A/N: Yay! Chapter 11! I would love to thank my wonderful editor Candye Eye once again! I also would like to thank my amazing readers who have been submitting amazing reviews. I'm really glad that after such a long hiatus that people still continue to read and enjoy what I have written. I have big plans for this story and am really enjoying writing it. I don't plan to stop anytime soon, so please keep reading! I also might make this story M-rated, but I'm not sure, mainly because also for the content that talks about blood and violence.

This chapter does contain some abusive family themes, so please if you feel worried that this might trigger you, please be advised.


Sweaty palms grasped the brass door handle. Fiora was too afraid to wrench open the door, but even more terrified of walking away. Silence pounded like a drum in her ear.

She was delaying the inevitable, but behind the door awaited yet another ruse or scheme that she would have to take part in for the sake of her family. But could she do it again?

She could feel it wearing away at her soul, small fragments of her heart breaking off with each plot.

There was no helping it though. She had to go in, no matter if she lost herself to it. Gulping down her fear, she mustered a small amount of courage to open the door. She told herself it would be different this time.

The smell of cigars drifted into her face. Through the haze of smoke, she could identify her father and his two advisors. They seemed to be in deep conversation, not noticing her presence immediately, giving Fiora a moment to analyze her father. The Laurents had very definitive features. Jet black hair and sharp cheek bones were the common traits, her father's lips were thin and hard, as if they to were made to smile as little as possible. Unlike her father, Fiora possessed soft, full lips and kind blue eyes. His blue eyes were hard and dull, lacking any emotion.

In another world, Fiora might have considered her father handsome. His face was angular and he held a strong jaw. A pencil thin mustache rested above his upper lip, which would turn sinister when he snarled his commands. The head of the Laurent house possessed the body of a duelist. His limbs were lean and strong, but not outwardly muscular. It was known that every head of the house would be the greatest current duelist, and her father did not disappoint. Ever since she was a little girl, she had yearned for her father's approval, but now… What did his approval even mean?

After a few moments of standing in the doorway, Fiora gave a small cough, alerting the trio to her arrival. Her father looked up, his mouth turning into a hard frown as he stared down at her. "Ah, Fiora, thank you for coming." Placing down the cigar in his hand, he motioned for the two other men to leave him. They scurried their way to the exit.

The door slammed shut behind Fiora, shutting out her courage with it. Her heavily lidded eyes casted their gaze towards the black marble floors. She could feel the glare emanating from the head of the Laurent house. The fear that clutched her heart urged her to leave. Her mind screamed at her feet to run, yet they remained nailed into the floor. Eventually, her sky blue eyes turned upwards, meeting her father's. "You called for me, father?" Fiora asked shakily.

His frown did not turn. His hand snaked out for the bottle of whiskey from under his desk, pouring himself a full glass. "What a predicament you have found yourself in." He sneered, his baritone voice full of malice. He lifted the glass of honey colored liquid to his lips. "To think my youngest would be the most trouble."

Fiora clasped her hands behind her back, her gaze towards the floor once more. "I'm sorry, father." She whispered, unsure of what she did to displease him. Knowing her father, it was best to keep her head down and be quiet. Anything could set him off, whether it be a flinch or a hardening of her eyes. It seemed that with each syllable she spoke, the angrier he became.

With a sigh, and another sip of his drink, Fiora's father turned to her, "You, Fiora, the most eligible woman in all of Demacia to become queen, have a battle with your soon to be husband." Fiora's father slammed the empty glass on the table. "What do you intend to do?" He snapped, not expecting an answer.

Fiora reddened, a mix of agony and rage welling up within her, "I don't know." She murmured. Fiora wanted to ask him how any of this was her fault. He would not listen though. If his temper had made him unreasonable, the alcohol only increased it. Judging by the dark red blotches across his skin, it was obvious this was not his first glass of the day.

"Of course you don't," He chuckled darkly. Running a hand through his onyx hair, he looked completely exhausted. Fiora felt a pang of guilt. Maybe it wasn't just his temper or his drunken state. Maybe she was just that troubling. Her father gave a deep sigh before continuing, "The only honorable solution is for you is to… forfeit." Fiora felt the muscles in her chest tighten. Forfeit? The word was almost forbidden in her household, and for her father to say it so freely… Even intoxicated, she would have never believed her father to say such a word.

"You want me to forfeit the fight?" Fiora asked, still not believing she heard him correctly.

Pouring another glass of whiskey, he did not look up at his daughter. "I don't see any other way out of this mess. You cannot defeat Prince Jarvan and embarrass him in front of the nation, nor can you lose to him and insult our house. You can only show your unrivaled devotion and love to your Prince." Sighing, he took another swig of the drink, "The public will love you for it."

Fiora couldn't breathe. Her morals and beliefs had been dashed in one single word. Forfeit. Clenching her teeth, she felt hot tears well up in her eyes. She wanted to snap at her father. To scream that she would never give up. She wanted to yell that the Prince did not love her, and would never choose her. Her father's dreams for her to become a queen were foolish. The words burned in her throat. Yet, she remained silent. Her father was an inconsolable man who would disown her at the slightest sign of opposition. Shoving her emotions down, she moved towards the door.

"And Fiora," Her father murmured, watching her leave, "You gave a wonderful performance today." He snarled, sarcasm dripping in his slurred speech. With that, she ushered herself out the door, tears prickling her eyes. At first, Fiora assumed it was the whiskey talking. Her father in a sober state would never ask her to forfeit. Perhaps he would not remember this the next day.

On the other hand, Fiora knew her father. He was not one to forget things, even in his most drunken stupors. Hot, unshed tears burned behind her eyelids, threatening to fall.

Through her blurry vision, she followed the black marble floors, hoping to be led to the training grounds. She needed to hit something. Whether it be a wooden dummy, or the steel of a training partner. The sound of her footfalls echoed through the walls,

Luckily for Fiora, everyone had abandoned the Laurent estate for the tournament. Many of them were attending to cheer on the three Laurent competitors in the tournament.

Fiora was one. Her older brother, Absolon, the second, and then one of her long distant cousins.

Fiora had been told all her life that she was to become the greatest duelist in all of

Valoran. She had repeated these words to herself as she trained in the hot Demacian summers for hours on end. Fiora never gave up. It wasn't in her blood. She had suffered a plethora of bruises and several broken bones, all for the sake of being the best she could be.

Now that would all change. To become queen was the only thing his father wanted from her. Her only worth was to be the bride for Prince Jarvan. For this man, she was to give up her pride, her dignity, her very foundation of being a person. Fiora would be forced to give up her person, all for the possibility of becoming the queen of Demacia; to marry a man who couldn't care less about her wellbeing. All the while, Jarvan would have no idea what she would be giving up. Grinding her teeth and forcing back the onslaught of tears, she hurried outside. Unsheathing her sword, she lunged for the nearest dummy.

Her sword perforated the dummy with clean cuts and dents. Hot tears ran down her cheeks as she continued to fight. The rage for her father and her own pathetic nature fueled her attacks. No one was there to hear her cry with each attack, and no one was there to see the headstrong duelist fall to her knees, her sobs racking through her chest.


Close to midnight, the ticking of the clock echoed through the room. Darkness poured from every window and crack, but Shyvana lay awake. Her golden eyes were bright with excitement. She had actually done it. Shyvana had made it past the first round in the arena. Through all her doubt and insecurities, she had managed to go against all the odds and win.

The fight replayed in her mind. The crowd had been silent at first, unlike for the previous competitors. Her limbs shook from anxiety as she stepped out onto the hot dirt. At any moment they would start to cheer for the fight, she thought, but it never came. Her father's skull was strapped on tightly. At any moment the announcer would call for them to begin. Across the field stood her opponent, Soraka. She was unusual, to say the least. The healer's skin was purple, her hair was a white that shone brightly in the sun, and the most peculiar thing about the woman was the horn that protruded from her forehead.

Soraka unsheathed a golden staff with a crescent moon at the top. The healer moved into a battle position, ready to fight, so Shyvana poised herself for the same. Shyvana wondered how much of a formidable of an opponent Soraka was. From what she had gathered, her opponent had few offensive abilities, but that gave Shyvana no reason to underestimate the woman. She hated to admit it, but Shyvana was nervous. In fact, she was certain she wouldn't be able to last 2 minutes into the fight, let alone win. From what the previous battles had held, Shyvana believed she didn't stand a chance.

"Once again you two, have a clean fight, and now, begin!" The announcer called out. Stunned, Shyvana stood still. What was she supposed to do? There was nothing to react to or initiate on. Should she just lunge?

It was then that she saw Soraka begin to rush in. With such anxiety, the sudden aggression sent her on high alert. Flames ignited within her skin. Fire danced within her father's skull, bringing the weapon to life. Power swelled within as her flames roared within the skull as if the spirit of her father came to life with it. Shyvana lunged forward in a blaze of fury.

The rest of the fight was a blur. Shyvana's fighting instinct took over, controlling each movement and step she made. Her body moved with a strength she was unaware she possessed.

As Shyvana lay there, her mind retracing her own steps, she found there was something more thrilling about the fight. Not the strength and power behind her attacks, but the smell. The smell of Soraka's blood was delectable. It was new to her. The smell or sight of blood had never bother the half-dragon, it had become a common scene. Whether it was spilt from the wounds of animals or people, it didn't matter. Blood had never enticed her like this though.

She remembered the smell wafting into her nostrils for the first time in the fight. The terror that was in Soraka's eyes was evident. Part of Shyvana wanted to push herself off the poor woman, but another part of her was excited. It fed off of Soraka's fear, and the blood that poured from her wounds.

Safely in her bed, Shyvana became disgusted with herself. All she had seen was red. When they had forcibly removed Shyvana from the fight, she had resisted, trying to get back to her prey. Soraka's blood had covered her armor and skin, the smell floating into her nostrils.

It was only when she was cleaned off and given dry clothes that she calmed down. At first, she wasn't fazed. She was excited, wanting to keep fighting. Now, alone with her thoughts, she became repulsed by her actions. Was it Soraka? Shyvana had not felt like this with Vayne. Or at least she thought she hadn't feel this way. Now as she remembered her claws tearing away at the woman's flesh, she felt that same bloodlust return to her.

What was happening to her? Was it her new weapon? Turning over, she looked over at the leather chair in the corner of the room. The moonlight illuminated her father's skull as it proudly sat on the chair. She had watched the footage of the weapon coming to life in her hands. Shyvana was accustomed to seeing the people of Demacia look down upon her, as if she was a forbidden creature. Now she was left to wonder how they had reacted to such a display. Perhaps they had been terrified, like she had been a monster transforming in front of their very eyes.

A monster. Maybe that's what she was becoming. Her developing thirst for blood didn't make things any better. Staring at her from across the room was the dragon side of her. An empty skull that used to belong to her father, but now… It was empty. She could barely recognize her father anymore. The red and gold plating made him almost unrecognizable, but then again, skulls never really gave away someone's physical features.

Shyvana missed him. In front of his skull, she felt like a child. She yearned to crawl up to him, and snuggle into his side, just to feel safe once more. This new world that she had been thrown into was harsh and unforgiving. Her father had been the only one who truly accepted her into his world. Dragonkind and humankind alike saw her as a threat to their civilizations. Of course, there were a few exceptions like Prince Jarvan and Ilia. Even Luxanna and Ezreal had their reservations towards her, she could see it in their eyes. There was raw fear underneath their polite demeanor.

Jarvan and Ilia looked at her like a sad child, in need of help and assistance. Her father gazed at Shyvana with adoration and love. Shyvana sat up, and moved over to her father's skull. The skull used to bring a small comfort, but the more she looked at it, the more she realized that her father was gone. He would never return to her and protect her again. Shyvana gently ran her thumb on the snout of the skull, feeling the cool metal against her skin.

As she ran her thumb over the metal, she felt something swell within her. It was becoming familiar now. Each time she held the skull, the same feeling filled her. It was like the world became sharper, more vivid. Colors became brighter and smells more noticeable. Shyvana had first noticed it with the golden scale. Her senses heightened and it seemed that her body moved before she thought about it. With her father's skull it was even more pronounced. It was something she had felt when she had been traveling alone with her father. A raw, animalistic nature that saved them countless times.

When she had first come to Demacia, she was weak, barely able to maintain her dragon form. With the scale and the skull, she was able to not only maintain her dragon form and be fully conscious afterwards, but also be able to be powerful without it. More powerful than she had been alone with her father. Shyvana had assumed it was the new training she had been receiving with Garen, but now Shyvana thought differently. It was her dragon half regaining its strength.

The feeling surged within her once more, as if her body was agreeing with her. Shyvana began hearing faint footsteps that were deaf upon her ears just a moment ago coming from down the hall. Smells of breakfast from the kitchen downstairs came drifting towards her nose. The contents of the dark room that had been only illuminated by the moonlight a moment ago was suddenly visible.

Shyvana couldn't see things clearly, as if it were the daytime, but she certainly could make out objects and make her way around the room. Shyvana was amazed. Unsure what was happening to her, but not fighting the effects coming from the dragon remains, her golden eyes went wide, taking in it all. Flexing her muscles, she could feel the difference in every part of her body. Analyzing the room around her, Shyvana remembered the strange woman in the market of the Mogron Pass; "Half-dragons need to be surrounded by both species to survive."

Maybe this was the compromise she needed to make in order to survive. Shyvana gazed down at the skull in her lap, her mind racing with several thoughts. She began to understand what the woman meant, she just hoped that gaining such a strong lust for blood would be the only side effect of the compromise.


High in the stadiums, past the spectators sat Galio, giddy with excitement over the second day of battles. Or rather, he was perched. Several of the other competitors who had lost joined him, viewing the battles from afar. Some were still upset over their loss, discussing with others how certain abilities and weapons shouldn't be allowed. Some were like Galio, content with how they performed, and ready to try again next year with more training.

The audience was chatting excitedly as the announcers went over certain battles and potential strategies. It was all very fascinating. Galio was never one to be bitter over a loss, especially when it involved the tournament. As long as he was alive and breathing, he was happy. He had lost to a very formidable opponent that he had always enjoyed watching, Lee Sin. The famous monk was strong and quick on his feet. Galio was no match for his brutal attacks, but it did not bother him.

"I heard you lost," A familiar voice said next to him. Shyvana was on his left looking down, her eyes gazing down towards the arena.

"I did." Galio replied. "You were victorious on the other hand, congratulations."

"Thank you." Shyvana replied stoically. Her gaze was still fixated on the arena. Galio grew suspicious then.

"Shouldn't you be in the chambers?"

"My battle isn't until this evening. I figured I would get some air." Shyvana shrugged, laying her head down on her folded arms.

"You don't seem very excited." Galio commented, analyzing the halfling next to him. Shyvana shrugged, feeling no reason to discuss her troubles with Galio. The gargoyle frowned. He had heard many things about the infamous half-dragon, but seemingly depressed wasn't one of them. He let it go. Shyvana was a peculiar creature, and with her being half dragon, it was understandable for her to have chaotic emotions.

Instead of pressing her, Galio simply sat and enjoyed. Every now and again, he would glance down at Shyvana, seeing her face void of any expressions, as if she was lost in another world. It gave him time to observe her in secrecy. Her physical appearance was striking. She had very clear dragon features. Shyvana possessed an angular jaw, slanted lizard-like eyes, and sharp thin lips. The rest of her body was muscular, but also possessed a subtle softness. Her broad shoulders led into broad hips, and very strong legs. Galio could safely assume that people did not remark how on exotic the dragoness appeared, but instead on odd her human form was.

On first glance Shyvana did appear oddly shaped for a fourteen year old girl, and her blue skin did not help. Her body was too muscular, not soft and supple enough to be seen as attractive to Demacian society. Her red curly hair was too wild in comparison to the seemingly maintained hair of the common girls. If Galio had never seen the outside world, or a mirror, he might have assumed that Shyvana was odd, and maybe even threatening.

Galio grew sympathetic for the poor girl. As a gargoyle, he had experienced many acts of prejudice. "How well are you fitting in here?" Galio asked suddenly. Shyvana's muscles tensed, not expecting the question.

At first she didn't answer, unsure how to. "I'm not." Shyvana replied, trying to keep her voice strong.

Galio gave a frown, "I can imagine that it would be hard to fit in with this crowd. Most of them have not travelled past Demacian walls."

Shyvana gave a cold laugh, standing up straight, "I can't imagine there are many half-dragons that live past those gates."

Galio shrugged, "True, but there are stranger things." Shyvana gave a small smile. Her bright golden eyes turned towards Galio. She had to admit, he was probably one of the stranger things she had ever seen. An alive gargoyle that seemed so… wise.

"Do you fit in well?" Shyvana asked bluntly.

Galio shrugged, "Well enough. They do not fear me, which I suppose is the most important thing."

Shyvana frowned, shifting her gaze back to the arena, "They fear me. All of them." The sadness in her voice was unmistakable.

"That might be true," Galio replied, his heart hurting for the young girl, "But if your allies are scared, can you imagine how terrified your enemies will be?"

A small smile spread across her face, "I suppose." After a moment her smile slipped away once more, "Do they consider you a monster?" Shyvana asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Some do, but they do not understand what I am." Galio replied, his stony eyes gazing down at her, "Just like they do not understand what you are."

Shyvana shook her head, "Dragons are considered monsters. I am half dragon, therefore half monster."

"I think you misunderstand what the definition of a monster is." Galio commented, his voice becoming serious. "You are not born a monster, nor are you a monster because of your lineage. You are only a monster if you let that side consume you." Galio paused, "You, Shyvana, are not a monster."

Shyvana smiled. Shyvana was grateful to know that at least one person in Demacia believed she was good, one person who didn't see her as a monster. But would he always think of her this way? What if she couldn't control that dark side of her? She just couldn't allow that to happen. Shyvana had to be good. She couldn't let herself become a monster.

"The time has come for the second round of battles to begin!" The announcer boomed. The crowd cheered, their excitement growing. "Our first match is between Fiora Laurent and Prince Jarvan the Fourth! An exciting match indeed."

Shyvana perked up instantly. A bright smile came across her face at the mention of Jarvan's name. The screen above allowed them to see the scene more clearly. "From what I have heard, Jarvan also doesn't see you as a monster."

"Prince Jarvan is kind to everyone." Shyvana replied simply. Galio smiled at the girl as she smiled eagerly at the display.


"And begin!"

Fiora waited for the cue to enter the arena. She felt nauseas as her mind tried to come to terms with the reality of the situation. Was she really going to do it? Was she really going to forfeit? Groaning, she raised a hand to her head. Her sword was gripped loosely in her hands, dangling like a dead limb.

"Are you alright, Ms. Laurent?" The stewardess next to her asked. Fiora nodded numbly, her eyes focused on the ground. "Well, good luck."

Fiora wanted to laugh, but instead she responded, "Thank you."

"Alright, you may proceed." The stewardess stated. Taking a gulp of fresh air, Fiora walked out into the arena. She could hear the crowd cheering. For a moment, Fiora was truly afraid she might throw up.

Across from her, Jarvan strode out, his lance propped up on his shoulder. He looked regal; somewhat nervous, but that was it. He wasn't shaking in his knees, afraid that he would have to play to his father's whims. He was a seventeen year old boy who could have any woman he wanted. Fiora, on the other hand, had to give up everything she believed in, to try and win his favor.

Fiora's heart broke. Looking down she allowed the tears to run freely down her face. She prepared to leave her dignity at the arena, to walk away in shame with her tail between her legs. She almost threw her sword on the ground. Her lips almost parted and allowed the taboo words to escape.

She almost gave up in everything she believed in, but instead she gripped the leather hilt, and raised her sword. Tears continued to fall past her cheeks and she could see the shock on Jarvan's face. The announcer called for the battle to begin. Grinding her teeth in a fierce snarl, she lunged for Jarvan.

Her fury towards her father and herself exuded from her flexing muscles. Jarvan's lance barely matched her blade at every strike. The Prince seem unprepared for her unbridled anger, and he only focused on blocking her attacks. Blurred by rage and her tears, she continued to fight blindly, only letting her body control her actions.

Eventually, Jarvan gained the upper hand, and nicked at her side. Fiora faltered slightly, before going on the offensive once again. Most duelists she knew would have backed and tried to survey the fight. They would have tried to find a weak spot or opening to lunge into, but Fiora had no time. Her arm moved too quickly and her blade responded too well.

Jarvan barely had time to defend his weak spots. It wasn't long before he began to pant. Sweat trickled down his back, and he was unsure if he could keep up with her, let alone win the battle. Fiora's attacks were relentless. He began to realize that he needed to do something drastic if he was going to win.

With sheer force, he pivoted his hips, lowered his lance, and slammed his body into Fiora's. Startled by the sudden attack, Fiora lost her footing and crashed onto her back. Her sword went flying out of her hand, and she watched it hopelessly hit the ground. Jarvan stood on top of her, lance angled towards her chest. Closing her eyes, she began to silently sob, admitting defeat.

She lost. She disobeyed her father and lost. Now she was curled up on the ground of the arena, sobbing. But what did it matter? Her father would disown her anyways, and Jarvan would never consider her to be his queen.

The announcer proclaimed Jarvan the winner. The crowd gave hesitant cheers, clearly unsettled by the sobbing woman. Jarvan was completely shocked, and unsure how to handle the situation. For one thing, he was not used to dealing with hysterically sobbing people, let alone Fiora Laurent. He had always seen her as one of the strongest Demacian soldiers, and to see her in such a state was alarming. Jarvan quickly placed his lance on the ground and kneeled towards the upset woman, "Fiora?" He asked cautiously.

"Leave me alone." She snapped back in a broken voice. Jarvan couldn't very well leave her in such a state. He gently placed his hand on her shoulder, hoping to somehow soothe her. "Just go!" Fiora yelped.

"Fiora come on, I'm not leaving you here." Jarvan insisted. Sniffling, she opened her eyes and glared at him. With a grunt, she sat up and wiped the tears from her eyes. "Do you need help?" Jarvan asked, placing a hand on her back.

"Don't touch me." Fiora snarled. Silently, she stormed out of the arena. Jarvan followed her, needing to know what the hell had just happened. He could hear the crowd cheer behind him, oblivious to Fiora's emotional distress.

Several voices spoke out to Fiora as she passed by.

"Fiora, are you alright?"

"Are you hurt?"

"What do you need?"

She ignored them all, just wanting to escape. Fiora's heart raced as she realized what she had actually done. What was her father going to say? What would he do? Panic started to sink in. Tears welled up in her eyes again, threatening to fall. Fiora headed for the nearest bathroom. Her hands reached out and clutched onto the sink. Her shallow breaths turned into hyperventilation, as sobs fought to rack havoc within her.

Bursting through the bathroom doors, Jarvan strode in. "What is wrong with you?" Jarvan asked loudly.

Fiora glared towards his direction, "Get out!"

"Not until you tell me what's going on. I've never seen you act this way." Jarvan responded, his eyes hardening.

"You wouldn't understand." Fiora snarled. "You're just a boy who has had everything handed to him! How could you possibly try to understand?" Fiora shouted. Jarvan, startled, took a step back. Fiora's words were full of venom.

He had no idea where these hurtful words were coming from, unless... "Is this because I saved Shyvana in the tournament?" Jarvan asked angrily, wondering if Fiora was so petty.

Fiora was so shocked by his answer that she began to laugh, a cold, dark laugh. "Do you really think I give a shit about her?" Fiora shook her head, "This is exactly why you will always be an ignorant and naïve boy. Not everything is about you!"

"Then why are you so damn angry?" Jarvan retorted.

"Because I have to give up everything to try and be with you, and you don't give a shit!" Fiora screamed, her sobs coming forth once again, "And now…" Her voice broke. Fiora fell to the ground, her back against the metal bathroom stall. "I've lost everything." She said in a whisper. There was no use trying regain her composure. There was no use even trying to reason with the man in front of her.

Jarvan looked down at her, a sadness overcoming him. Fiora was a stubborn woman, who was headstrong and had a sharp tongue, but right now… She was a crumpled shell on the ground. He had no idea how to console her, but he did know that he couldn't leave her.

Jarvan cautiously sat next to Fiora, and placed his arm around her as she sobbed. At first, she tensed and tried to move away, but after a few moments, she relaxed and leaned into him. His metal armor wasn't comfortable, but it was the first time someone had actually held her while she cried. Fiora had already left her dignity in the arena, so nothing held her back as she cried on Jarvan's shoulder. Jarvan gently placed his hand on her arm, and tried to soothe her as best as he could.


The night air cooled Shyvana's skin, which wasn't good. She wanted to be hot, angry, and full of fury. Yet, looking at Kayle from across the way made her nervous. This wasn't anxiety or stress that made her nervous, but fear of the fight. It wasn't because she was facing an angel, an ancient race, or even because Kayle was probably one of the strongest contestants in the tournament. It was because she also fought with fire. It wasn't your typical fire from burning buildings and campfires. It was a magical fire. Fire that came from another world. Galio, who claimed to be a good friend of Kayle's, spoke of the fire in a mystical way. For an angel of Kayle's status, it was a fire of justice.

The battle had started 30 seconds ago, but neither of them had engaged. Kayle's sword was unsheathed, but unlit. The angel's helmet didn't show any of her expressions, or motives, or anything, really. Shyvana was staring at a blank, lethal canvas. The crowd around the two was quiet. The audience was patiently waiting for the fight to begin, as was Shyvana. It wasn't like her fight with Soraka. She wasn't anxious, eager to engage.

Kayle just floated there, her lustrous white wings flapping effortlessly. It was now or never. Shyvana forced the rage to swell within her. Her skin became alight with flames. Kayle responded by lighting her own sword. Shyvana began to run towards Kayle, her heart pounding in her chest.

In a shocking flash of light, a huge red orb came hurling towards her face. Shyvana had little time to move out of the way and dodge the attack. The blood red orb hit full force, staggering her and shocking her muscles. Slowly, Shyvana struggled to keep moving towards Kayle, her muscles practically begging for her to stop. All the while, Kayle's flaming sword hit her from a distance repeatedly.

Shyvana gasped in pain as the fire seared her flesh. It was the first time she had ever felt such pain. Fire had never hurt her. It was thrilling in some odd way. Her fire had always been superior, but Kayle's was literally out of this world. How could this be happening? Rage fueled her and she lunged for Kayle's golden armor.

Almost like a fairy, Kayle swiftly backed off, giant wings propelling her back. Shyvana growled and moved her strength into her legs to speed her up. Her body was continually assaulted by burns. Kayle eventually slowed down and Shyvana was able to pounce onto her body. Shyvana landed two or three punches on her golden armor, making small dents, if any.

"You're tough, aren't you?" Kayle said in a clear, smooth voice. She wasn't out of breath or struggling to speak

Shyvana grunted in response, and landed another punch on her abdomen. Kayle faltered, her helmet knocked askew revealing her mouth and eyes. Electric blue eyes pierced into Shyvana. There it was. That blood lust that churned in the pit of her stomach. Shyvana began to feel the transformation inside of her. She knew she only had a few minutes before it would take over, and Shyvana wanted to relish this carnal sensation.

A snarl formed on her lips, and she watched as those blue eyes turned from analytical into worrying. It empowered her. Shyvana's body began to move before she even thought about it. For a moment she wondered what she looked like to the audience, because she felt like a graceful jungle cat.

With a roar, she lunged for Kayle, kicking and hitting at anything that got in her way. Shyvana felt her senses getting stronger, and the world around her, which was once a fuzzy place while she focused on Kayle, became sharp. It was like she was in a tunnel which broke down and revealed the night sky. In the back of her mind she could hear the roaring of the crowd. She could feel her flames, Kayle's flames, and the night air. Shyvana could taste the salt of sweat dripping down her face. As she readied herself for an attack, she could see the slight changes in Kayle's body as she breathed, moved, or angled herself. Then there it was, the most delicious smell that Shyvana had ever come to know; the smell of blood. It came from a small dab of blood across Kayle's creamy skin.

Shyvana couldn't help it anymore. She gave in to the sweet temptation and allowed her body to go through something excruciating, but also refreshing. Holding back half of herself was exhausting, and allowing it to resurface was so relieving that she wanted to cry. Instead, she gave in to her flames. In that fraction of a second, she lunged for Kayle, as she felt her limbs extend and her skin change texture.

Afterwards, she felt her a new side come over her. Usually, her consciousness slipped away from her when transformed, but now this was a new side to her. Shyvana was aware of what she was doing and seeing, but there was more anger and fury, and that dictated how she performed. Without even time to truly comprehend how she was acting, Shyvana attacked Kayle.

Atop the angel, she swiped her claws over her helmet and slashed her face. Blood seeped through Kayle's wounds which only motivated Shyvana to continue. As her claws moved towards Kayle, Shyvana felt a searing pain. Roaring, Shyvana leapt up and went on the defensive. Kayle's sword was covered in Shyvana's blood. It had pierced Shyvana's abdomen. Growling, Shyvana ran forward once again. Kayle's sword of fire continued to strike the dragon, piercing through her armor.

The shock from the wounds brought back her human consciousness. Her limbs began to retract and Shyvana began to panic. In a last ditch effort, Shyvana used the last of her strength to try to defeat Kayle. Her talons pieced through Kayle's armor into her chest. Kayle only smirked at her as the angel's wounds began to close. Grunting, Shyvana quickly backed off and safely returned to her human form. The wound on her stomach continued to bleed, and Shyvana tried to fight through the pain.

"Damn it," Shyvana murmured, clutching around her middle. Kayle rushed in, eager to end the fight, and went for the final blow onto Shyvana. In one last ditch effort, Shyvana used her skull weapon and aimed it at Kayle's cheek.

Another flash of light blinded Shyvana, and her fist landed on something hard, instead of soft flesh. Kayle, instead of receiving the blow like Shyvana intended, had surrounded herself in a solid protective barrier. Kayle landed the final blow, knocking Shyvana off her feet.

"That's not even fair," Shyvana grunted, her back slamming against the ground.

"You fought well, halfling." Kayle stated. Shyvana looked up at the angel as she took off her helmet. Blonde hair fell loosely around her, making her look like, well, an angel. Shyvana's vision became fuzzy as she began to lose too much blood to stay awake. Before she blacked out, Kayle knelt down and whispered in her ear, "Good job."


A/N: I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I really enjoyed writing from Fiora's character and giving her a backstory. For those in emotionally abusive families and felt somewhat triggered by this, I'm so sorry. I gave a previous warning in the note above.

Thank you again for reading! Please favorite, follow, and review. The support means a lot to me.