottons sheets felt comfortable, raising them and blushing. Her clothes were switched out with clean ones, making the girl self-conscious, cheeks reddening. Poppy pivoted her head to examine the rest of the room, noticing a bowl of cold soup under a lamp on the side table. Her gaze turned a few degrees before she was stunned.
"RUMBLE?!" Poppy yelped, pulling up her covers.
The yordle smaller than most she'd seen had been sleeping, jerking awake in shock. His eyes moved wildly before they focused on the shy figure of Poppy. A squeak caught in his throat.
"P-P-Poppy?" he stammered, falling off the leather chair he slept in. A pang of regret hit Poppy, now feeling bad for Rumble as he caressed his bruised head and moaned quietly. He disappeared from Poppy's vision for a moment. Then, tiny blue fingers clasped the edge of the bed, carrying Rumble up its side. The wrench monkey got to his feet and patted his pale brown trousers, leaning in towards Poppy, causing her to become more self-conscious. His brow furrowed, staring hard at Poppy's frame. What surprised Poppy was when Rumble blushed crimson a few seconds later, back-stepping. His foot slipped on the edge and if not for Poppy's quick hand, he would've fallen off a second piece of furniture.
Rumble breathed a sigh of relief. "What am I doing here?" asked Poppy. This question baffled the Mechanized Menace.
"I should be asking you that," Rumble replied.
Poppy held her covers tight to her body. "I remember running somewhere. Anywhere. But I don't remember why." She answered, staring at the bedsheets. Her eyes widened in panic. "Where's Whomper?!"
"W-who?" Rumble asked uncomfortably.
"My hammer. Where is it?" she demanded.
Rumble pointed to the floor, Poppy peering over the bed and sighing in relief. "You said something last night. 'The League has fallen'. What do you mean?" Rumble questioned. Poppy tensed, memories trampling her over. Her body shivered with despair.
"No, no no no no," Poppy rambled, her breathing erratic. "It can't have happened. No, no, no. Uh, t-there was fire, and and destruction for miles, and…" she stopped, face twisting into that of pure horror. "Nasus…please not him…" Tears leaked from her eyes like waterfalls, covering her face in her hands.
The yordle girl cannonballed into panic overdrive. Rumble gulped, unsure of what the situation was, let alone how to respond to it. He laid a hand on her shoulder, shushing her soothingly. "You're okay, Poppy. You're all right. Just tell me what happened. Take deep breaths…I think. What do you mean by 'the League has fallen'?
Poppy sniffed, wiping her wet eyes. "T-The Institute, it was attacked. Something happened, I don't know, and then the city erupted in flames. So many dead bodies…so many summoners died." Poppy made out, wiping her eyes. "Then I made my way to the Grand Library, I found Nasus. He, he was badly hurt. He was fighting the new champion that entered the League. He…" Poppy's words caught in her throat.
"What happened to Nasus?" Rumble pressed.
Poppy gulped. "Orus killed him…" she whispered.
Rumble felt like someone knocked his head in with a mace. The new champion betrayed the League? The Institute of War is destroyed? Nasus is dead? Thoughts and emotions clouded rational thought. Then his mind came back to Orus. He could kill an Ascended, a title given to those in the same league with gods. Confusion aided in distressing both yordles.
Rumble was the first to come back. "I'll be right back," he stated, jumping off the bed and disappearing. Fifteen minutes later, he carried a tray of breakfast items above his head. With some help from Poppy, Rumble delivered the meal. On the menu, Poppy saw a slice of buttered bread, sizzling sausage, and scrambled eggs. Rumble placed a glass of milk on the bedside table. Her stomach bellowed, Poppy's cheeks reddening. Rumble smiled warmly. "Eat up. You sound like your starving." He chuckled.
Immediately, the Iron Ambassador momentarily forgot her traumatic experiences. Poppy cut into her breakfast, eating similarly to a slobbering wolf. The sausage grease slipped out of her mouth, waves of pleasure buzzing through her body. Rumble sure is a damn good cook, she thought gratefully. She gestured for the milk, taking a big swig when her fingers reached the glass. When she was finished, she wiped her mouth with a white cloth from the tray. "Thank you," Poppy smiled toothily. Rumble gulped, turning his head away, blushing. Poppy turned her head slightly to the side.
Rumble couldn't stand that smile. It was a smile that was rare to find from his sightseeing views in the Institute, and even then, his mind jittered from that simple action. She reactively looked down at her chest and covered up. "Are you serious?! How badly do you add like a teenager?"
Rumble saw her response in the corner of his eye, responding with a ghastly expression. "I-I wasn't even looking there. Besides, I am a teenager."
This took Poppy aback. Rumble appeared older than he looked, with his long mohawk, now shifted to one side from bedhead, and the thin patch of curly blue hair growing further out then the rest of his furry face. His attire wasn't that of a teenager either, draped in a tunic shirt covered in oil stains and pale brown trousers. "How old are you?" she leaned, narrowing her eyes, and tightening her lips.
"17…" Rumble replied bashfully.
Poppy blinked. "You entered the League of Legends at around 15 years old? What's with you?"
Rumble shrugged. This question made Rumble think for a minute. It was one he never pondered of.
"Well, how old are you?" Rumble retorted the inquiry. Poppy swallowed her words.
"18…" she said quietly. The mechanic scoffed.
"Not much room to talk then," Rumble frowned. He jumped off the bed, gesturing to Poppy. "C'mon. I'll get you some armor from Jonas. You lost a lot of pieces when you came here." The girl hesitantly pulled off her sheets, vaulting over the bed and falling to the floor. She found she was in a pale blue night gown. Examining her pajama attire, she reached for Whomper, resting the hammer on her shoulder and following Rumble.
After walking down the stained oak staircase, Poppy entered a large forge. Waves of nostalgia came over her, remembering helping her father in his own forge back in Bandle City. A big burly man with a large red beard and no hair was hard at work hammering at metal ore. He wiped the sweat from his face, noticing the yordles. "The young lass is up, I see," Jonas grinned.
Poppy examined the weapons on the suspended rack. Each one, from sword to mace, was finely made, shining proudly in the waking sun. The Iron Ambassador was impressed by the masterful metalwork. "How can a small thing like you carry that hammer?" Jonas bended over, eye-to-eye with Poppy. The girl bounced the hammer in on her other hand.
"I'm stronger than I look."
Jonas laughed. "Of course, you are. Otherwise you wouldn't be a national hero or a champion in the League." Though the man would seem intimidating to most people, he was lighthearted. Poppy bit her lip, previous memories appearing briefly. Rumble unlocked the garage, Poppy behind him. Inside she spotted Rumble's famed mech. It looked patchwork at best, misshapen metals bolted together to make this menace. Rumble sat inside, powering Tristy up. He took a few steps from the loudly whirring robot, pulling the clutch. The mech roared, Poppy remaining unfazed. Rumble peered over the cockpit at Poppy.
"Maybe there'll be some news in town about what happened," Rumble informed, driving the robot out of the garage. Poppy didn't get a good look outside, but she was pleased by where she was. Tutor-style buildings lined the streets, shopkeepers stretched across the market in some sort of bazaar. Most of them were two-stories, but some differed, being anywhere from one story to four. The two yordles walked down the stone street. A time went by before Rumble stopped in front of what appeared to be a gazette. Rumble locked the controls, vaulting out of Tristy. Heading inside, the owner jumped in surprise. "Two champions in my shop? I must be blessed," the old man laughed.
"Any news on Demacia and the Institute?" Rumble asked gravely. The old man shook his head.
"Why do you ask, my friend?"
The runt turned to Poppy, the girl shifting uncomfortably. Before she could answer, the door busted open. It was a news messenger, out of breath and frightened. "What's wrong, son?" the owner inquired.
"The…The Institute is destroyed," the messenger panted. "A lot of champions are dead. The D-Demacia and No-Noxus capitals were attacked and obliterated…the king and the Grand General of Noxus are dead."
Rumble stared, stunned. The capitals are gone? The yordle boy tapped his foot nervously. "I can't believe Swain is dead…" Poppy said quietly.
"Oh no," Rumble said, realization hitting. "If the Institute is destroyed, so are the cells holding…them." Poppy tensed, understanding Rumble's fear.
"Orus just let lose the most dangerous beings on Runeterra," Poppy agreed grimly, slamming her hammer's head to the floor. "Brand, Kog'Maw, Xerath, Renekton. Havoc will spread across Kalamandra. Is there anyone who can contain the convicts?" She asked to anyone.
"Those four aren't even the worse," Rumble shook. "If the Institute is gone, so too is the East-Wing Summoning Chamber. That means that thing is loose."
The gazette owner and messenger grew pale white. They knew the myths and rumors of people disappearing behind those ten-foot stone doors. If anyone did come out alive, they left screaming and adjoined to insanity, rational thought never returning. If the monster that resided in there is no longer shackled, Runeterra had an ill fate with the Harbinger of Doom.
Orus strided through the cold halls of the broken Insitute, enveloped in darkness and silence. The mage lifted his hand, a flame sparking above the palm. Dim light showed a path. Bits and pieces of the ceiling crumbled to the floor, dirtying the ground with rubble, moonlight shining through the holes. The walls were carved in symmetrical arches, with statues of legendary warriors enshrined from the earliest historical records of the Rune Wars. "It must be around here somewhere," the mage tsked.
After the attack started, Orus started his search for the prison cell. He knew his allies would need no help in terrorizing the city and spread bloodied warnings across the international highways. He felt pleased, knowing his power had reached a height unimaginable to the dark wizard a few years ago. To think of how much chaos would bring by news spreading of Nasus' death, Orus jittered with twisted glee. Now his only goal left in this city was to find the cell.
He walked through the corridors, observing everything for something unordinary. Walking never bothered Orus, as it was a consequence for his goals. Many memorials standing to the ancestral legends that made history as it is present day were chipped and bruised. Statues that lined the walls were disfigured by missing heads, broken arms, or cracked torsos, most likely causing those past legends to be lost to history. Orus moved through the dark hallway before he came across a towering set of stone doors. He found it. Both doors were tightly shut, unaffected by the mayhem that wrecked the rest of the Institute.
Orus lifted his hand, placing it against the entrance. A rune on his arm glowed. Returning his arm to his side, Orus watched the central piece warp, the stone transmuting into dust. A hole was made for the size of a man to walk through. Nothing but pitch black was in the chamber. The mage walked through, when he heard it. Ominous cackling that echoed through the empty Insitute. The mage remained unfazed, bringing his flame back to life in his palm. A burlap sack with slits for hollow, sunken eyes and a bone-chilling smile stared back at Orus. Suddenly, the mage's vision went fuzzy, the figure facing Orus shaking into three, the crooked grin curving further up its cheekbones and eyes beaming an angry red. Orus spoke an incantation, ridding him of the hallucinations.
The burlap sack giggled gleefully. "Your bidding, master?"
Orus grinned with satisfaction. "To plunge Runeterra into chaos. Make the people dive into terror and despair. Make the world remember how scared it was a century ago. Let the world know why you were named the Harbinger of Doom." Flocks of wild crows fired by Orus, cawing creepily as the birds slipped through the hole in the doors and into the night.
"As you wish," the voice replied. Orus could hardly contain his excitement.
"Then leave this place and spread chaos," Orus roared with joyful laughter. "Rise, Fiddlesticks."
