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Chapter 6
Disconnected
A straight path down the middle lane. Just a few obstacles, and it will be game, set, match. Speedy steps rush onward, a seemingly clear road for the time being.
"Almost a dozen matches already, and they have yet to put me in one with her… Too many exhibition games in this 'pre-season' of theirs," the Blazing Swordsman mutters. "Halfway there…"
The unmistakable silhouette of another bladesman approaches him, head-on with a green sword poised in an ancient style, charging with impressive speed.
"I see him," Ephrial says aloud to the voice linked to his mind, the sword in his grip flaring up.
In a flash, his opponent disappears right before him. The strike is swift, reappearing in a blur faster than most can comprehend. A loud clash, and flames swirl on impact.
"Not this time," eyes of determination gaze into the green lenses staring back at him, locked in conflict. Through careful study from the sidelines, and anticipation through instinct, a fiery blade holds at a defensive angle, covering the side of collision.
The two swordsmen push each other away from their blade-lock, reforming their stances in a brief moment before exchanging blinding strikes, sending sparks flying violently around them. A dazzling display of the unique Wuju and Noxian-Ionian arts create an intense scene of discipline and speed, each decisive strike capable of bringing the skirmish to a sudden halt.
Sharp eyes watch for the pattern, carefully discerning each swipe while anticipating the next. "There it is; the double-strike again," a tactical mind parries a ringed blade once more. "Now!"
A counterstrike swings at an opening. Ephrial feels the lack of connection in his maneuver as hot steel swipes through a mirage. That familiar rush of wind and movement breezes by him, telling where the next attack will come from. Instead of fighting the momentum of his force to reposition his blade defensively, he follows through with it, embracing the full motion, bringing it all the way around himself. Signature swords bolt at each other and clash again. The absence of hesitation in his reflexes ward off the blow, just barely, and the sheer force knocks both of the swordsmen off of their feet.
Well-crafted skills roll along the ground with the repulsion, recovering themselves with seamless fluidity. The two reform their stances, respective to their individual masteries.
"Did you miss it?" a grin appears on the short-beard of Master Yi.
"He definitely has speed on his side. Time for a change of plan." Focus on priority ignores the taunt directed at the new nick in his shoulderplate, where the reduced strike was deflected into. "No, save that one for later…" the mercenary-knight tells the disembodied company in his head.
The blanket of flames on the gilded blade begins to intensify, dancing wildly as they grow. Specially-made eyewear automatically focuses with a subtle, high-pitch grinding of mechanisms. With precision in their very steps, they rush toward each other, pressing for the offense.
A distant slash cuts through air, releasing a bolt of bright flames forward, aiming low. The unconventional strike does its work, colliding with the ground before Yi's feet, forcing him to make a hasty leap over the twisting burst of fire. Perfect.
Careful analysis of Master Yi's Wuju style surmises that, above all things, it requires solid grounding to perform. Both his speed and resistance to movement-impairing magic are specifically founded on using the ground to forcefully propel his motions. Focus may be the key to precision and skill, but all martial arts yield to the laws of physics at one point or another.
Ephrial seizes the opportunity, dashing in with a charged blade of steel and fervor. A powerful overhead cleave lands onto the evasive swordmaster, exploding on impact into an outward scorching blaze. The inferno of embers and smoke clears out, along with the last bit of fading light taking his opponent away.
"Wuju like some ice for that burn?" the remaining swordsman straightens himself. A hollow-sounding puff of air, and a tiny, short-lived whistle rings off from the side, and a sudden pain pricks into his neck. With a sharp string, a sensory-nullifying toxin enters his body, causing his vision to go completely dark. "Hng—!"
Honed instincts through experience kick in, ducking low and rolling toward the sound of continuing puffs and whistles. A barrier of heat and flames fend off the last few projectiles with a sweeping blade, clearing the way for a swift kick to send the Swift Scout flying into the nearby wall of plantation. With the sound of a stifled explosion, and a small dust cloud of purple spores peering over the tall grass, the stealthy strikes cease.
A free hand removes the dart and rubs his eyes. "Jeez…that really is annoying," his vision begins coming back, blurry at first.
Shaking the residual effects off, he resumes toward his destination. The advantage belongs to his team, and the path to victory is open. It's time to finish the hour-long fight.
"Nearly there," the division between stone and dirt coming into view.
Sturdy steps alter their path in quick response to an alert ringing in his mind in the form of a pinging sound. The alarm is loud, indicating that the unseen threat is very close.
A thunderous roar cracks through the air and catapults into the ground in front of him, ripping the very earth below a beastly sight of rage and muscle.
"This is about what I did to your boomerang, isn't it…?" Ephrial looks up at the hulking yordle of prehistoric origin.
Angry eyes stare down at him as a deep growl rumbles through large fangs. A giant fist begins scooping up a chunk of the ground by its side, pulling out a boulder of dense rock from the torn soil.
Ephrial slowly lifts a hand to his double-belt, carefully grabbing a miniature purple object. "Wait for it, Summoner…"
Bad temperament can wait no longer, and lurches forward on three limbs, ball of earth in-hand. The swordsman runs directly at him, holding nothing back. Genetic rage launches the colossal rock straight towards the mercenary. Its sheer size creates a shadow over him, and eclipses Ephrial's view of his opponent as it approaches with lethal velocity. Close enough for his plan, he jumps toward the mass.
"Do it!" mental communication reaches to a remote location.
The view of the death boulder flashes back to one of a furious titan once more, much closer now. The Blazing Swordsman hurls an optic device into the agape jaws of the creature. As it reaches its target, the vision ward magically expands, holding Gnar's mouth wide open. Ephrial uses the height advantage given to him by the Summoner Spell to land on the enemy's shoulder, using it to springboard himself further and leap out of the way of a reaching grasp.
Powerful teeth crack down on the ward, crushing the crystal, and dousing the revealing light emitting from it as the beast turns around. A bolt of flame greets the Missing Link's face, dazing its target as he reels from the fiery impact. He is further enraged beyond any reason now, but still slow—too far to catch up now.
The end is in sight; a massive crystal rotating within a thin, magical barrier. Ephrial looks to his sides, his allies approaching the target from their own skirmishes. Time is still a factor, but victory appears certain. The team nears the objective from different angles, weapons poised and ready to seize the day's match. Yet, something appears out of place…
The spinning of the enemy's nexus accelerates, and the blue glow becomes a brilliant red. The band of designated allies charge on, but with perplexed looks on their faces. A faint humming slowly rises, then crescendos as the structure explodes into a white light, knocking everyone backwards into the stone floor with a powerful shockwave.
Ephrial raises his head to the sight of shattered crystal peppering the ground, and smoke rising off a destroyed structure. Allies and opponents alike rise to their feet in a cease-fire, scanning at their surroundings in confusion. The luminescent crystals and patterns that decorate the base grow dim and lifeless.
"What's going on, Summoner? …Summoner?" Ephrial asks to thin air, with no response. He looks at the other champions, seemingly in the same disconnected state by the look on their faces.
Severed connections leave the combatants in an odd, almost unnatural silence. The cracks in the stone floor of the base suddenly begin to illuminate brightly. His vision of the surrounding area whites out again, and Ephrial feels himself floating through air as if he had just been thrown afar. The sensation comes to an abrupt halt, and the swordsman lands hard on his feet, similar to being summoned, but more forceful.
He looks at his new environment; the Institute in chaos. Purple-clad men and women run around the courtyard and open crosswalks on the second floor. Clamor and distinct sounds of destructive magic at work fill the air. Walls, railings, and flooring smolder and crumble before a crowd of shadowy figures shrouded in an aura as dark as a starless night sky.
A robed creature lurches at him from the side, only to fall to a bisecting slice.
He looks at his fallen foe, seeing a familiar presence. "Minions…?" Ephrial surveys the unprecedented situation. "No…these were minions at some point. Now they're something else entirely…" gazing at their level of destruction.
Guards and brave high-tier summoners rush to the scene, blasting away at the invaders. Leading them, a figure on wings, clad in golden armor, swipes away clusters of the marauders with a venerable blade, clearing a path for the retreating inhabitants of the League's grounds.
A piercing shriek cuts the air. Eyes hidden behind a helmet turn to see a female summoner about to be crushed by a falling slab of concrete. With a simple extension of the angel's arm, a transparent barrier of warm gold surrounds the summoner, and the debris break harmlessly around her. Another gesture of the Judicator's arm bathes the bystander in a brief flash of holy light, allowing the woman to rise from a formerly-wounded ankle and run for safety.
An impressive sight. Nothing less than he would expect from one of the League's most powerful champions. She would have to be, if the Institute's founder and High Councilor, Reginald Ashram himself, chose her to be head of security to protect the summoners and contestants alike, not to mention to serve as his bodyguard.
With a loud crash, a vastly empowered and deformed siege minion bursts through a wall. A handful of fleeing summoners fly backward, landing prone at the mercy of a large barrel pointing right at them. Spiked wheels squeak closer, and the sounds of tumbling and clicking herald ammunition locking in place.
Two fiery bursts of fervor streak across the machine, crippling its movement; gears grinding to a messy stop. The warriors glance at each other's weapons, noting a comparison. Talk can wait, however, and they blaze into action—Ephrial getting up close, and Kayle keeping a tactical distance. Strike after strike, slash after slash, nimble cutting edges dismantle the giant siege weapon into a burning pillar of fire. Its operator, however, responds to no pain and looks on with emotionless, lifeless eyes through the piercing flames. Gears rumble again, and the large barrel rises to point just above the doorway of escape for those fleeing.
A quick exchange of looks, and they know what they have to do. Ephrial hurls his blade, spinning into the opening of the weapon, the metal carving itself stuck firmly inside the circumference. He swiftly ascends the structure, and the Judicator lets out a blast of holy might directly at the hilt of the wedged sword. The impact sends it shredding through, and the mercenary-knight runs along the pipe as his arcane blade glides through the steel below him, splitting the tube with a trail of molten metal. He jumps at the sound and vibrations of a rupture underneath his feet—the indestructible weapon landing a direct blow to the cannon's firing mechanism. A swift hand catches the soaring hilt as it pierces through the machine and its enchanted driver. He twists himself around in the air, and crashes the razor edge down along the disarmed vehicle to finish it off for good.
The burning remains of the foe collapses in the resulting explosion, smoke and embers rising from the pile. Ephrial wearily rises to a knee, using his sword to support him as his other hand holds injured ribs. A hard landing into a pile of jagged rocks does the mercenary-knight no favors after already pushing himself through encounters with powerful figures in the Rift. An abrupt light washes over him, and he begins feeling a surge of rejuvenation. Cerulean eyes look up to see the armor-clad figure hovering above the ruined ground in front of him.
"On your feet!" a stern voice commands behind a concealing helmet. "This affliction cannot be allowed to spread further."
Ephrial rises. "What have you in mind?" sensing a plan of action in the certainty of her voice.
"Come. We shall defend the Master Nexus."
With a signaling gesture of her hand, the guards she roared in with take formation behind her. Raising her blade and pointing it toward the path ahead, radiant wings propel her as she leads her unit with assertive grace.
"Forward!"