N.B. Hello, readers! I just want to give a shoutout to all of you – you're fantastic! Thank you so much for following me as I write this. Your feedback is as awesome as you are.
It was 6AM, and Zandred was already highly pissed.
He brought his fist down on his desk. His coffee cup rattled. Jatt and Turley cowered backwards, trying to hide behind one another.
In light of Lissandra's escape, Zandred had requested they take a survey of all Champions. They'd just completed it. All the expected signatures were there, from Teemo's pawprint to Leona's flowing handwriting.
Except for one. Viktor.
"What do you mean he – he just left?"
"No one was summoning him so he just – I don't know – left." Jatt shrugged. "We all made fun of him because no one ever chose him."
Zandred rubbed at his tired eyes. "So you're telling that on top of a homicidal ice witch, two Overflowing young men and a blue-green barbarian, Viktor just left? Just sidled out the damn door? How could you miss him? He has a fucking arm coming out of his back, for fuck's sake."
Jatt and Turley leaned even farther away. Turley actually put his thumb in his mouth.
It was the first time they'd ever heard Zandred swear. With Erinae gone, his composure had cracked. Zandred hadn't realized how dependent he was on her quiet competence.
Turley scrubbed at his mouth, smearing the chocolate from his early morning muffin across his lips. "We're sure he's gone, too. We checked his room and it was entirely emptied out. Except for the furniture."
Zandred took a long, slow breath and sighed. "Well then…where did he go?"
"We - we don't know when he left," Jatt admitted, looking down at his feet. "He could've been gone for months."
Zandred sank down in his chair with a groan. Jatt and Turley waited nervously.
"You're dismissed."
After the two boys left, Zandred put his head on his desk, feeling utterly defeated.
Glowing dials. Billowing waves of steam. Machinery glistening red hot in the darkness. For a long time, Lissandra hadn't wanted to enlist the aid of man-made generators.
But the man she'd met – if he could really be called a man at all – had something very powerful: a grudge. He practically seethed with anger, his mind boiling over with plots of revenge like one of the machines he'd brought to life.
Jayce had destroyed one of his most precious possessions. For that, the Defender of Tomorrow had to be punished.
Now, Viktor's generators sent the seeds of corruption spiraling into the air. Six generators were scattered across the Freljord, working day and night to affect the world around them.
As brilliant as he was, Viktor had his limits. The past few times she'd spoken to him, he complained of needing a stronger power source. Apparently corrupting all of Runeterra required a lot of energy.
The power source was on his way. Following her. Lissandra smiled to herself. Opening her third eye, she searched for his unique energy signature, tasting it.
Yes, he was coming. Ezreal would soon be hers.
Since Jayce's tent was close to Ezreal's, he heard everything, from Ez's muffled pleas for mercy to Katarina's sinister laughter. The whole thing was thoroughly distracting. Instead of reading up on the Skelgarn, he spent the night contemplatively smoking a cigar and listening to Katarina assault the young Explorer.
At one point, Jayce considered helping him. With all that noise, she had to be hurting him.
But Jayce thought better of it. The last thing he wanted to do was startle a trained assassin – a horny trained assassin, at that. Not in the middle of some steamy roleplaying. He'd probably end up with a knife between the eyes.
It wouldn't have been as compelling if it had been a normal couple. He could fully understand Ashe and Tryndamere getting it on, or even Sejuani and Varadi (if he didn't mind the smell of boar).
But the fact that Kat would go for Ezreal, even after learning his girlfriend was pregnant? Damn, that was harsh. Callous. And arousing.
"I didn't sign up for this," he grumbled. "It reminds me of my apartment in Piltover's bad section. I swear there was an orgy in the room above mine every week."
He looked down at one point to notice he had a raging boner. Pouting, he snuffed his cigar and tried to sleep, to block out those little sighs of pleasure.
He couldn't.
"Why don't I ever get visits from Kat? Lucky kid."
When she finally let Ezreal finish, Jayce breathed a sigh of relief. I'm going to tell her to use a better gag next time. That one didn't work. At all.
Ezreal awoke to pale morning light filtering through the trees. He was surprised to find his cheeks damp with tears and sweat.
The Voxstone on his chest was glowing more brightly than usual. It must have absorbed a lot of excess magical energy, probably caused by the stress of his dreams.
What a weird dream…Kat had sex with me, then I got encased in ice, and Lux was calling for me.
He sat up, only to feel his thigh and abdomen muscles contract painfully. An icy pain shot through his legs, causing his calves to spasm. He bit his knuckle to keep from crying out.
That wasn't a dream?
Wincing, he gently pressed his fingers to the bruises on his throat and chest. The one close to his pulse was especially deep. He massaged it, and cringed as the whole night came flooding back to him.
While exploring, he tended to get bruises and scrapes, but they were all his own doing. With Lux, he escaped their sexual encounters unscathed.
No one had held him down and caused him such pain before. Tied him up and…
A wave of nausea and shame swept over him.
No, there's more important things to think of now. I thought Kat would've known that, with her military training. I guess the Noxian military's a little…different.
If it keeps her focused, it was worth it.
He waited for his muscles to stop their painful song, ignoring the tiny tears at the corner of his eyes.
…why me, though? I thought we were friends. Is this what friends do to each other?
He carefully sat up, pressing his hands to his lower stomach. Digging through his pack, he pulled out a small mirror. It was purely for practical purposes – having a mirror helped one stitch their own wounds on parts of their body they couldn't see.
Huge scarlet bruises covered his throat and chest, accenting his red triangular scars. His neck was a symphony of purple, blue and black. Even his ribs hadn't been spared.
His lips started quivering. I bet Jarvan never gets tied up. Lux is going to kill me.
He shook his head to clear it. The fastest way to get over something was to take action. He washed his wounds with water from his canteen, pulled on a white shirt, and chewed some of the arlan tree bark to clean his teeth.
Then he used the mirror to practice his smile as he combed his hair. The violet edge of one of the marks peered over the collar of his shirt. He ignored it.
He saw Soraka doing physical meditations near his tent. As he watched, she lifted one knee and grasped her ankle, pulling it skyward.
She had a strange beauty against the low hanging, bluish mist.
"Good morning, Ezreal."
"Morning." He swallowed hard. His throat was swollen and sore, inside and out. "It's nice to see you looking so much better."
"Mm. Ryland's healing skills are beginning to rival mine." She smiled. "I just hope we don't have to test them anymore."
"That'd be nice."
"Morning, Piltover's finest." Jayce held a large mug of coffee in his oversized paw. He clapped Ezreal on the shoulder, right on a bruise. Ez tried not to flinch. "Seems you had an interesting night last night."
"What – what are you talking about?" Jayce was surprised to see Ezreal flush a brilliant scarlet and bow his head. His smile wavered.
Jayce stared. Oh. It was an actual assault. I just thought he was into the kinky roleplaying thing. Gods above.
"Oh. Um. Hmmm." Jayce waited a beat. He had no idea what to say. "Want some breakfast?"
After a hearty meal, the company packed their things and set out. It turned out that everything still fit on their remaining horses.
"So, how far do you think we'll get today?" Jayce asked Jarvan as they walked through the forest. He wanted to get Ezreal out of his mind – those sounds of pain meant something totally different, now.
He sipped his coffee and waited for Jarvan's response.
"We should make it out of the forest. It depends on what path the barbarian is taking us on. Traditionally, you head a little west, cross the Serpentine River, go North to Kaladown, then cross again to the Freljord. The travelling's faster that way." Jarvan sighed. "The way we're going now, we'll have to exit the forest, trudge through the Howling Marsh, and skirt the Ironspike Mountains."
"Sounds…nasty. The Howling Marsh?"
"Aye. There are Demacian stories of that place. None of them pretty. But we'll be more prepared this time."
"Hopefully. It's weird that Soraka and that other kid didn't sense the goblins."
"The abilities of psychics are multiplicative. I think that's why we brought two." Jarvan took a long drink of his own coffee. Unlike Jayce's, it was fully black, not flavored at all.
"Didn't know that. I specialize in how magic interacts with machines. Ezreal's the one that knows all about psychics and artifacts." Jayce adjusted the collar of his green shirt. Even in the forest, he still looked fabulous.
"So, he's more of a historian?" Jarvan asked. "I know he's popular, but I didn't care for his works."
"Yep. The kid's kinda strange, for a Piltover. We're opposites. I'm interested in the future, but he wants to dig through the past."
Ezreal didn't hear their exchange. He noticed Katarina edging closer and closer to him. Each time she did, he moved a little farther away, until he and his horse were almost off the narrow path.
"What's wrong with him?" Katarina looked at Ryland with wide, innocent eyes. "I just wanna chat."
Beneath her exterior, Ryland sensed a mounting manic energy, not unlike Ezreal's Overflow. Luckily she didn't have powers that could blow them to the moon.
"Not everyone is Noxian." Ryland shrugged. "Different cultural codes. You definitely broke some of his."
"Where I'm from, everyone just stays friends or enemies," she huffed. "I don't see what the big deal is."
"Well," Ryland said quietly, "he's kind of upset that you raped him."
"I thought he was having fun."
"Probably not."
Katarina scowled. "If you know so much, why don't you go talk to him?"
"I think you should do it. I can lead your horse."
"Fine." She shoved the reins into Ryland's hand and trotted over to the quiet Explorer.
Ryland turned to Soraka, who'd been following them out of eavesdropping range.
She had tied the skirt of her sky-blue travelling dress to knee height, making it easier to run if she had to. Her silver hair was pulled into a ponytail, and her two totems – a deer and a praying mantis – dangled from a chain around her delicate neck.
It was hard to imagine that such a frail being contained the power of a thousand blazing stars.
He'd experienced her attraction to him, but in the interest of stability, they were both ignoring it for now. It was still rather easy to treat her like a teacher.
"Soraka, don't you feel a little strange leading a horse? What with the hooves and all?"
She chuckled. "I feel no kinship with them. It's just the mortal form I was chosen to take. Interesting question, though." Falling in to step beside him, she added, "Katarina seems to be struggling with the Skelgarn already."
"I think it's just Kat as a person. She had her totem with her the whole time."
"Some people don't respond as strongly to them as others," she reminded him gently. "Some people don't respond to them at all. How have you been feeling?"
Between Kat's urges, Soraka's affection, and Ezreal's distress? "Stressed. Very stressed."
"You must try to free yourself from those feelings," she chided. "If you become overwhelmed by negative emotions, your powers will be useless. I know it's difficult as an Empath."
"Very."
Soraka waited. "May I ask what happened between Katarina and Ezreal last night?"
"May I ask why you're asking?"
"Of course. People in the throes of negative emotions are much more likely to become corrupted. More susceptible to any kind of dark energy, really." Soraka looked up to watch a small flock of crows pass. "That's why people invested in the dark arts rely on so much negativity. They need hatred and cruelty to fuel them."
Ryland winced. That description matched Katarina a little too well. "Hatred, cruelty and passion? Does that mean that the Noxians are inherently…evil?"
"No, the Noxians balance their negative emotions with pleasure and love. I'm mostly concerned because Katarina's actions put very powerful people on tilt. If she makes Ezreal unstable –"
"Oh, gods." Ryland closed his eyes. "She just – she doesn't understand him."
"Few people do. I don't claim to understand him, either. A person becomes strange, wondering around the wilderness alone for that long." Soraka chewed a piece of arlan bark contemplatively. "Ryland, how unstable is he?"
Ryland looked at her in surprise. His teacher rarely asked for his judgment on things. "In what terms?"
Soraka waved her hand. "Emotionally, magically. The whole thing."
"Emotionally, he's unpredictable. He's moody, but he doesn't get depressed. He gets angry or violently sad. Magically, well…"
"Ah, yes. The Overflow." Soraka sighed. "So, what happened to him last night?"
"Kat made some, ah, unwanted advances." That was the politest way Ryland could describe Katarina's sexual assault to his gentle teacher.
"Will it cause him stress?"
"Yes."
"We might need more totems. The Voxstone seems to be helping him more, partly because he's fond of it." Her eyes lingered on Ryland for a moment too long. She looked away with a slight blush. "We're also waiting on Jayce to do more research."
Ryland's horse nudged his shoulder, whickering softly in his ear. He soothed it, stroking its jaw. "Soraka, do you think the Skelgarn just uncovers hidden emotions that were already there?"
"That's a difficult question. When are emotions really 'there'? When you realize they are?"
Ryland sighed. He knew that when Soraka answered his questions with questions, it would be impossible to get anything out of her. The two of them walked on in silence.
Ezreal tried hard to focus on the beauty of the forest before him. A lazy, winding river wound its way next to the path they were following. Schools of minnows flitted backwards and forwards, flashing in the sun. The trees had opened a little, allowing light to fall on him. He tilted his face upwards, drinking in the warmth.
Beside him, his horse huffed quietly . It yearned to break free.
He contemplated leaving the group, the Institute. Now that the gem on his gauntlet was gone, nothing tied him there…he could head south towards Shurimana instead, where the days seemed to last for years.
Katarina's light touch startled him so much that he flinched backwards like a spooked colt.
She looked so different in the daylight. The sun poured light into her fiery hair, illuminating her wide, innocent green eyes.
Then he walked into a branch, striking one of his bruises. He couldn't suppress his gasp of pain.
"Damn, I really did fuck you up." She twirled a lock of hair around her finger mischievously, watching him for the next sign of pain. His suffering was obviously filling her with glee.
Ezreal opened his mouth, but words refused to come out. Katarina waited patiently for his response, eyebrows politely raised.
He said the first thing that came to his mind. "Why are you talking to me?"
"Am I not allowed to do that, either? You have a very long list of limits, then." She examined him from head to toe, noting the bruises on his neck like a painter admiring her handiwork.
Please. Please don't hurt me, he thought but didn't say. He didn't want to provoke her. She seemed to live for begging.
"You look terrified," she commented. "Are you really that scared? I thought guys liked sex."
"Leave me alone," he whispered. Now he saw that the glitter in her eyes wasn't natural. Her cheeks too flushed and rosy. The Voxstone began to quake slightly, warming his chest. Gold sparks danced through his scars, his bruises, his cuts.
For a moment, their eyes locked.
Don't say it. Don't say it.
He felt her presence pulling on his, enticing him.
His voice was soft and husky when he said, "Please? For me?"
He saw the dilation of her pupils, the slight flaring of her nostrils. Whatever monster was inside her, he'd called it to him. Half-smiling, she said, "Well, since you asked."
Graves cracked an eye open. Someone on the other side of his door hesitated, then knocked again. There was a brief scuffle before someone banged their fists against it.
"I'm awake!" he hollered. "Stop your bangin'!" He strode over and flung the door open, revealing Caitlyn and Miss Fortune. As one, their eyes took in his shirtless torso. Miss Fortune covered her mouth.
"My eyes are up here, ladies."
"Right. Sorry." Miss Fortune glanced at Caitlyn.
"Let's cut straight to the case, Sarah." Caitlyn nodded. "Go ahead and tell him."
"We're sending another contingent of Champions North."
"Who is 'we'?" Graves grunted.
"The Carries and Vi."
"I figure Vi'd follow Caitlyn wherever she went. She's basically attached to her ass."
Malcolm rubbed his tired eyes. The weather – the coming autumn – brought back searing memories of his wife Melena. If she were alive, she'd be wearing that dark-green dress and starting to bake pumpkin pies, knitting socks and lighting cinnamon candles. He hadn't slept for thoughts of her. The life they'd had…
And now, these two women were waking him up at an unreasonable hour. He had cause to be grumpy.
"We're leaving in three hours, before Zandred finds out," Caitlyn whispered. "Are you coming?"
Graves thought for a second. "Hell, the matches are cancelled anyways. Let's go."
