Hi, sorry for the late update. I didn't expect to throw this out there but it is what it is. Writing is not my thing it's just a hobby so excuse any cringe. I do not own and of Riot's only this story and my OC.
Chapter 2
The halls of the Institute scurried in assortment of councillors and city-state officials. A modest crowd poured into the high pillared room of commons. It was deep in accommodation of a marble-petricide table, emulating its half-mooned shape in parallel. At the centre stood High Councillor Ravesh, erected by a podium, encompassed in quick conversations to the flowing masses. His attention briefly turned to the advisory champions Ryze and Nasus, by which he finds relief in their presence. The rising commotions could be quelled, but that was a disappointment yet to come.
O
The match came to an end putting champions in their respective city-state platforms. Darius was by his lonesome at Noxus' very own, half-dropping his axe to the rack indented at the wall and stuffing it with a bloody reek. Grime coated his exposed skin, complimentary of the Rift's arduous jungle. The sharp odour quickly dissipated as a great slab of stone plummeted, leaving a swift huff of settled dust by his boot.
He commended the Fields of Justice way in keeping the truce within the League of Legends. Personal guards are excluded from restrictions; however, each city-state guard and emissary held a yearly contract under the institute, supposedly to reduce an internal breach of conflict. Mages are treated in a like manner, they attended exclusive sessions under the rune mage's broody supervision.
Ryze kept magic suppressed using a variety of petricide strains, these are wrapped at their wrists, some bound to them as though they were cloth, and others fashioned around necks. Walls too, reinforced with petricide, shifted according to the occupant's affinity, ever changing to match their power.
Darius exited the platform met by a captain of his Legion. He scoured over the champions beginning their bogged and pompous journey to the wards. None looked to be as wounded as he realized.
None suffered a grievous wound such as Darius. He expected this much, those before the Nashor are commonly met with its acidic ruptures. He carried his legs and stilled his chest. Though the Captain behind him found no distinction aside the punctured chest-plate. Dusk pranced the establishment illustrating a mauve, richly lining the opening of Darius' cut. The usual markings of the Nashor's onslaught.
"News of Noxus?" Darius inquired. Intent on the healers' ward around the corner.
"Our messengers are delayed, Darius. We were to expect them after the council this morning." Replied the Captain, commendable to be matching his strides.
Darius muffled a low grunt. "Katarina will meet them." He said, tuned away from talking anymore, undeniably thankful at the image of the trio Healers divide in welcome of the champions. His shadow silenced as the Captain set out to find the next Noxian roaming the halls.
Darius arrived last and claimed to himself a round bed, far from the conspicuously grouped city-states. Which he noticed to be abundant unlike his own, as expected. The construction at the wards had begun as promised, masons clattered past his shoulders, he sat serving as a cautionary for both parties.
His fingers carried a slack, successful in their pursuit of freedom from his armour. Starting at his shoulder pads, their weight alone posed as a weapon along with its sharp spikes, they heavily dented the bed around him, further adding to his aura of unwanted attention. All else followed loosely.
To what do I owe the pleasure of these scowled cretins? His jaw grinded, feeling them rove away as he looked up.
Save for the healers who knew better. Soraka had always perceived their time perfectly. But this time she was received with feigned ignorance of her presence. The serene in her step became careful treads to his odd form. Discerning its source, beaded eyes locked to the Noxian's ill-formed chest wound, then the sweat descending upon his exterior as iron peeled from darker cloth. A grimace threatened the lines around his nose as he tried to still his features from distortion.
"With ease, child." She advised.
He took her words lightly, knowing her tone was easily mistaken, granting her a look that proved otherwise. And she knew better than to interfere until his manner settled, tending instead to the sun-haired champion Lux. Demacians were simple and fast to heal, always cautious of their welfare in and out of the fields.
As her time came, the dwarfed Soraka sat on a granite stool facing the commander's torso. She started to sizzle the surrounding cloth of the wound in soft smithereens, tracing with her precise digits. Her face of beautiful indifference was lit with dignity by the night torches. Yet it couldn't foresee the calamity which followed. Blood that slowly ceased to flow, rapidly soiling in deeper maroons. The red liquid appeared heavy, and as Soraka rubbed it between her fingers she noticed as the deep purples began to pulse within the sanguine substance.
"No…!" she uttered lowly in a brief shock to the almost black appearance of the gash.
"This cut is deep. For how long did you stay in the Nashor's pit?" she asked Darius.
"No longer than I need to, I took the brunt as my role required." He said and perhaps with a faint lower octave to his voice. Signs of mental defeat to his strange infliction. And she never had to speak to anyone, let alone Darius. Her speedy healing had always cut 'pleasantries' short.
"What difference is there now from then?" he continued in his low snarl.
"The skin. It… does not heal." She murmured, intimidated by his affliction.
Soraka darted after the darkness of his wound with her mint-cool magic. It smelled fresh of evergreens, she made sure it was strong and imposing. It challenged the fleshy gloom that pooled within Darius' wound, seeking deeper to crush the strange substance.
But to no avail. The petricide barred her healing. She saw this as a double-edged sword. Although protecting her from burns, she wouldn't heal as much as she pleased.
She quickly caught the attention of the singular Marai girl, Nami. She had just dismissed the Crownguard's sister, who paid some mind to the man's slip of character.
"Yes?" Nami flicked the end of her tail.
"This infliction of the Nashor does not respond to my healing. Perhaps you can assist me?" she inquired, hoping their stacked magic did the trick.
Darius blinked away all the sweat he could, each time his vision played in and out of focus. The cool air that welcomed him to the establishment became suffocating. Soraka now too began to sweat, her mint-kissed magic steamed in contact of his skin. Nami's healing waters had bubbled in deep purple as though rejected by something within the wound. Each time they plunged their healing into him, the more he was pained. Until it jolted him in agony.
Soraka perked in alarm, hooves felling the granite stool behind her. "… I shall find the Head healer." she said in unusual flurry, turning to Nami in a whisper, "Fetch the Maven at once."
"Right...!" and on Nami went in her unique motion, concerned of Soraka's dishevelled composition.
The quick turn of events left Darius by his lonesome once again. His closed eyes opened and stared at nothing, the nothing swivelled, and he would close them. A final time he opened his eyes to find everything churned, figures fusing in and out of each other. Who were they?
ENEMIES. No, they were not. He told himself.
YES! A savage voice screamed in barbaric unison by his ears.
O
The divine Soraka hurried to find the spilled crowd of councillors and emissaries. She would wait for their meek dissipation. Each one looked to be in pursuit of questions but little to no answers, dividing to the halls encircling the cool marble dome. A familiar figure turned toward her visible query. In every step his cowl bounced, grounded by the bundle of cloth and thick hair braided atop his head. The taut ensemble swayed the tail of his braid in sweeping motion.
"Councillor Cilo, there has been a- medical disturbance at the ward," she said, joining his lead to the precinct, "A strain of the Nashor's bane has deeply rooted within the Noxian, neither my healing or the Marai's waters were successful."
"Don't let it devour you, Starchild." Cilo said, smiling as he followed her eyes passing him by. "The bane is unhinged, but do not fret. It's only a stitch or two loose within the Rift," he stopped before hall's entrance, eyeing the parted Curator and Rune Mage at its end.
He continued, knuckling his lower back, "But that is the real concern," Cilo's voice dropped deep, "And that is why Ryze will accompany us, this is a threat to the Institute's people and its champions. If not the world itself."
"The rune mage is no healer." Soraka said, watching Ryze approach them to a stop.
"You're right, I am not." He replied. "Councillor Ravesh has instructed me to see to these phenomena, that which concerns Summoner's Rift. There is evidence of its loosened state, spilling its intent on the fields."
The three had a similar duty, and with this they began to make for the ward. Passing on their thoughts to each other. A mage, a celestial and a human never looked so stood out as a unit roaming the halls. Soldiers passed them by without a glance, proof of their councils' knowledge of the Institute's troubles.
O
He swung his arm to his breast, fingers clawed around the wound. Nails dug and tore bulges of purple-pink veins. They pulsed away from the gash, appearing to elongate
"Stop! You will hurt yourself!" pleaded the Starchild, she'd garner the attention of the ward. She insisted towards him but was met with a stone-like slab as he stood. Baring his teeth, his breathing hitched as he slowly tore the black cloth outwards from the oozing gash.
He staggered on the spot, he appeared possessed. For what infliction made such a man of might so… troubled?
The Marai girl's eyes widened, "Soraka!" she called to her. The starchild's reply came healthy, she was unhurt. Nami hurled her staff under the elbow then thrusted it upwards. The air cooled once again and the sound of deep ocean, of her home, trickled in swirls and lining her staff. She wouldn't take another chance of her friend being hurt.
She brought her eyes down to Darius, red eyes glazed by the aurora of water as it darted from her staff and towards the ragged bulk of a man. It twisted and twirled above Darius, then began to circle downward in a bauble shape before tightening to his large shape, their centrifuge invading his widening wound struggling to keep it from bleeding. He stood rooted, fist clenched and groaning in anger.
The gigantic bubble she had envisioned could not manifest. Her attempts were met by sharp prickles around her wrist, preventing her extravagant waters to ebb and flow.
The lesser healers scrambled toward the horned divine, in their wake was the murky purpled-water seeping from his wound. Seems that it too had stained the Tidecaller's liquid magic, stripped of its aquamarine character and replaced with dances of blood and purple. Nami gripped her staff, determined to steady her stream of magic, painfully aware of the petricide controlling her flow.
Let me know what you guys think, I promise I will show my OC in the next chapter and try to make it a long one. Thanks for reading.