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Chapter 16
The Crystal Scour
"I've never been here except during the League's matches. Without the sound of battle in the atmosphere, everything here seems so…dead," Riven looks around her empty surroundings.
"Yeah…a real ghost town. This place has been quite convenient lately…" Ephrial contemplates Kalamanda's recent history.
"Are you referring to Heywan's scheme?"
"Scheme, yes. Heywan's…? I'm not convinced it started with him. With the recent events, it's quite evident it hasn't ended with him either."
"What do you suppose their plan is for directing us here?" thinking of Ephrial's suspicion with the summoner they had previously encountered.
"Time will tell us that before long. The lack of summoners here is not a good sign so far, however."
A loud blast erupts the ambient silence, echoing through the abandoned town with startling force. The shockwaves ripple along the ground, rumbling the very foundations of the surrounding structures.
"That doesn't sound promising either," Riven adds, alertness tightening her grip on the broken blade.
"I guess that's our cue to run toward the source of impending danger," Ephrial says dryly, with the wariness of knowing what he is walking into may very well be a trap.
The pair run to the middle of the Crystal Scar, large walls of rock and grass becoming more familiar with each step. The silence of the air, and the lack of summoners sharing their minds, gives them an unnerving feeling of being completely isolated in the abandoned village. An unclear goal, and the looming threat of an unknown enemy approaching, keeps the two on edge as they hope to skid through the provided cover unseen.
Peering through the brushes, "Is that…Blitzcrank?" Oceanic eyes continue to observe a scene of a growing audience drawn to the mysterious commotion.
A gem-studded knight follows behind, large hammer in tow. From the neighboring shadows across the way, a powerful minotaur dashes out, ready for a brawl. Alistar meets the two in confusion, and the League participants begin conversing just out of earshot of the hidden swordsmen.
Heavy footsteps begin approaching from the North, and the sound of crumbling ground grinds in their wake. Emerging from the patch of greenery is a giant living rock, and next to him, a sentient tree.
"Vile magicks! When will the torment of mages end!?" Maokai barks to his kindred ally.
"Order will be formed. Restored," the hulking Malphite bellows in response.
"By the reckless mages that summon us to do their bidding!? Only nature knows true balance!"
The already-present champions all look in the direction of the bickering tree and mild-tempered living boulder. They approach each other in a shared curiosity, each holding onto the familiarity they have with each other on the Fields of Justice, and hoping someone might have information on the events that have lead them here.
Ephrial and Riven remain hidden in the brush, patiently watching the event unfold. Traveling alone for so long in a world filled to the brim with danger has made them appropriately cautious.
"This is quite a group of growing diversity. Zaun, the Great Barrier, two other worlds, the Twisted Treeline…and now Piltover?" Ephrial whispers, observing an adventurer entering the scene.
"Wow. Am I really that late to the party?" the Prodigal Explorer shouts from the top of one of the surrounding walls of stone. With a flash, arcane magic materializes him on the ground with the rest. "You guys got the distress call, too?"
Sounds of combat, muffled by distance, quickly explode out of the corner. An egotistical duelist and mysterious grandmaster lurch out in mid-air; a dented lamppost swiping away the deadly point of a rapier.
Their skirmish bumps them into the giant leg of Malphite, who in turn, gives them a disapproving scowl…as far as living rocks can make facial expressions. They ignore him, too distracted in their conflict. The Shard of the Monolith picks the two up by the loose ends of their respective attires, like separating feuding children.
"Release me at once! I am in ze middle of teaching zis peasant a lesson he shall never forget!" Fiora demands in her signature accent, furiously fighting against her restraint.
"Ha! You're not fit enough to be headmistress of an elementary league," Jax taunts.
Taric approaches with his usual aura of serenity, "Friends, now is not the time for quarrel. What we need is some opal for harmony. I'm certain I have a spare somewhere…" he begins digging in his pockets.
The group begins clamoring about separate affairs. Fiora and Jax continue squabbling about their skills, Maokai beseeches Malphite to crush the two, and Taric mumbles on about gems. A restless minotaur gets engrossed in the aggression and begins to mouth off to Ezreal about a past League match.
The Blazing swordsman and Exile exchange glances, seeing the gathering turn into a senseless mash of arguments, getting far away from the matters at hand. With brave steps, they emerge from their grassy cover and reveal themselves to those not too fond of Noxus. Most notably, Alistar, with his past war against the city-state that lead to the murder of his family and his imprisonment, where he was forced to fight in the brutal arena spectacle known as the Fleshing.
Ezreal, known for his remarks against Noxians, gives them a cross look, and takes a battle stance. "Noxians… I knew those guys were up to something!"
"The last thing we need now is to jump to hasty conclusions," the mercenary-knight calmly approaches, showing no intention of drawing his blade.
Alistar's breathing accelerates, his head lowering with a piercing gaze, and deadly horns ready to follow suit.
Shifting his attention, "Hey, now. I once ran with the bulls in combat against a group of Noxian invaders. Not against them," Ephrial gives a reminder of his shared story—an introduction given on behalf of the newcomers to the League, courtesy of the Institute.
"Oh yeah? What are you doing with her?" the explorer gestures toward Riven. The friendships and acquaintances formed in his time in the League has given him insight of the sordid details about the invasion of Ionia.
"Breaking the chains of the past that continue to bind us to pointless violence," he chooses his words carefully, as to answer the question while appeasing to a snorting bull. "What is your purpose for joining the League," he turns the interrogation around.
Ezreal falls silent, knowing his entrance to the Institute of War was due to an ancient relic tied with summoning magic. A knack for exploration, combined with a boastful, carefree attitude, cannot weigh against a history of lost family and a lifetime of fighting.
For Alistar, everything takes a shade of red. While Riven has never ventured to the home of the minotaurs, her mere presence, and worn remnants of Noxian armor, triggers a whirlwind of flashbacks. Words fall upon deaf ears as an age of torment and battle rush across the brute's eyes.
Before a hoof scrapes the ground the last time before a charge, a four-legged predator leaps into the scene, taking everyone's attention with a loud roar. A cougar, looking as confused as a kitten in a hall of mirrors, looks at each of the gathered company before assuming her human form.
"You are not the prey I seek…" Nidalee examines the crowd.
"ERROR. PROBABILITY OF CURRENT LEAGUE COMBATANTS PRESENT IN AREA CONVERGING AT THE SAME TIME OUTSIDE OF LEAGUE SANCTIONED EVENTS: LESS THAN ONE PERCENT," Blitzcrank chimes in, announcing his own confusion as he scratches his metal scalp once.
"I think before we start a private match of our own, we should begin exchanging accounts regarding as to why we're all here," Ephrial capitalizes on the desired track of thought.
"Zis insolent simpleton challenged me to a duel, claiming me a coward that would not fight without ze 'safety net' of ze League's magic!" Fiora takes a swipe at the air, still dangling across from Jax.
The Grandmaster laughs the insult off. "I got a letter from someone that said I would find a real challenge here. Clearly a hoax," he goads Fiora with a taunting, six-eyed glare.
"Why you—"
"I got a distress call from a yawper I found on my way to the Institute," Ezreal interrupts, pulling out a small device, dead after a single use.
Yawpers are communication devices that yordles use to send vocal messages across great distances. Normally, they are not so fragile as to break over one operation, but the one in the explorer's hand looks as if it has seen better days.
"They didn't exactly give much detail, but they were rather specific about the location," he finishes.
"A curious stranger divulged to me her woes of a looming threat in the land she had once called home," Taric's oddly soothing voice joins in.
"That may be the closest to the truth so far," Ephrial takes in their accounts. "I'm sure everyone here heard the rumbling prior to our arrival here. I don't suppose you have anything to do with that, Big Guy?" turning to Malphite, the only being currently present that could have possibly caused such an anomaly.
The giant creature from a distant world lets the duelists back down, leaving them to their ceasefire and misplaced disdain. "No. Summoners urged me to defend the nexuses."
"…The summoners didn't go with you, but they allowed Maokai out of the Institute?"
"It is their promise of returning me to the forest that restrains me from crushing you, wielder of the destructive element!" the Twisted Treant flares, a sapling on his shoulder matching his glower.
"What's all this racket!?" a raspy voice calls out, approaching from behind the obstruction that is Malphite.
Everyone turns around at yet another arrival, this time, a blue man covered in runes. He approaches steadfast, book in hand, and that unmistakable, oversized scroll on his back.
"Ryze, too?" Ephrial looks at the entire congregation.
"I can't conduct my research with all this commotion!" the agitated archmage fusses. "What are you all doing here, anyway!? Shouldn't you be off fighting with the summoners at the Institute?"
"I think it's safe to say that none of us really knows why we're here, but we'll have to find out fast. Just what kind of research are you hoping to accomplish in this area?"
"The attacks on the nexuses, of course! Upon the request of an elite summoner, I was tasked with finding out what drained the power from the nodes in this place."
"The nexuses here are already dead?" Riven breaks her silence, bearing the words of the summoner they had met in mind.
"Why are you surprised? Your kind only knows how to bring death wherever they go!" Alistar snaps.
"I-I—" being filled with too much guilt to know how to respond.
"Now's not the time to point fingers at each other. We're all here for a reason, and it's become apparent that it's not what we have been lead to believe. The affiliation of those responsible for what's going on has yet to be determined, but it's clear that the Institute is still infested with those of a sinister…and highly elaborate intention." Ephrial calls things to order.
Ezreal ponders, resting his chin on his fist and a crossed arm. "Hm…but why lead us to Kalamanda? There's nothing here."
"That may be the actual reason itself. This place was a hotspot for attention not all that long ago, was it not? I may not have been in the League for as long as any of you, but I did a lot of catching up with the League's publication known as 'The Journal of Justice'. That is, before it was discontinued for its involvement with the scandal," the mercenary explains.
"That doesn't make sense. Why dismantle the establishment of power when the sole point is to grasp power?" the Prodigal Explorer wonders.
"There are many that see the Institute of War as an obstacle, rather than a seat to be conquered," adds Jax. "I know Pantheon and the rest of the Rakkor tribe aren't very fond of it.
"Perhaps, but they are more known for hand-to-hand combat, as well as a strict code of honor. There's no way they would resort to such schemes."
"Let's remember who were involved, and who had the most to gain. Heywan took over the seat of the High Councilor of the League after Ashram's disappearance. Things became extremely heated between Demacia and Noxus here, during which time Swain rose in Boram Darkwill's place in Noxus. The collective disappearances and deaths during the ordeals covered by the Journal, dating even back to the attack on the Demacian ship, the DSS Excursion, have all been a part of some power play. However, there are still missing links, and there's no way to tell just how deep this thing goes," the Blazing Swordsman quickly ties the known to the unknown.
"That is quite a daring assumption, newbie…but it looks like you've done your research," Ryze acknowledges.
"So what you're saying is that Noxus IS involved!" Alistar grunts.
"Something like that. Not every citizen is content with Swain's methods, and even the most notorious Noxians have been a major part of the scandal's investigation—the Sinister Blade and the Blade's Shadow," Ephrial points out.
"Didn't the Institute cease all outside investigations to conduct its own in the matter?" Taric remembers.
"They did, but I doubt that would stop those two. Besides, there's nothing more unethical and dangerous than a 'protective' organization being allowed to police itself."
"All zis talk of politics and schemes bores me," the fencer jumps in. "I desire a worthy foe to face me. Let me know when they are brave enough to rise to ze challenge so that I may run them through!"
"I, for one, am entertained by this story of men fighting each other for such petty causes. Is this what you call 'civilization'?" Nidalee makes a sarcastic remark, being only interested in protecting the jungle that raised her from the dangers that pose a threat to it.
"Quiet, cat! We all know of your little affair with Summoner Nashahago!" Ryze calls her out.
Nidalee hisses at him, and agitation flings into the air once more. Clamor builds up, the group going back to their previous arguments.
"We're wasting time. There's nothing here, and none of their interests align with ours," Riven motions to leave.
"Well, we do have the common interest in making sure whatever threatens the League comes to a halt before it expands too far. Even if not all of us realize that at this very moment…" he looks at the rabbling crowd. "We need all the help we can get, and we can't exactly trust the summoners of the Institute."
"Yes, but how—…what is that?" the Exile spots something off in the distance.
A peculiar shape moves around the messy remains of mined minerals and ore. The blue and purple crystalline figure bounces from rock to rock, as if looking for something, seemingly unaware of their presence. Two beady, yellow eyes look up in their direction, and it begins scuttling toward them.
It's Skarner, the only entity that actually belongs in the area, seeing as this is his home. The giant scorpion's arrival causes the arguments to cease; the veterans of the Crystal Scar battles knowing all too well the sting of the Crystal Vanguard, and his prowess on his home field.
Looking confused at the gathering, he speaks. "Why have you all come here? I thought Dominion matches have been halted with certain exceptions."
"Hail, friend. It has been quite some time since we last met," Taric greets.
"In order to save time and cut the repetitiveness of the situation, we're not sure why we're here. Judging by the obvious lies that we were told that caused this rendezvous, we were directed to this place in order to be kept out of the way while the attack on the Institute proceeds further," Ephrial surmises.
"The Institute is under attack?" Skarner displays his ignorance of the situation.
"You don't know?"
"Skarner requested a temporary leave from the League's activities, in order to investigate the tremors," Malphite's deep voice thunders an explanation.
"Tremors, huh? Such as the one we all heard and felt earlier?"
"Skarner, did you happen to catch who tampered with the nexuses?" Ryze, concerned with the investigation at hand.
"This is the first time I have been on the surface for a week. I have been making sure no harm comes to my fellow Vanguards, and searching for the cause of the disturbances underground."
"Have you found anything of particular notability?" Ephrial, searching for more pieces of the puzzle.
"Tunnels. A network of passageways that were not there before I awakened."
"Do they lead to any place of importance?"
"I have not yet explored them all. Fortunately—" he stops suddenly, and becomes restless as he skips across the ground from side to side.
"Too much time in ze dark?" Fiora jabs at the spontaneous shift in the Vanguard's demeanor.
"I may have spoken too soon. I sense…a disturbance," the crystalline being attempts to read the ground.
Within seconds, the earth begins to vibrate. Subtle at first, it quickly grows into a violent reeling that causes the loose pebbles of the terrain to bounce and skip like jumping beans.
"What have those reckless mages done this time!?" Maokai, using his natural advantage, roots himself against the quaking.
As the tremor reaches its peak, the ground in front of the company of legends erupts. The blast knocks everyone off of their feet, with the exception of the Twisted Treant. Chunks of dirt and untapped ore spew into the sky like a volcano. With it, a colossal creature eclipses the sun, shading even the massive Malphite.
A deafening roar, like a mix between screeching brakes on a railroad track, and the deep howling of heavy magical artillery flying through the air, shreds the town of Kalamanda. With a terrifying entrance, a monumental creature stares down at the gathered figures with beaming eyes of citrine.
The echoes of the monster dissipate, leaving only a quick moment of silence for the men and women of battle-scarred fame to synchronize themselves with reality. Before them stands a titanic being that rivals even the summoner-made Baron Nashor construct, housed on the Summoner's Rift. Its body is as quartz or crystal, just like Skarner, only a far darker shade of violet, with a lighter blue outlining.
A serpentine face, and two long claws that look like they are fanged beasts of their own, sprout out of the ground in a wide, elongated body, of which still remains partially concealed under the earth.
"What is that monster!?" Ezreal coughs through a cloud of tossed dust and soil.
Skarner clicks his claws in disbelief, "The General of the Crystal Vanguard awakens… Goliath!"
"That thing is your friend…?" Ephrial picks himself up, sizing up the massive oddity.
"He is…an ally. Perhaps the best of us…the 'Crystal Scour'." he answers. "Goliath! Why have you awakened!?" the scorpion shouts up, approaching the base of the creature.
The serpent's head tilts downward, and with a swipe of a beast-shaped claw, knocks the guardian away, slinging him into a nearby wall of rock. Skarner pries himself out of the indentation he created on impact, dizzily landing on his legs.
"Goliath…!" he musters his strength up again. "Do you not remember me!?"
With a sweep of his head, and its mouth wide-open, the monstrosity lets out a bellowing hiss over the group, sending razor-sharp shards of various shapes and sizes in all directions. With combat-honed reflexes, the champions swiftly move out of the paths of the lethal projectiles. Malphite and Maokai, too bulky to side step quickly enough, shield themselves by raising up their thick arms.
Ephrial completes a well-practiced somersault, "I take that as an assertive 'no'."
"What have they done to you…" Skarner, in disbelief and remorse, not recognizing the furious entity towering before them.
"Whatever your quarrels are, put them aside! This thing cannot be allowed to leave Kalamanda!" the mercenary-knight urges the veterans of the League as he unsheathes his sword with resolve.
"Finally, a real challenge! Maybe there was truth to that note after all," Jax cockily spins his trusty lamppost.
"We shall see who strikes ze killing blow," Fiora swings her blade outward and takes her stance.
A sapling emerges from Makoai's arm as he speaks. "The torment of magic never ceases!"
"BATTLE SYSTEMS: OPERATIONAL. FIRED UP AND READY TO EXTERMINATE," an unmistakable robotic voice declares.
Another shrill roar tortures the air, and the crystal beast flexes itself. Primal fury of an ancient guardian, seemingly twisted out of any reasoning other than to destroy, ruthlessly prepares to continue the assault. Its two fang-bearing tendrils plunge into the ground, near misses on the evasive champions.
The Shard of the Monolith tackles one of them, wrapping his arms in an attempt to restrain the head-like appendage. His size, barely competing with the immense limb, is not enough to keep him from being lifted a few, very visible feet off of the air. He grapples with the writhing claw, trying his best to keep it still as he bounds off the ground with every twist, creating small craters with his feet on impact.
Ezreal fires a handful of rounds at Goliath's face, acquiring the bulk of his attention. Bolts of arcane magic feebly bounce off the crystalline exoskeleton, dispersing into nothingness shortly after. The agile explorer runs around the towering beast, dodging shards of retaliation, and teleporting between its free arm as it slams into the ground repeatedly in an attempt to crush him. He finds himself running a deadly obstacle course of flying rocks, razor projectiles, and a deceivingly fast tendril with sharp teeth.
A quick feline takes advantage of the bound claw, pouncing on it with a set of her own, and dashes up its length for a better shot. She leaps off, spear in hand, and skillfully hurls it at the face of her larger-than-life opponent. The magic within the weapon carries it true, hitting hard against the dark purple skull. She lands on all fours, in human form, mystical spear back in-hand. The Bestial Huntress looks up only to find her effort fall to futility. No apparent damage, even so much as a scratch, has been done.
Jax and Fiora, with competitive spirits, take to the back of the crystal serpent. With their target distracted, they strike at Goliath's body, searching for a weak point. Their weapons, strike after strike, are repelled by the layer of transparent resilience.
Ephrial finds himself on the same objective, paying close attention to the Vanguard's attacks. He attempts to discern a pattern to its onslaught, trying to figure out any kind of vulnerability that may open up. Another hailstorm of razors rains down upon them. Fire streaks at his front, rapid strikes breaking the missiles in mid-air.
The athletic Exile dashes in between the shooting shards of death, and flips through the air to bring her blade crashing down on the beast's loose arm. The only effectiveness in the attack is at capturing a mere glance from the citrine eyes towering above.
In a surge of fury, Goliath takes back his right claw from Malphite's grip, raising it up, and slamming the solid champion across the ground. The combined flailing of the gargantuan causes another appendage to shake out from the earth; a large tail, like that of a dragon, breaks the ground beneath the two duelists' feet, and sends them flying meters away. Another flick of the powerful extension swipes at Maokai and Ryze, stopping their bothersome barrage of saplings and bolts.
The renowned figures of the League rise again, only to find themselves quickly assaulted without rest. With another shriek, Goliath raises all of his limbs, and crashes them down at once, sending a rippling shockwave through the ground. Sheets and spikes of crystal and ore begin rupturing through the ground like stalagmites. Unable to spare even a moment of respite, the men and women of the Institute fight through a growing weariness to stay alive.
With the Scour temporarily immobilized from the heft of its own attack, the mercenary-knight seeks to take advantage of the opportunity. Speedy footwork steers clear of the fierce spikes protruding around him as he runs, breaking through any that bar him from a straight path to his target. The ground starts to tremble again as the creature begins to recover its strength to raise itself back up. Refusing to give up the opportunity, Ephrial persists through the crumbling terrain. A mighty swing flashes into the belly of the titan with a blaze. As if in slow motion for just a moment, he sees the faint glitter of some extremely small shards reflecting in the sunlight as they fling off to the side.
Ephrial leaps backward, out of the way of a row of human-sized barbs. "That's it? A direct hit with full force, and it's shrugged off like a fly bouncing off a window. None of us possess a weapon powerful enough to shatter that incredibly durable shell. Still…there has to be a way."
The Rune Mage begins conjuring a spell from his book, and combines it with one of the many spells etched into his very body. Raw energy materializes into a cracking sphere in front of him, glowing with condensed power of ancient origin. He hurls it at the living crystal, only for it to bounce off at an awkward angle. The ball of energy continues to bounce, hitting the crystalline spikes jutting out of the ground, traveling wildly around the field before colliding with a rock wall.
"Hey, watch where you're throwing those things!" Alistar yells after a near-miss.
"That wasn't supposed to bounce off!" arguing the point that it wasn't actually the spell everyone is familiar with on the field, bouncing off himself and back to his enemies. "Let's see you do something against that incorrigible armor!"
The bull-headed champion, further pressed by the challenge of the snippy Ryze, charges in, crashing through rock and obstacles that stand in his way. Putting all his strength into his legs, he arches his body and tilts his head down, plowing his horns into the enemy. The tough sleekness causes the points of his horns to slide upward on contact, forcing his head to lift back upwards, and results in Alistar painfully slamming his face into the unblemished wall of organic crystal.
How can any of them hope to stand up against such a powerful foe? An ancient race, beyond their understanding, eclipses them in his massive shadow with indescribable strength. Even an unbreakable blade, empowered by undying fire, can barely scratch the outer layer, if such a miniscule chip could even be counted as such.
With another piercing roar, the Crystal Scour begins showing its true terror. The torn ground fissures from a force underneath. Long, narrow tendrils, with heads like circular sawblades, rise from the cracks. They move as if they have minds of their own, whipping at the champions struggling to survive the onslaught. Another shower of its razor breath mists over them, claiming more ground.
Ephrial evades while reevaluating the condition of the combatants. Malphite, with new scars, tangos with multiple tendrils as glasslike shards shoot into his body, sticking out of him. His treeborn ally swipes away at all sides with fury, saplings running on their own to hug the sawblades into unavailing explosions. Jax and Fiora dance in between projectiles as their weapons parry away at the numerous arms closing in on them. Ryze ducks and runs for cover while frantically flipping the pages in his book, trying to find an effective spell. A cougar and gem knight tussle with their deadly surroundings, laboring to find any opportunity to call upon their respective healing magics. The Great Steam Golem, in much need of repairs, fist-fights with a sawblade as Ezreal shoots down a number of airborne shards above them.
The Blazing Swordsman sidesteps a row of needlelike missiles, then rolls out of the way of a shooting Alistar, flying by after a nasty collision with Goliath's tail. The ardent blade deflects the path of a lurching saw, diverging it into the ground just next to his feet, allowing him to leap past it. Cerulean eyes scan at the dangers ahead.
He notices Riven, her blade planted into the ground next to her as she sits there on her knees. She hyperventilates as her hands grip her head, and her eyes give a very wide, thousand-yard stare. Her teeth clench as the screams of agony of those around her fill the air amidst the sound of an overwhelming battle. Ephrial looks above, spotting the burst of hellish hail headed right for the Exile.
"Why isn't she moving…!?" running thoughts as fast as his legs. "Could that be…post-traumatic stress disorder…?"
The whistling shards draw closer, their light blue shade glimmering as they hit the sun's rays.
"Riven!" he leaps forward, his hand extending outward for her shoulder.
As soon as his feet land, he pulls her to the side with him. The hasty force drags Riven from her catatonic state, causing them to roll across the dust, and out of the way of an ugly death. A few of the passing shards create a couple of new tears in his cape.
"Snap out of it! This battle is not yet over, soldier!" the mercenary-knight asserts, inches from her face, taking a role of a commanding officer in order to reach her across time itself.
As if waking up from a terrible nightmare, her reddish-brown eyes meet his fiery, oceanic gaze. He rises, taking her hand with him, drawing Riven to her feet, and back to an unfortunate reality. With a heavy mix of wanting to pull her out of the fight, but knowing full well that her strength is needed to achieve some hope of victory, he lifts the broken blade, and hands it to her with a set mind.
"We can't allow this destruction to spread further!"
"This is hopeless! We have to retreat!" the Prodigal Explorer protests.
"There won't be anywhere to retreat if we fail here!"
"What can we do!? We cannot even dent zis thing," Fiora's ego being forced aside.
Ephrial steps past Riven, shattering another volley of death into a glittering blaze of fire and fragments. "I'm not giving in!" the fervor he is known for in battle escalates.
Resolve and willpower rush onward, contending with the various formations of crystals along the way. The champions of the League get sucked into his persistence, continuing to fight, but with weary bodies and spirits.
Riven stares at the unrelenting swordsman, slowly recomposing herself. The gauntlet tightens around her blade, and she rejoins the fray, fighting both the internal and external battles involved. She fixes her mindset to the one she knows best: the Noxian way. The Exile pushes through, but not without the competing pull of regret inside of her—the doubt of what used to be the sturdiest pillars of her beliefs. She fights, but with a fragmented soul.
The battle of exhausting torment continues, and the injuries taken remain one-sided. Saw-like tendrils that pepper the ground submerge out of sight once again, causing a wave of ominous confusion to wash over the group. One sweep of a massive tail, and two face-like claws hammering into the ground, create a seismic shockwave that scatters the mixed company of fighters.
Beaten and bloodied, the men and women pick themselves up with great exertion. The merciless beast follows with a wave of narrow stalagmites, starting from the outer ring of the battlefield, closing in to the space in front of Goliath himself. Half of the combatants rush to the middle, and the others barely manage to avoid getting skewered on the side.
Ephrial, among those separated from the cluster, rushes to the aid of Riven and the others. The dragon-like tail slams down in front of him, causing everyone to stumble and lose their balance. The mercenary-knight, prone to the floor, slowly begins lifting his upper body on his arms to look up at his ally and fellow League champions.
A sudden, eerie glow of dark red catches everyone's attention. All eyes look high up at the transparent throat of the colossus, watching a growing globe of dark energy swelling within. An odd silence takes the air as they witness the charging ball of unknown power prime itself, arcs of electricity sparking in its orbit.
Without warning, an extremely narrow beam of red and black energy spouts from Goliath's mouth like a laser, sweeping along the ground in a swift line out in front of him. The trajectory starts up close, and shreds outwards, past the champions, and up a wall of rock. A brief moment of stillness, and one heartbeat in the middle of a foreboding silence later, and the scene combusts in a monumental explosion, flashing a blinding light in its wake.
"RIVEEEN!" Ephrial exerts the capacity of his lungs, reaching out in a helpless extension of his hand.
Fire and soot fall around the survivors—those separated from the doomed cluster. The land is terraformed into a fiery crumble of earth and crystal. Sunlight no longer shines on the field, barred by the shroud of ash encasing the entire area like a dome. The only light remaining comes from the spreading flames of the newly-formed hell that the remaining champions find themselves in. With spirits broken like the ground beneath their feet, the last of the contenders begin feebly fighting for the final sliver of their vitality, targeted one-by-one.
Ephrial can only continue staring at the spot he saw Riven disappear in the explosion, hoping for some kind of movement; some kind of miracle. As the dust clears, he sees the remnants of the fallen. Taric's shattered shield, a severed spear, an indestructible scroll, and pieces of familiar attire and armor pepper the ground. Scanning eyes come across a runic blade, the remaining fragments searing a molten red from the blast. A flurry of emotions and thoughts race in the half-blood's mind.
How…? How can this happen? Just like that, gone… Barely on the first steps of our journey, and everything is torn away in the blink of an eye. Every time… Anyone I put my faith in—everyone I fight for or alongside; everybody I become the slightest bit close to…always…
A heavy heart clenches the hilt of an ardent blade. With nothing left to lose, and nothing left to fight for, he rises to his feet in pain. Is this really what it all comes down to…? Surely, there must be more to life than monsters and men fighting, with death and injustice shadowing the world.
The fire of Ephrial's blade dances in an intensifying waltz of passion and fury. There must be some recourse…there has to be… There absolutely has to be a way to fight this chaos…! And it starts with destroying whatever obstacles lie in wait!
"I won't let it end here!" an unbreakable will shouts at an unstoppable foe.
As if in response, Goliath lets out another shrill howl. A fanged claw chases the now one-armed Skarner, snapping at him as the scorpion scuttles and skids out of the way. Malphite, barely standing, sends a volley of earth, wheeling toward the gut of the unrelenting serpent. A minotaur, refusing to die, jumps onto the other head-like arm, bashing away in futile attempts to crack the crystalline casing.
"VULNERABILITIES DETECTED," Blitzcrank lies immobile, almost half destroyed. "INTERIOR ORGANIC STRUCTURE SUSCEPTIBLE TO VARIOUS ELEMENTAL, CAUSTIC, AND PHYSICAL FORMS OF TRAUMA," he continues computing gathered information from the cataclysmic attack.
"Are you saying that thing on the inside is…flesh?" Ephrial calls over.
"AFFERMATIVE. MOST EFFICIENT AND PROBABLE COURSE OF ACTION CALCULATED. SELF-PRESERVATION PROTOCOLS: OVERWRITTEN."
"Exactly what are you up to, Blitzcrank?"
"MODIFIED HEXTECH CORES ARE UNSTABLE WHEN SUBJECTED TO EXTREME TEMPERATURE CHANGES IF LEFT UNCHECKED. THE RESULT CAN LEAD TO SPONTANIOUS COMBUSTION IF INTRODUCED TO TEMPERATURES ABOVE 3,000 DEGREES FARENHEIT."
The doors of the golem's chest whizz open, and a metal hand reaches inside. With his last functional limb, he pulls on something with a loud snap and fizzling of static.
"LIGHT HIM UP," he golem quips, showing once more the human capacity he has evolved.
He fires off his rocket fist, carrying a round object in its grip. Before it can reach its full destination, a spiteful tail slams down on the golem, cutting his arm's propulsion short. The robot's intention carries itself out anyway, the momentum of the object tossing it through the air, and into Ephrial's grasp.
Catching the object with one hand, he observes it. It's Blitzcrank's hextech core, modified for combat in the League at his request…an attempt to find a place for him to fit in. An endeavor Ephrial himself can understand. The core simmers, still hot from producing the heat and steam necessary to carry out a combative robot. A fiery swordsman ignores the stinging, examining the noble sacrifice and tying it into the steam golem's words. One might see this object as a mere hunk of bolts and screws, but those appreciative of a true spirit, especially in this very moment, may see otherwise—a heart of gold.
Entrusted with a glimmer of hope, and armed with the resolve to see it through, Ephrial rushes headlong toward the Crystal Scour. The fire in his eyes is matched only by the blade that mirrors his fervor. The saw-like tendrils sprout again, swinging wildly at the final breaths of their targets.
The mercenary blazes through the razor teeth waving at him like crude scythes. His blade answers theirs, with unbreakable metal heated enough to cause visible marks against the integrity of the diamondlike exoskeleton. An uneven terrain provides an awkward, but effective ramp to Malphite's shoulder.
"How good is your throwing arm?" without taking his burning gaze off the hydra-esque opponent.
The elemental being turns his head, quickly gathering the swordsman's intent. Malphite responds with a grin, "Rock solid."
It isn't the first time the Shard of the Monolith has been asked to hurl an ally toward a destination, often receiving this request in a League match. Holding out his palm, he allows the mercenary-knight to leap aboard. With the remainder of his strength, Malphite winds up, and launches Ephrial toward the crystal serpent's head before the tendrils subdue his hulking frame.
A familiar reddish glow forms as he gains altitude. Good…an opportunity that can't be more well-timed. With the piece of magical technology at the ready, Ephrial positions himself for an all-or-nothing gambit. As his momentum drifts to a halt, Goliath's mouth begins opening for one more devastating beam of apocalyptic destruction.
The Blazing Swordsman hurls the shot of hope into the tremendous mouth. With a twist of his body, he sends a flaring bolt from his blade after it. A direct hit sends the core down the monster's throat with fierce velocity.
Blitzcrank's life-force begins glowing white-hot before disappearing into the void that is Goliath's gaping jaws. The red glow of the charging beam of desolation becomes disrupted, bursting with a flash of an electric field akin to that of the golem's static field.
As Ephrial succumbs to gravity, a grand explosion unfolds with the colliding spheres of energy. The fire from a passion-fueled blade, and powerful energy within Goliath's attack, detonates the core into a brilliant surge of light and heat.
Unable to see his surroundings, the half-blooded swordsman feels himself descend through layers of glasslike sheets. He crashes through a half a dozen before landing onto the dismantled ground. Exhausted after having spent his second wind, he slowly picks himself up. Breaking through remnants of the crystal hydra, in turn, broke his fall…painfully.
Silence takes over Kalamanda once again, and the sunlight begins to peer through as the cloud of ash disperses as a result of the shockwave. Ephrial takes his time to recompose himself, sitting alone in the aftermath. Bruised and battered, with blood dripping out of the corner of his mouth and various gashes on his body, he strains to sheathe his sword.
Before he even has a chance to begin processing the events that have just transpired, a ticking of a clock approaches from the South.
"Oh…is this where I am late? It's just like Urtistan…" an old time magician roams into the ruins.
"Another one…?" a weary mercenary observes the hovering champion of the League.
"I suspect it has not happened yet. Or has it…? Perhaps soon? All in good time, I suppose…" mumbling to himself as he approaches.
"Zilean… You were fortunate enough to be late, for once," he remarks at the auspicious timing of a normally-punctual man.
The deceivingly aged man laughs.
"…Exactly what do you find amusing in all of this…?" the memories of his losses stir into a balling fist.
"I knew you were going to say that!"
"I'm far from a mood to play games. Why are you here?"
"That, too!"
Shaking his head, Ephrial turns to a wayward destination to nowhere. He brushes the mad ramblings of Zilean off as a product of his disease, chrono-dysplasia. A result born of a tragedy behind the destruction of Urtistan in a Rune War many years ago. It causes his mind to shift between various moments in time, both past and future, in spontaneous moments, often without warning. Perhaps a useful ability in the League, but otherwise a tormenting curse of constant grief as he relives the loss of his people time and time again.
"What if I said there was a way to bring her back?" Zilean calls out as the mercenary steps away.
Halting at the unexpected suggestion, Ephrial turns around. "…If there is, you do not want to keep it from me."
"You are aware of the temporal field that was created to stop the war between Demacia and Noxus here, correct? The device Heimerdinger and I created for the event still yet remains, however inactive."
"Go on."
"With the right addition to the machine, it can be used to reverse time."
"Didn't that contraption require hundreds of summoners with precision? Perhaps you have a lot of catching up to do, but the Institute isn't something we can trust."
"Ah, no need to worry about gathering the summoners again. After all, it already happened once!" cryptically skipping an explanation on his reasoning.
"Speak plainly, Chronokeeper! I haven't time to decipher what and when you mean."
"Yet, time is what you indeed have! Er…six days, twenty-three hours, forty-two minutes, and thirty seconds, to be precise. The machine I had previously mentioned—wait…did I mention it already?"
"Time-machine. Kalamanda. Required addition," Ephrial speeds Zilean back on track.
"Yes, the machine would require a prism of the utmost pristine formation in order to refract the chrono-capacitor's output, and allow a complete recycle of the continuum matrix that has—"
"I'm going to have to stop you right there… A prism? Such as a gemstone or crystal? Take a look around. There should be plenty," pointing out the massive quantities of crystal shards and unearthed precious stones that sparked Kalamanda's fame.
"Oh, none of these will do in the slightest! But you already knew that, didn't you…?" Shaking his head and snapping back to the present, "Right, not yet. In the frozen mountains of the Freljord, caves are known to harbor the most impeccable relics of True Ice from the ancient days. One in particular is known as 'Avarosa's Eye'. It is of no particular value other than a historical artifact, but its flawless curve and transparency make it the perfect chrono-refractor."
"I suppose, if anyone, Ashe would be the type of person to loan something of that value in order to prevent a disaster like this one…"
"Unfortunately, the whereabouts of the Eye have not been discovered."
"What…!? Then why are you—"
"—Yet! They have not been discovered yet. You have to find it first! I believe it was located…hm…I lost track," stroking his beard.
Given the small thread of hope that he can undo the catastrophe he stands in the middle of, Ephrial sets himself adamant to it. Wishing to embark on this new objective, and to speed up an unorthodox conversation, he attempts to gather only the necessary information.
"Very well, Time Keeper. When I obtain this relic, what do I need to do?"
"Bring it here to me and I'll take care of the rest."
"Sounds simple… Too Simple. Why are you helping me?"
"It is simply a necessary step toward the future," another cryptic statement, much to the fault of chrono-dysplasia. "Assuming I have double-checked my research, and I'm sure I have…or I will…the device will be able to turn back time a full one hundred and sixty-eight hours. That is the current limit to its function, if my calculations are correct. And they are."
"Seven days…"
"Six days, twenty-three hours, thirty-eight minutes, and fifty-five seconds, actually. Depending on when you wish to turn back to."
"I'll leave the timekeeping to you. All I have to do is acquire this 'Avarosa's Eye' and bring it back here in less than a week, right? That's a long trip… Just how am I supposed—"
"Head to the Institute. There, you will find aid that will cut your trip by thirteen days, twenty hours, thirty-two minutes, and five seconds," jumping ahead of the question.
"…I see. Very well," he turns toward the North.
"I shall be waiting for you right here, Blazing Swordsman! Or…will I be standing right here? Or over there? Well, depending on if he runs into that fiendish polar bear…" he begins rambling off in time again.
Sent with a possibility of reversing the death toll that has occurred, he begins traveling to the Institute of War with a new objective. His breath, laboring more by grief rather than battle, finds a forced rhythm. Just like many times before, he is reminded of the fateful words that follow him like a shadow.
Keep moving forward. You don't have to forget, but don't stop. Just keep moving forward…
Even a chance for a chance to reverse a tragedy is a gift, however slim the odds. Even if the opportunity wasn't there years ago when he wished for it the most… Pushing doubt aside, he puts one more hope on top of his present ambition. He wishes, that after the machine is operated, just this once…he could forget. The last thing he needs is another nightmare seared into his memory, only to play back over and over. Another failure. Another loss.
With steps of determination and guilt, he strides forward against the clock. The path he chose to align himself with is not over yet… It cannot end like this. Cerulean eyes, brimming with fire, keep fixed forward, ready to blaze through whatever dares stand in his way.
Ephrial travels the road once again, this time, to challenge the inexorable repetition of fate…
alone.