Rise From the Darkness
Music Suggestion: Take Me Home- Hollywood Undead
Chapter 10: The Shadow Incarnate
i.
The closer you get to the light,
The greater your shadow becomes.
-Kingdom Hearts
i.
"Riven…" His voice sounded like nails scratching a chalkboard to her.
"Back down, Talon. I'm warning you." She tried to keep her voice steady, but it was dangerously close to being turned into a yell.
"Or what? You're gonna fight me?" Talon scoffed and stood his ground. "You barely survived the first time we fought. You think a few months is gonna change that?"
"You wanna find out?!" Her usually serene voice had turned into unkempt rage. She had had enough. From the start of their partnership, she wanted to save whatever soul he had left. The things he endured were not his fault, and she could not bring herself to hate a man who had no control over his fate. But she understood now. She understood everything. There was nothing left in this man to save. Slowly she raised her fists to her eye level as with every passing second she grew more enraged.
He gestured for her to come forth with his hand. "Entertain me." He said.
She happily obliged.
The two warriors clashed. Fists flew from the both of them, searching for any vulnerable flesh to take advantage of. Riven hooked right, Talon countered to the left. Riven swung left, Talon parried to the right. The two seemed to be in perfect sync, predicting and countering each others' moves at every turn in the brawl. They also presented a glaring contrast to one another. Riven's emotions had fallen out of check and been released all at once. Her anger was her fuel to keep going, even when her body told her to stop. Her pure fury kept her fists hammering away at The Blade's Shadow. Meanwhile, Talon had fallen back into his cold demeanor. His eyes remained calm and placid, scanning for an opening in her defenses. His movements were precise and calculated. With every strike, Riven grunted or released a yell of vexation. With every blow, The Blade's Shadow made no noise, as if he was a ghost. Despite his perhaps fatal injuries, he moved as fluidly as ever, and if he was in pain, he did not let it show.
Swain had long since ordered the still conscious members of the Crimson Elite to leave. Now, only he remained to watch his best commander and his best experiment fight to what could be the death. Observing the situation, he came to the conclusion that due to the extensive injuries Talon had received over the course of the sparring, and the fatigue gripping his body after hours of misery, he could probably subdue The Blade's Shadow without killing him. It would definitely salvage whatever was left of this situation, considering the only real casualty so far had been Bonzo, and Swain had never considered him a very important asset to the Crimson Elite.
However, he chose not to interfere. Instead, he merely watched silently and reveled in the most pristine art that was combat. Not restraining Talon could result in the death of Riven, which would be a major loss for him, considering how skilled she was as a commander. It could also result in the death of Talon, but the chances of that happening were so small he barely even entertained the idea. The Blade's Shadow was a survivor, and survivors always find a way to make it through, no matter the cost. Regardless, he couldn't skip this opportunity to study The Blade's Shadow further. He was no longer just fighting against the Crimson Elite members; he was fighting against his partner. They had done countless missions in the last three months together, and Swain noticed they had been getting along better as of late. She was the closest thing he had to a friend. So the tantalizing question Swain was so desperately waiting to be answered was: would he kill her?
They danced across the entire room, ranging corner to corner. The fight had lasted several minutes at this point, with neither side willing to give even an inch. They both momentarily broke, each pouncing a few feet away to regain their composure. Talon's hood had long fallen, revealing his murky brown eyes and the perspiration rolling gently down his chiseled face. Riven felt blood dripping from her side, most definitely from one of Talon's attacks. The two heaved, attempting to intake as much air as possible while they slowly circled each other. It was Talon who spoke in between breaths.
"You have gotten stronger." *gasp* "Won't matter though."
Riven raised an angry eyebrow. "Eh? *gasp* What's that supposed to mean?!
"You can pretend to be like me all you want, but in the end you're just a soldier, a pawn." Talon knew his comment would piss her off. He was counting on it.
"At least I'm not some damn mercenary pretending to be a soldier! You were never one of us! You were always a murderer, a freak! Why don't you go back to that hell hole you crawled out of!" Her brow had creased as sweat beaded on her forehead. It took a lot of energy to throw that insult; not that it mattered. She was insulting Talon, of all people. He wasn't fazed by anything.
Astonishingly, Talon stopped in his tracks. It seemed to surprise Riven as much as it surprised him. He never hesitated. Ever.
His mind was racing. What she had said, why did it make him feel so… odd? It wasn't like being insulted was new to him; he had been insulted throughout his whole life. Discrimination was familiar. People in the slums were looked at as lesser beings. Treated as if they were not human. But her comment had made him feel... bad? He had trusted her for months to have his back, and over the time, they had grown to acquaintances at the least. Friends may be a stretch, but they were something. And those words she had just said… for some reason they felt eerily similar to the feeling he had when Kayvn sold him out. Like a knife wrenched itself from his heart only to make a second entrance. For the first time in many, many years, Talon doubted himself.
Am I just gutter trash? Am I just a murderer? Is there nothing to me but the Shadow?
The last sentence she uttered had cut the deepest. "Why don't you go back to the hell hole you crawled out of!"
"If you insist." He felt the words slide off his tongue in the same smooth way as always. And with one swift turn, he walked away from her as she stood mouth agape and eyes wide. His demeanor had remained as it always was: cold and uncaring. In his head, however, an inner turmoil raged.
His whole life people had turned their back on him. Stabbed him in the back. Left him to die.
Now it was his turn to turn his back on them. On her. On Swain. On the Crimson Elite. From here on out, he would truly walk alone.
Riven brought her hand to her head in the form of a salute to General Darkwill. She was being assigned another mission. It was the fourth one this week. She was handed a folder which contained her objective and her target, and went out to search for her partner, Cade.
Cade had been designated as her new partner since Talon left three weeks ago.
It felt like it had been years since she had seen him, though. The Crimson Elite felt different without him. Everything seemed different. She was prepared and expecting to die when she fought him. She may have been angry, but she wasn't stupid. She was fighting The Blade's Shadow in a one on one duel. Most didn't live to tell the that tale, yet he left without injuring her much of all. And as far as she knew, he had practically disappeared. She expected the trail of murders he had left in the slums before he entered the Crimson Elite to surface again, but they had not. Now she had no idea if he was even alive, and felt like something was missing from her life. Make no mistake, she did not like him. In fact, she quite despised what he was and what he did. But her conscience always seemed to get the better of her and invoke feelings of pity and guilt. He had struggled so much, and when he needed her most, she pushed him away. Perhaps forever.
Sighing, she tried to clear her mind by figuring out what her newest mission was about. She opened the vanilla colored folder and nearly vomited when she read her newest target for assassination.
Nothing was the same after he left. Talon had not just left the Crimson Elite; he had left Noxus entirely. It may have been his home, but the amount of bad memories he had associated to this god-forsaken city were far too great to stay. The Crimson Elite would be looking for him as well. He had killed one of their own, and they would want revenge. Not to mention the bizarre obsession Swain had with him. So he had to have a change of scenery and go to a place where he could fall back into old habits. Only problem was that the Crimson Elite would chase him to almost any place he could go. So he went to the one place they would never dare to venture. Demacia.
Getting in was almost too easy. There are many, many secret passages that bypass the towering walls of Demacia, just as there were many "backdoors entrances" into Noxus. Undoubtedly, many spies traveled to both countries using these tunnels and doors. Talon had picked up a few things in the Crimson Elite, such as the locations of such passages. The problem wasn't getting in, however, it was fitting in.
He hated Demacia as much as any Noxian. The vibrant colors, the bright lights, and the citizens always so joy-filled disgusted him. Life was too torturous for people to always act happy like they did. When he would walk through the streets, trusty hood covering his face, he would notice the smiles glued to their faces like plastic. They greeted each other with hugs and kind words. Such things were taboo in Noxus. These people trusted each other to a fault. In Noxus, the only things to trust were your blade and your brain. Anyone and anything else was out to kill you. It had taken some time to adapt to the lifestyle here, but he eventually began to fit in as if he were one of them. He was particularly skilled at adapting so it wasn't too difficult a feat. Mostly just tedious.
Now he donned his hood down when he walked in the streets. At least he did during the daytime. He wore a blue and gold shirt that he had borrowed from a vender. His legs were adorned with plain black pants. Now, he greeted those who smiled at him with a smile back. Occasionally he threw in a wave for good measure. The reason? If he was going to survive in this place he would have to become like a Demacian. His Noxian roots ran deep but they were not so far implanted into him that he could not at the very least fake his identity. He told those who asked who he was that his name was Jack and that he recently moved here from Piltover. As gullible as Demacians are, they seemed to buy it without a second thought.
During the nights he shifted back into his old hobbies and mannerisms. The detached, indifferent Talon came out; the real Talon came out. He would hunt, much like back in Noxus, except this time the game was bigger. The people he killed in this city carried ten fold the gold the people in the slums carried. The biggest downside was the much higher security. Guards were everywhere in Demacia. Wandering the streets, meandering through alleys, and everywhere else crime might occur. This meant he had to be a great amount more careful and precise of who his target was and when he murdered them. He also could not afford to leave a trail. Murdering several times in the same place would give him away in an instant. Those chasing him would find out and find him. He could not afford to have that happen.
He had almost been caught a few times by guards, but lately he had cleaned up his sloppiness and been very incognito. During the day he was an outstanding citizen of Demacia. During the night he was its bane.
The middle aged man stumbled his way out of the local tavern, Zigler's Peak, and began making his way back home. His breath had the strong stench of alcohol, specifically rum, and with every belch he released its aroma into the streets of Demacia. It was well into the night, 3:00 A.M. to be precise. The street lights were on but not many citizens strode through the street. Save for a few guards, it was empty. Mid stride the drunk tripped on his own foot and landed on the ground with a thud. Realizing he was way too drunk to get home by himself he sought for help. It was found only a few feet away in the form of a younger man, perhaps in his twenties, leaning against a light post.
"Hey, boy." The middle aged man slurred. "You wanna help *hic* an old geezer like me get back to my house?"
The younger male turned and smiled, "Sure thing. What's your address? I'll walk you there."
The man thought for a moment before remembering his own address. "Ah! Yesh! It's 417 Berkley Avenue."
"You're in luck, that's close to my house. C'mon, I'll walk you there."
"Thankya, boy."
"My pleasure, sir."
The two walked in silence, as the younger of the two wrapped his arm around the elder one's shoulder to assist in walking. They didn't stir much conversation, but instead enjoyed the peaceful silence that befell the city during late hours.
"I know a shortcut, old man, wanna take it?" The younger man asked nicely.
"Shure thing, kid."
The duo made its way into an alley behind a closed bakery. They younger man looked at both exits of the alley to assure himself that no one was there. He suddenly stopped, bringing the older gentleman to a stop as well.
"Say, kid, this don't look like no short cut I ever seen."
The younger man didn't respond, merely flipped on the hood he had previously been wearing down.
"What is this?" The older man was getting irritated at the mysterious of the younger man.
The younger man revealed the arm blade hidden under his sleeve; allowing its clean steel to shine in the moonlight. He observed it with eyes of affection like it was a living thing.
The older man grew angry, not scared, at the sight if the blade. "You gonna rob me, punk?!"
"No. I'm just going to kill you." The younger man said in a voice just above a whisper. Before the older man had a chance to react, the arm blade was driven through his skull, scattering his brain and blood across the wall behind him.
Talon smiled at his work. He had been watching this particular individual for a few days now and noted his very large spending at stores. Clearly he was a man of wealth, but he had no personal security accompanying him. It made him a prime target for The Blade's Shadow.
Silently, Talon took out a piece of cloth and wiped down his arm blade. The blood, still very fresh, seemed to just scrape right off. As soon as it was spotless, he kneeled down and searched the man on the ground. After a few seconds he found what he was looking for: a sack containing coin. Talon opened it and grinned sheepishly. There had to be at least 30 gold in the sack. It was quite a score, even for him.
He exited the alley and left to return to his home. His hood was down now, revealing his handsome features. He passed a few women, perhaps in their mid twenties, and waved. They giggled and waved back.
I really am a model citizen, huh?
"Swain!" The anger in Riven's voice was apparent, even from the other side of his door. She barged in without knocking and took her seat in one of the chairs in front of his desk.
"What can I help you with, Riven?" He already knew what this was going to be about, but decided to ask anyway.
She threw down the file for her next mission. "This is what this is about!" The file was open, and on the inside was a paper marked "Target for assassination". On this page was one name: Talon, and a picture of his face. It also had his whereabouts listed as: Demacia, address unknown.
"I'm not any happier about it than you are. I lobbied very hard for Darkwill to cancel this mission and instead replace it with a recovery mission, but he overrode me. For the time being, I cannot do anything to stop it. The last thing I want is The Blade's Shadow dead." Swain voice sounded tired, and the bags under his eyes were evidence that what he was saying was true.
"I can't do it. He could've killed me easily the last time we fought, but he chose not to. Where would the honor be in killing him in cold blood like this?" Riven was pleading for something to be done about this mission, but knew it was to no avail. Darkwill was infuriated that Talon had not only killed one of their own, but also broken his pledge. He wanted him dead.
She, however, did not want him dead. It was something she couldn't admit, not even to herself, but she wanted him to be alive. To live a life he never could in Noxus.
"On the brightside, Darkwill could send the entirety of the Crimson Elite to kill him and it still wouldn't be enough. Talon would kill all of you." Swain seemed almost excited at the thought.
"That's reassuring." Riven said sarcastically.
"If he did kill all of you, Darkwill would just negotiate with Demacia to have him found. He couldn't hide from an entire city, no matter how good he is."
"So what are we to do?" Riven knew Swain could figure something out. He was a master tactician, after all.
Swain thought for a moment, staring blankly into the ceiling. His head bobbed slightly as his brain hatched a plan.
"Have you told anyone else of this mission?" He asked.
"No, you're the first."
"Perfect. When you and your squad depart, inform them that the mission is to capture Talon alive. I know a safehouse you can bring him to near Demacia afterwards."
"Didn't you just say Talon could kill all of us if he wanted to? I doubt he is going to be captured easily." Riven's voice was doubtful.
"That's why you're tagging along." Swain hatched a mischievous grin.
"I don't follow." She said, confused by his vague explanation.
"Talon won't kill you, or rather, he can't."
Riven was perplexed. "Why?"
"Because you are the only thing keeping whatever microscopic amount of humanity he has left in his soul alive. If he kills you, he surrenders himself entirely to the darkness. And he knows that."
A/N: Sorry this took so damn long to finish. I had writers block and a stressful couple of of weeks which made it near impossible to be satisfied with this new chapter. Finally, I am satisfied just barely enough to post it. Hope it wasn't too bad. Relax and review. pce.
-rDr