Chapter V
Pillars of a New World
The piercing silence was present yet again. Only shadows giving any sense of company to the hallway. Although that sense was not unjustified, for there was one Shadow too many.
"You can come out Talon. No one here except us."
This time, the Blade's Shadow landed in front of him.
"You can never be too sure, Master."
"Indeed. Tell me, what do you know about The Grandmaster at Arms?" – Talon let go of his always stoic face to reveal amusement.
"Full honesty, General? As much as everyone else. Everything from his origins to his true face are unknown to even the summoners. The only champion not subjected to a judgment, and unbeaten in a duel. Xin Zhao, Fiora, Tryndamere, no one has been able to pierce through his defense."
"So, what are you saying is that the man, if we can even call him that, is undefeatable?"
"Not exactly. He's extremely arrogant. He doesn't recognize valor in anything which isn't him."
"So his hubris can be his downfall. Good" – The Renegade resumed the path towards the platform. – "I'd tell you how it went with Katarina, but I'm sure you saw everything."
"Just following orders, Master."
"Indeed you are. And what are your conclusion on your observations?" – to any other officer, asking personal advice from their subservient would be considered madness, but the assassin was like a son to him.
"Katarina is very vulnerable right now, Master. She was furiously upset in the Arena, so she still cares about you. Approaching slow might be the best course of action."
Besides a small nod, Du Couteau didn't follow up on this. However, it fascinated him that such a young boy, in few words, managed to give the same weight to a handful of sentences that Ysmir gave to his small speech. What wonders were hidden behind that cowl, what knowledge was locked within the silence?
Talon was gone. But not in the literal sense of the word. He wasn't behind Marcus' right shoulder anymore, but he was still there. Watching.
It probably had something to do with the Renegade approaching the summoning platform. Every wing was directly connected with it, to make access easier. Although the platform wasn't needed for the summoning per say, it made everything much smoother, and waiting times rather moot. So champions were instructed to head towards it fifteen minutes before a match.
Although his disciple was no longer present, Marcus wasn't alone, for the Grandmaster at Arms was waiting for him, lamppost resting at his shoulder, ready for entering a fight anytime. – "So rookie, you made it after all. I was starting to think you were buying a new pair of pants."
The Renegade did not flinch – "Are we here to trade wisecracks, or to fight?"
"All by the books, hein? Ah, it won't help you. Sure as hell didn't help those Demacian sissies."
A retort would just serve to continue the relentless taunting, so Marcus simply kept moving, climbing the small stairs that elevated the platform. Although the mask made facial expressions impossible to decipher, no doubt intentional, thought Du Couteau, the way stared at him meant only one thing. A mixture of arrogance and pride. The feeling, not unfounded if the 116 previous examples were anything to go by, that the uptight ex-general in front of him was about to receive the whooping of his life.
"Such a worry to get your ass handed to you. How cute. Reminds me of the last crazy which this madhouse found." – Jax moved slowly, deliberately so, making every step feel like an eternity. Finally, the veteran was in the middle of the ring, looking towards the Renegade. – "Come on rookie, new guy puts the coin first."
The reference went right over Marcus' head, and Jax had to point towards the pillar right next to him. Hovering his hand on top of what seemed to be a pressure plate, as slowly as Jax had walked, he quietly and gently got closer and closer, until a swift movement activated the platform.
And then, there was light.
In fact, there was nothing more than light. A white, bright light covered every inch of his vision. He tried to move his hand to drift through the ocean of nothingness, but he found himself free of the burden of arms, or any part of the body, he noted.
Maybe he had died. An unfortunate accident perhaps. Sabotage even. It was a possibility that his lifeless body was decorating the ground of the Summoning Platform.
And yet, even when all these grim possibilities were put on the table, he was in peace.
For in his shapeless dream, he recognized a shadow extending a hand towards him. But it wasn't just the hand which was in display from the specter. The shadow also let her face be seen.
"Lilith…"
The chain was yanked, and in an instant the world regained its smell, its form, and its shape. With the small addition of a gust of wind blowing through the bridge he found himself in. The view around him also changed, from the claustrophobic walls of a black and blue chamber to a wide mountain chain, ice covering every inch of them. It was truly beautiful.
However, this wasn't a sightseeing tour. The frozen body of the ancient Avarosan warrior reminded him of it. The ghost of the guardian did not appear, as it was so common, for in this match only individual strength was cherished.
Passing the second turret, deactivated for this particular "custom" match, the visage of Jax could be distinguished through the fog of war.
"Weird" – Marcus shouted – "I was almost expecting for you to be in a bush, waiting for me to pass through"
"Name's not Garen, newbie, and I like to see my opponents face to face, before the view chances to foot to ass."
The Grandmaster's typical weapon was slowly drawn from its resting place, and Marcus did the same with his sword, with the same painful haste, or lack of therefore.
Even after drawing their weapons, they stood there, watching, focusing on each other, one gaze defiant, the other filled with hubris. Studying their opponent as one reads a book.
In the Institute, the champions gathered around the drinking spots, some at Singed's bar, others at Gragas', but all focused on the TV watching the fight. Well, almost all.
"Katarina, come here. Watch your old man get put in his place." – Warwick followed his calling with a growl, one which would frighten most grown adults, but barely registered to the trained assassin. Sitting in a corner, the redhead gulped her drink in one sip, banging her cup on the bar table as her way of asking for another. She didn't even bother to give the manhunter a reply, and her back remained turned from where the action was happening. Even her sister and "brother" watched, Cassiopeia worried, and Talon, in his typical, emotionless gaze, back against the stone pillar, gave nothing to the eye to ponder upon.
"Last one, Ms. Du Couteau. I want to see the fight." – the bartender replied as only a madman could, because you'd have to be mad to answer like that to the tempered assassin, especially in her current state. Fortunately for him, madness was something Singed had to spare and sell.
"Just leave the bottle" – a bottle of Freljord's finest liquor, the Avarosan Man-Maker, was presented to her with a dismissive gesture. She only drank that instead of her usual Noxian poison when no one was watching her. For Singed himself could not be bothered to give a single fuck.
"I do hope we get to see some real violence any time soon. It would be of great displeasure to me if the General died without a bone-splitting injury or two" – Although very unremarkable in form and body outside of the Fields, Dr. Edmundo still had the same taste for death and slaughter as the behemoth he turned into.
"Oh, I'm pretty sure will be a bloody match. The new guy sure has a bite on him" – The Crimson Reaper smirked to himself.
"Honestly, your puns are getting worse and worse every time, bloodman. I could honestly eat your head off, if you weren't so liquid and soft" – The spiderwoman wasted no time expressing her displeasure at Vladimir's puns.
"Believe me, Elise, my body might be soft, but I am very hard when it counts."
"Quiet! It's almost time!" – Morgana interrupted the discussion harshly, wanting to get her full attention on the ass whooping.
A lighting fast jump elevated Jax to heights unreachable by the average champion, and projected him against the General. Only reflexes as fast as the jump allowed Marcus to get out of the way of immediate death. Strafing backwards, he replied to the challenge by initiating a Deadly Dance, jumping towards his opponent and barely missing the chest. Runic enchantments in his sword and chain daggers made him invisible for the untrained eye, which was the only thing allowing him to escape Jax's punishment. While coming back for the second round, however, Marcus found out that the Grandmaster did not need vision to defend himself. The move nicknamed Counterstrike created an impenetrable defense, and by an inch the sword didn't fly out of his hand, hit by a rotating lamppost.
But it wasn't just Jax who had a surprise up his sleeve.
Years of training allowed Du Couteau to see without eyes, to feel without hands, and to let the Runes be his senses. And by letting his sword be an extension of his conscience, he found a flaw in Jax's stance. The edge.
The Veteran Strike accompanied the third and last Dance, using the break on the edge of the spinning post's circle to find the flesh of its wielder. The same lighting reflexes, which were put to display earlier, allowed Jax to move aside, but although he could avoid the piercing of any important organs, he couldn't move in time for the blade not to enter the tip of his right side.
The Renegade didn't have time to enjoy his small victory, for a magical barrier appeared around the Grandmaster, signal the fight was about to get real.
An Empowered strike flied straight from the side, no doubt trying to arc to hit him straight in the jaw, a move which no doubt would be fatal. Weighting his chances, he, like his opponent before him, had to make a choice, and, countering all instincts, got closer and gave his ribs as sacrifice.
The impact was damaging, to say the least. Two ribs had been broken, and three more were fractured, something that apparently was becoming a common occurrence. The beat sent him back half a feet, which made him an easy target for a lamppost to the stomach. Hunching thanks to hit, he was at the perfect spot for a final third strike.
Using his position for his advantage, he quickly turned and executed a perfect roll, the hit of the lamppost created a glowing explosion at the ground. Suppressing the pain, he sent a Damocles' Dagger flying towards the arm of the Grandmaster. Du Couteau had hoped to incapacitate the arm of his opponent, but to his despair the protection of the magical barrier slowed down the dagger enough not to get to the bone, only getting to the first layers of the muscle. Jax looked straight at the man behind the chain. The look behind the mask could be seen even protected by layers of metal and goggles. The pure battle fury.
He grabbed the weapon by the chain and pulled hard. The first pull detached the blade from his arm. The second pull was strong, too strong, threatening to dislocate Marcus' arm, or at least leave him vulnerable enough to a lamppost in the head.
With a quick click of a button, the blade retracted at high speed, leaving a bleeding cut on Jax's hand
The two warriors yet again remained still, staring at each other, looking for an opening. They saw none.
The air was thick, dense, as if the adrenaline could not contain itself in their bodies and found its refuge outside. Prolonged battle was not an option, for neither of them. And when the standstill presents itself, you need to learn how to reply. Need to know how to give it all in one last try. Both of them knew just that.
Readying his blade, the Renegade dashed towards the Grandmaster, who had chosen a leap as his final movement. Launching himself forwards, sword extended, and readied himself for the strike.
The contact was instantaneous, but its strength outmatched its briefness. Jax was the first to feel the consequences of his actions, for the rapier had burrowed deep within him, missing the heart by an inch but ravaging a lung, and cutting several arteries and veins along it's path. However, the sacrifice had not come without results, because the moment Du Couteau felt resistance to his arm's force, a sign of a confirmed hit, he also felt his jaw break and his left cheek being reduced to bits as the lamppost hit its mark with as much precision as the blade stuck in its wielder's body, failing to strike the temple as was intended.
The impact had more to it than the damage it did to the bodies, for less than an heartbeat after it, Du Couteau was projected down, ragdolling on the ground until his back hit the walls. The Grandmaster suffered a similar fate, only much less artistic. He hit the ground on his right side, blade still half-lodged in his chest, and rolled only once, which got him rid of the weapon of his demise, and landed with his chest against the ground, a pool of blood forming under him, his trusty lamppost at a mere hand's reach.
Marcus tried to get up, using both hands as a support, but he barely managed to get in all fours before shaking violently. He could feel his body shutting down, bit by bit his vision darkening.
Jax was in no better condition, barely conscious but still extending his trembling arm towards the weapon which had never before left his hands in battle.
As precise as a BandleCity watch, both men gave up on the same time, falling towards the ground's embrace and surrendering to death. As Marcus' eyes closed, he sought to take comfort in the embrace of the white light.
Singed's bar was dead silent, the average jaw height approaching the ground level. Some were dumbfolded, others in denial, and a select few watched with pride in their eyes. Even Vladimir had no puns and Zac simply stood there, too shocked to speak. Gragas' reactions were more mixed, some similar to their neighbors' drinking spot, namely the Crownguard and Lightshield family members, others celebrated the end of an era, while the rest asked for a glass of water, just to make sure they were sober. For the first time in the history of ever, Gragas drank the pure fluid.
However, the summoner's bar was euphoric, and one of the primary sources of the environment was Ysmir – "AHAH! I knew I still had it in him, but this?! Somebody please tell me they recorded this. HEY EVERYONE! Next round's on me!" – That announcement only increased the cheering.
However, the light never came. Next time he opened his eyes, he was back at the Institute, right in the summoning platform. The exhaustion, combined with the shock of his first death, was too much, and he fell on his knees gasping for breath. It was amazing how wonderful air felt when you were deprived of it just moments before.
He watched hapless, as his opponent, much more experience in the summoning, approached him, not with the previous slowness, but at a normal speed. Great, time for my second death of the day.
How big was his surprise, when, instead of striking him down in anger, the Grandmaster at Arms extended his palm, and helped him get up?
"What would ya know kid? That was the best fight of my life. You have some major balls, and an arm to match them. Hope I'll get to kill you soon in the fields." – And with these words he turned towards the door and was gone, the South Wing awaiting the Grandmaster. Du Couteau however, knew he had something else planned out, and as much as his bed called to him, Ysmir would want to see him soon, for the next task.
Time was up the essence.
They never set up a meeting place, so he decided to wait in the Main Hall. Upon arriving, he noticed the summoners who before glared at him with distrust, wariness and even anger now greeted him cheering, congratulating him on his success, and expressing their desire to summon him soon. They all opened a path for the senior summoner hasting towards his friend.
"You always liked to make an entrance, but this time you really outdone yourself Marcus!" – with a laugh, he launched his hand into the Renegade's back, taking the breath away from the still recovering summoned. – "Eh… Sorry about that."
"No problem, old man. Let's just contain the cheering a bit shall we? I still have a match to do."
"You want to do it? Right now? Just after getting the undead shit kicked out of you? Did that hit in the head affect your brain?"
"It's just a training match, correct? So winning is not the objective, learning is. So what's the pressure?"
"You do make a compelling argument, my friend. Fine, get some rest and wait for your calling, after the stunt you just pulled it won't take long to get people who want to play with or against you. When we're ready, come to the Platform."
Marcus and Ysmir turned backs on one another, mutual understanding ending the conversation.
The Renegade walked the corridor with a smile on his face, ready for what the world would throw at him. This would be the starting point for everything he had planned. This is the start of the Renegade's path.