AN: Second batch of Project Crosspost.
Nasus II
Vekaura was gone. The buildings, nothing but empty shells. The people, reduced to either ash or mindless drones. Xerath spared me, not because he was unable to kill me. He did so because he knew that what I am suffering now is more painful than anything he could personally deliver.
A scrabbling horde of men and women, proud Shurimans whose eyes were replaced by repulsing blankness. Ruthless. Mindless.
Even in my injured state, my body littered by burns and wounds from Xerath's assault, these people - for under those glazed looks are still the children of Shurima, struggling from their bondage - pose no significant threat to me. At least, not physically.
My axe swung in a wide arc, a dozen heads falling to the ground.
"I'm sorry."
I wasn't sure if my apology was for killing them, or or for not being there to protect them from Xerath's control, or for abandoning them to Xerath's whims in search of something I believed to be more important.
A man, clothed like a simple farmer with none of the signature muscular developments a trained soldier would have, dropped to the ground, cleaved in twain by another swing of my axe.
"I'm sorry."
Since when have I stopped caring about the common people of Shurima? Since when have I put more importance in ancient magics and legendary bloodlines over the lives of the Shuriman people?
A woman attempted to clamber up my back, her knife trying to find purchase in my armor. I flung her away, the sound of her spine breaking on contact with the ground drawing another pained wince from me.
"I'm sorry."
For too long have I spent in self exile, wallowing in memories of the past, preferring the company of ancient texts and arcane ruins. For too long have I made a mockery of my title as Shurima's Protector, as the Curator of the Sands.
An absent minded flick of my hand disintegrated another group of brainwashed assailants in a wave of spiritual flame. My newfound determination sputtered and died, extinguished by the renewed wave of self hatred.
"I'm sorry."
Guilt and self depreciation battled with any attempts at renewing my vigor. An internal cycle of self hatred, interrupted only by the labored breathing of my assailants.
"You are no longer mired in your hypocrisy, Nasus." I told myself, batting away another group of men and women with my axe, their corpses adding to the tally of sins I should hate myself for. "You are drowning in it."
These people. They were people of Shurima, with hopes and dreams and lives to live. Xerath may have buried them in their own minds, but it was my actions today that was wiping all of that away. Perhaps, Shurima would be better off with my death. The people of Vekaura, the people I've failed, deserve nothing less.
I rested my eyes as I awaited the approach of the next wave of enemies. Faces flashed into my mind's eye. One of awe and wonder, yet holding a steely determination to protect her friend. The other of hesitation and doubt, both discarded and washed away by newfound resolve. My eyes opened.
I may have failed them, but my death here will do nothing to help them. I am Nasus, the Curator of the Sands. Whatever accursed magic Xerath did here, I must find a way to undo it. Then, and only then, will I offer my head to the people of Vekaura. With a resounding roar, I crashed through their ranks, taking great care to avoid dealing fatal injuries.
"My fate is mine, and mine alone!"
"RAWR!"
"Then fight for Shurima now! The free children of the desert are dying out there, even as we speak."
"UWU!"
"I don't know what it means but I guess it's some kind of well wishing."
"BOOP!"
It felt like an eternity, an unending moment of wading through the mass of people trying to kill me, but the gates of Vekaura was finally within my sight. And right outside the wide open gates, stretching to the horizon, was line after line of armor clad soldiers. Humans and sand constructs marching towards the city, the adulating cries of "For the Emperor!" echoing loudly in the vast expanse.
I could feel the familiar magic of the Sun Disc, emanating from the golden figure at the forefront of the army, forcing away the dark miasma that was what remained of Xerath's magic in the city. I could hear the sounds of confusion and terror from the crowd of people behind me, memories of their bodies moving against their will, of slaughtering their fellow citizens and of being slaughtered, in turn, by me coming to the forefront of their minds.
"Nasus, my old friend!" Azir's voice, a mixture of melancholy and exuberance, distracted me from my renewed guilt.
"Emperor." I greeted him. "I did not expect you to lead the army yourself."
"The Naruto must lead the way." I blinked in confusion. The what?
Azir eyed the commotion in the city, where his soldiers were trying to calm the panicked populace.
"What has happened here?"
Our eyes, his expectant ones and my own guilt ridden ones, met.
"Xerath's magic them to turn against each other. But it was by my hand that most of them died."
Silence fell upon us for a few moments, his personal guard eyeing me warily at the admission. It was I who broke the silence first.
"If my death would give the citizens any peace of mind-"
Azir raised a hand, cutting me off.
"The city may be in ruins, its population diminished, but the survivors remain. If you truly wish to atone, then help us rebuild Vekaura. Help us protect its people from Xerath's predations."
It was a kindness. A gentle reminder that I still have a purpose to live for. Perhaps protecting Shurima in its entirety was too much for me alone. But one city, the city that I have wronged so greatly, would be within my capabilities.
"I will try." I vowed.
Azir's hawk like visage did not lend itself well to portraying emotion, but I knew him well enough, even before his Ascension, to know he was smirking knowingly at me.
"A wise man once told me: Do or do not, there is no try."
====
Ahri II
I found him at a tavern, surrounded by a crowd of people listening to his tale. The words he used were strange, seemingly a mix of words from different nations. Even with the large mob, his stature was great enough to remain visible, his rough reptilian scales covered in scars as well as his blood red eyes giving him an intimidating aura. Sharp, backwards pointing teeth gleamed proudly every time he opened he spoke.
Despite his intimidating size, he appeared genial, his rough voice, like rock grinding against rock, spoke of fantastic tales that kept his audience captivated, even to the point of children being comfortable enough to climb onto his massive arms, giggling all the while. A strange duality between a predatory appearance and the personality of a kindly storyteller. On the other hand, my instincts, heightened by my connection to the primal energies of Runeterra itself, screamed at me. This was an apex predator. A force of nature encapsulated into a vaguely humanoid body.
"-and so the Quiet Wolf, upon the request of his close friend, the Conquering Stag-"
"The Fat Stag!" One of the children on his shoulder, a boy of about eight, piped up. The gravelly laugh that erupted from the reptile made my ears twitch.
"Yes, the Fat Stag. He-" He abruptly cut off, nostrils flaring. I froze, knowing instinctively that the predator in front of me just got my scent. The massive head turned until those blood red eyes were on me, glimmering like rubies in the sunlight.
"You. Come over here."
The people turned to look at me, whispering amongst each other. Those between me and the storyteller parted, giving me enough space to walk up. It took only a few tentative steps, but my heart was beating rapidly in my chest that it felt like I just trekked halfway across Ionia.
"You have the Resolve of the Nine Tails."
The numerous children still sitting on his shoulders chittered excitedly.
"Like from the story of Naruto?"
The what?
"Can she sense negative emotions?"
I flinched. Do they know about that?
"Does she really have fluffy tails?"
What?
"Do you really want her as your fox wife, Lord Renekton?"
What?
"Is she really going to help save the world from a biiiiiig evil thing?"
What.