2. The act of redemption
The breath he couldn't take plagued him.
It was an emptiness in his lungs and throat. As if he had stopped mid-breath, and then held his lungs cruelly waiting.
His mouth open, throat hollow, unable to pull in air. His chest, the horrible tension on his thorax.
His limbs and muscles refused to move. He couldn't breathe. He was choking. The pressure built. The stillness spreads to his chest and limbs. He wants to scream, to tear at his face, to wail—but he is trapped. He cannot move. Aatrox couldn't move.
Darkness.
He must remember. He must remem—
The battle. He lost control. It was foolish.
The mortals formed in ranks against him. He crashed into them. Drank from them. The temptation was too great. As he reaped, he reforged their flesh into a better approximation of his true shape.
Desperately, Aatrox consumed more and more, hoping for the briefest echo of what he once was.
Instead, like a fire, he burned too quickly, destroying even his host's form.
It was like the story of Icarus, the boy who flew too close to the sun.
Darkness, yet again.
He roars. But not in triumph. Never in triumph.
Aatrox will drink from every city, but he will achieve only a grotesque mockery of his former glory.
The madman was once shaped by the stars and the purity of his aspect.
He was light and reason given shape.
He defended this world in the greatest battles ever known. Now, blood and ichor drip from this stolen flesh as it decays.
The muscles and bones struggle, tear, and protest the abomination he has become.
He took a breath.
"No, Aatrox," He says, his voice wet and echoing off the dead that surrounded him.
"We will go onward... and onward… and onward…
Until I may finally die, along with this world."
He woke up.
A dream, a nightmare yet again.
Aatrox got up from his slumber and proceeded onwards towards the next slaughter, but before he could pick his sword up, which was next to a tree, he noticed something rather peculiar.
At the mid-point of the path through life, he found
himself lost in a wood so dark, the way
ahead was so sullied, as if it had been the abyss.
"A nightmare within a nightmare? No, could it be?" The warmonger looked around, his first worry was to breathe, because, during the time he had spent as a sword, the sky was as dark and the ability to breathe, was lost.
His lungs took in air and so, the worry was gone.
Was it an attack? Had the trickster returned to fight?
"I will crush her if it was as such but I can't sense anything hostile." He muttered to himself, he was confused but it ultimately didn't matter, nothing mattered.
His mind was that of a cruel abnormality, but as of the last battle, he kept remembering the boy.
The fear in his eyes.
The potential that was taken away in naught but a second.
The regret.
There it was again, regret.
Was he finally turning completely insane?
The one emotion he locked away deep inside his wicked heart has returned.
How?
Why?
Are the gods playing tricks on him? Is this how torture is to them?!
Or perhaps, the curse of the void is withering away?
No.
The days of the noble Aatrox is far gone, there was no redemption, a darkin such as him deserved none.
He reaped and slashed so many, that the victim count was not countable, forgiveness was long overdue.
None could accept a monster such as him, why would they?
"What good am I?" Aatrox thought, so many years of mayhem, all without a point.
He has slain so many gods, the very thought of happiness was probably cursed out of him.
He even destroyed a village a couple of weeks ago.
It was all a sham, he had enough.
Of destroying.
Killing.
The mayhem.
He set himself 1 goal.
A simple task.
Instead of killing, he would save someone.
Because in the act of doing so, he would not only save the other but save himself.
His instinct came in, he felt it, this feeling.
A massacre, nearby.
Perhaps now would be the best time, to test himself.
And thus, he rushed to the battle.
Ionia.
Surrounded by treacherous seas, Ionia is composed of several allied provinces scattered across a massive land, known to many as the First Lands. Since Ionian culture has long been shaped by the pursuit of balance in all things, the border between the material and spirit realms tends to be more permeable here, especially in the wild forests and mountains.
Although these lands' enchantments can be fickle, its creatures dangerous and fae, for many centuries most Ionians led lives of plenty. The warrior monasteries, provincial militias—and even Ionia itself—had been enough to protect them.
But that ended twelve years ago when Noxus attacked the First Lands. The empire's seemingly endless war hosts savaged Ionia and were only defeated after many years, and at great cost.
Even as a small child, Irelia was fascinated by the grace and beauty of human movement. Under her grandmother's tutelage, she learned the traditional silk dances of her province—though she was dubious of their supposedly mystical connection to the Spirit of Ionia, Irelia's love for the dances was real. Seeking to master the art, she eventually left home to study with some of Ionia's most respected performers at the Placidium of Navori.
She was able to turn her dancing to a deadly fighting technique, killing Noxian soldiers left and right with naught but swift and precise movement.
But today, something was wrong.
Noxian's planned a precise attack on a village near the capital, the village was on a small hill, so it was very adequately defended, since the fighters above, had the high ground.
Letting that village fall on the hands of the enemy was a mistake they could not afford.
Without a thought, Irelia led herself and a small portion of the army towards the village, in merely 35 minutes they had arrived.
But something felt wrong.
Something was wrong.
The village was abnormally quiet, normally, kids would be outside playing and elders debating whether or not their view on politics was the right one. That would be the norm, but this was different.
"The village is empty." She muttered, walking towards one of the empty houses. When she touched the doorknob, she could feel the weight behind it.
Someone was leaning on it from the other side. She heard mumbling from the other side.
It was an ambush.
"Ambush!" Irelia screamed from the top of her lungs, warning the others of the attack that would precede the warning.
The Noxians on the other side opened the door and started to attack her.
The first slash was swiftly dodged, the 2nd parried with her blades, and the third was an attack of her own.
Killing the first soldier, she made easy work of the other, but the Noxian's wouldn't stop appearing, their strategy to win battles was to overwhelm, not outmatch.
"Swine! You dare attack our land again?! Have you not learned anything!"
The attack didn't stop.
They attacked and she killed.
Attack, kill.
Attack, kill.
And attack, and kill.
The more she killed the faster they reappeared. It seemed like a never-ending battle.
She looked around, her people were dying, she was letting them down, again.
She struck more down and even more came charging.
Her fighters were getting less and less, the situation was turning for worse.
She started the battle with 10 blades, now a mere 4 are left.
She heard her people fall, "Save us!" One of them cried aloud, but how could she.
Only 19 years of age, expected to lead a whole nation towards victory, a task far too difficult.
She looked around herself, and discerned, that she was completely surrounded.
And yet again, they struck and she deflected, had the blades been of titanium, she wouldn't have had to worry of their durability, but now, only 3 blades were left to her disposal.
She remembered something, a blade she kept hidden, the blade wasn't intended for the enemy, it was for herself.
If she, by chance was captured by the enemy, the inhumane deeds that would've been done to her were a given.
"Ohn, Zelos, Kai and Ruu, we may meet earlier than expected."
2 blades were left, hope was lost.
She directed the hidden blade near her neck, to end things fast and quickly, but before she could do so, something happened, rather, someone arrived.
A loud crack on the ground was heard by everyone on the hill.
Everyone looked at the figure, who's appearance resembled the beings from Hell, his wings soared above all and with its cruel appearance, godliness emitted out of the figure.
He took no side in the battle's of mortals, so saving anyone, even only a single person, would save him.
He laid eyes on the frightened Irelia, who was surrounded by terrified Noxians.
The Noxians had to move, fight and overwhelm.
"This is hopeless." One of the Noxians mumbled in fear.
Their one and sole strategy, absolutely ravaged by only this being's presence.
Aatrox struck and sent several soldiers severed with a single slash, it was very hypocritical of him, kill many to save one? What was he thinking? He ignored all the thoughts that struck his mind and moved onwards, towards the girl.
The soldiers that surrounded Irelia were now long gone, and when Aatrox arrived beside her trembling body, he had no idea what to do next, but from the facial expression Irelia could see that was on Aatrox's face, she could discern something.
"He seemed so happy," Irelia thought. "Almost as if he, not I, was the one who had been saved." Aatrox touched her shoulder to see if a reaction would come out of her, but even then, she didn't move.
"Even on the verge of death, I was jealous." Irelia kept thinking. "As the being in front of me gratefully kept saying *Thank you*... because by saving me, he'd saved himself."
End of chapter 2!
Please leave your thoughts, they're greatly appreciated.