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Chapter 25
Crystal Scars
"That isn't fair!" a frustrated Cerina protested.
"Nothing they do to us ever is," I answered her, flatly.
"Why are they doing this!?"
"You know why."
"There has to be some other way!"
"The only alternative is for me to drop out, but that would only lead to further complications. Besides…if I were to surrender now, all of their focus would turn to you. I won't let that happen."
"…How long is this for?" she gradually slipped into a forced acceptance.
"Who knows. Perhaps until graduation…if they don't get what they want first," I began walking toward the academy.
My sister fell silent, and her eyes dropped to the floor. She ceased following me, taking a moment to let a harsh reality sink in. Over time, she fought me on my decisions less and less as she found it futile when my mind had been set. Of course, in the end, they weren't really my decisions… There was no genuine choice in the mix of things. Everything I did, I did because I had to. To surrender was never an option, and that was perhaps the very keystone of the Noxian way.
That's why I know that only infuriated them more…everyone who saw the Noxian-Ionian mix as weak, failures, and mistakes. The general population even treated yordles with more respect, and it made the mere thought of the future for us a very dark picture. We were the first generation of half-bloods, so we hadn't even gotten to the point of finding a place in the job market or military yet. Not that there would have ever been a place for us other than fodder at the frontlines. As the children of those that started this whole movement meant to unify Noxus and Ionia, Cerina and I inherited the responsibility of paving a way to make us treated as equals. Those opposed to such an idea did everything in their power to destroy any shred of hope of it ever becoming a reality.
Cerina was as pacifist as one can possibly be, but even so, she excelled in areas of intelligence and battlefield tactics. It was that sole fact that she was even allowed to attend such an institute, though she was still viewed as a critical example of Ionian weakness. That's why all those against us would come down harder on me, wishing to prove that I was just the same. We were twins, after all.
The scent of blood and sinew was thick in the air as I approached the gate. Headmaster Ronin and a company of the physical combat instructors were there waiting for me, and on the side, a row of upperclassmen stood at attention. Their faces were stone, but their eyes were eager to see bloodshed. I had seen that look many times before; the anticipation of a brutal skirmish for the sake of entertainment. Ronin's gaze, on the other hand, was impassible as he watched me approach with the stoic silence of someone who reveals no inkling of emotion.
"So you came," he said, not surprised, nor impressed.
I did not speak a word, knowing full well that they held no value in them. If there's anything a strong, silent type doesn't like, it's someone that knows how to be even quieter. I would not give any of them the satisfaction of so much as a single complaint, nor any word or phrase that they might throw back at me. The only way to get any point across was by action.
"You understand the stakes, do you not? As punishment for trespassing on school property after hours, engaging in unsanctioned physical conflict on the premises, and vandalizing an off-limits building, you are to fight in the arena until your worth has been…determined."
I nodded. Each word and meaning behind them was twisted with a double-standard, further splitting the divide that prejudice had created, rolling off the forked tongue of a serpent who wanted to see me fall.
"Proceed…and try not to be too embarrassing," he finished saying before walking away.
It was an amusing notion. He wanted me to show that the Noxian half of me was worth something, yet fail to prove that the Ionian half was holding it back. Such is the mind of those that see no compromise. 'Elitists' would be the proper term for them, but in a city-state full of people that follow the same way of thinking, they were quite standard. The only difference was their level of power to oppress us.
I stepped forward, stopping just short of the two large doors that towered above me. They were rusty and stained over years of use, covered in marks from years past. One of the instructors approached, gruff and commanding like a drill sergeant.
"The rules are simple. You are not permitted to bring or use any weapons of any kind from beyond this point. The only acceptable means of armaments are in the environment. You may use whatever you find as you see fit." He pauses a moment to grab a pair of pugilist gauntlets.
As primal as this arena was, it's still an academy for young men and women. The gauntlets provide only minimal defense, primarily to prevent the fingers from being dismembered too easily, and the knuckles from receiving too much impact. It was mainly an item offered to the newcomers, and they had to earn the pride of victory to the point where they were not offered them, as a sign of acknowledgement. I silently rejected the gloves, not for the sake of bravado, but to make certain no one could contest my victory with outrageous claims of owing it to some sort of 'crutch'.
The instructor uncaringly tossed the gloves aside. He took a couple of steps closer to me, and I merely stared on ahead at the waiting gates. With a zealous yell, he shouted, "NO MERCY!"
"NO MERCY!" the row of upperclassmen echoed him in response.
Two words, simple and clear. A creed fitting for those that make sport of contending vicious beasts, hand-to-claw.
With a loud creek, the doors marked with foreboding scars opened, and I stepped through to face the first round of my punishment. What better way to try and break me by throwing me in a cage with a monster? This was not some ordinary course of disciplinary action…this was a death sentence.
The arena was clad in trees, like a dense forest with plants native to areas far from Noxus. No expense was spared in the making of this high-end academy, with mages employed to change the terrain between matches. Exotic beasts from all corners of Runeterra would be used in this event, and they were always given a home-field advantage.
It was a massive zone, making it a game of hunter versus hunted. Not only does one have to be strong to contend with what is set loose in the arena, but they have to be knowledgeable about their surroundings and the beasts that roam such lands. Everything felt authentic, from the texture of the grass to the very aromas of the blooming flowers. The spectator stands that ring around the entire area are the only things in sight that disillusioned the magically-formed environment.
This place is not quite as big as the Fleshing's arena, but it was quite a considerable size, considering the number of students that attend. Usually, the seats are full, but this day was a private event. Ronin and a number of school officials peered from the reserved section, each with a stern visage. Of course, the daring side of Cerina found a way up there, hiding out of sight of the others. She kept low, peeking through the space between a couple of seats in front of her. I refrained from glancing, as not to reveal her position. My mind was elsewhere at the time, anyway.
The doors creaked behind me, and with a loud clasp, locked tightly. All fell silent, and I was left with only the sound of leaves rustling in a spell-weaved wind. I took a deep breath, clearing my mind to focus on the battle that waited just steps away.
What creatures did they have in store for me? How many times would I have to do this? What kind of underhanded tricks would they prepare? Such questions, I would leave to Cerina to ponder. To me, they didn't matter. I had to win regardless of those factors.
As if on cue, a snarling shriek rung out from up ahead, the source hidden in the scattered thickets. Perhaps it got a hold of my scent in the wind. The forest began shaking with the movements of life, and I knew the hunt was on. At least it would save me the trouble of tracking it down myself.
With careful steps, and balled fists, I treaded inward. The anticipation of being stalked, and expecting an attack without warning at any given second, had sweat on my brow already. I was calm, given my sturdy discipline and familiarity with danger, but I could still hear my heartbeat. This was a new concept entirely, where only one of us would live to see the next day. It was either the beast or myself. No exceptions.
There was just one thing I liked about the arena, and only that sole factor… Man or beast, it didn't matter—from the moment we set foot inside, we were equals. However, there was still something that set us apart: I had a promise to keep…
In a short span of events, fate landed me in yet another way of life.
I had become a slayer.
~ - V -W- V - ~
~ - V -w-w- V - ~
The wind breezes through his hair, and oceanic eyes open to a sea of blue sky. Shaking off his grogginess, he sits upright and looks below. There's not one hint of snow to be seen in the lush greenery on the ground, and the air lacks a wintery bite.
"Good, you're awake," Anivia greets.
"How long was I out?"
"Long enough, Young One. We are nearly there."
"Huh…so that's what real sleep is like," a remark on his constant travels.
"You should rest more."
"If only it were so easy."
"You must have a lot on your mind. Tell me, mercenary-knight…what do you fight for?"
"…People I believe in."
"An appropriate response, given such a title. However, what is it you believe in?"
"Coming at me with the loaded questions, I see."
"One does not simply climb my peak without a dire enough reason. Besides…I did just fly halfway across Runeterra with you on my back."
"Well, you've got me there…but I don't think I can give you a simple answer to such a query."
"A convoluted life often brings peace to others through relevance."
"That's a rather cryptic thing to say."
"Perhaps no less cryptic than your motivation," a sage mind tries to peer into Ephrial's. "You joined the League, not for your own devices, but for someone else's. Before that, you journeyed to many cities and villages, lending your blade to causes that would not benefit you in any way. I have seen countless people fight on innumerable battlefields, but never have I seen someone fight with such fervor for causes that are not their own."
"So what is your appraisal of me, dare I ask?"
"You are searching for something. When I peered into your eyes to see if you were telling me the truth back in the Freljord, I saw a combination of things I have seen over many eons."
"Then you have seen nothing you have not before."
"On the contrary, it is the first. My past lifetimes may elude my memory…but the lessons acquired through them carry on. There are many things that can drive men to commit the bravest of sacrifices, or the most sinful atrocities. I have seen them all before. In you, I see the same fire that has consumed many…yet you do not succumb to it. Rather, you embrace it, letting it drive you to fight so that no one else has to feel such pain. Is that not correct?"
"…If you say so."
"However, you still desire something. Something you cannot have…yet will not give up on. A cycle of selflessness fueling an everlasting fire."
"We're here."
"Ah, the stubbornness of youth…" unsatisfied with his responses, or rather, lack thereof. "Hang on!"
Anivia takes a steep dive downward to the abandoned village of Kalamanda. The scars of massive devastation are hard to miss, and the icy avian scans the area in curiosity. Large cracks in the ground look as though this was the epicenter of a massive earthquake, and organic crystal litters the wreckage of old homes and mining equipment.
"It would appear I have underestimated your plight. What happened here?"
Ephrial gazes into the orb in his possession, his grip tightening with determination. "…Something I won't ever allow to happen again."
"A bold statement. Will you really be able to hold true to it, I wonder?" landing on the flat surface on the edge of town.
"I did not come this far not to," hopping off of her back, and landing on the dusty trail.
"You have fought so tirelessly for those you encounter, and overcome many challenges without hesitation for purposes outside of your own interest. My advice for you is this: When the time comes, let someone fight for you for a change."
"Why do you host such an interest in my endeavors?"
"Every generation has its heroes. Many of them are born from scars of their pasts, but each of them, through sacrifice, leaves a mark on the world that lasts for generations beyond their own. It is a shame when such precious souls do not live to take part in the very peace they helped create. Not everyone can hatch out a new life, after all."
"Very funny. I thank you for your much-needed assistance," the mercenary-knight gives her a slight, but respectful bow.
"You are welcome, Young One," returning the gesture by craning her neck. "I must depart quickly. Keep in mind the words I have spoken to you."
The cryophoenix swiftly takes to the air once again, riding the wind on a steadfast path back to the Freljord before it becomes a full-out warzone.
Ephrial begins walking into the ruins of Kalamanda, or what remains of it. Anivia's sage deductions will have to wait for another time. All that weighs on the swordsman's mind is what lies in front of him. The detour in his journey has been a trying one, pushing his endurance to the limit. However, what he has faced still pales in comparison to the colossal giant he is about to revive.
As he walks closer to the devastation, a patch of debris float in his path. He approaches, looking all around him at the scars left on the town from the scandal surrounding the mining expeditions. With a slight tap of his finger, he pushes a small, suspended gear out from in front of his face. It moves with a gentle twirl, as if moving in water.
"These lasting effects of that time magic are quite profound. I wonder what will happen when we recreate it… It can't be worse than what would happen if we don't," further steeling his resolve through reasoning.
He begins running to the heart of Kalamanda, a week's worth of feelings stirring within him. The past echoes with each step, eagerness and anticipation taking him faster. Fissures of sundered earth widen as he approaches, jumping over heaps of rubble and ash. A new sight that was not there previously comes into view. The promised device is positioned off to the side, overlooking the destruction from a close range.
"Ah, there you are. What took you so long? Was it that foul polar bear?" Zilean peeks out from behind the machine.
"It's a long story…but I suspect you already knew that."
"Is that your response? Hm…a very interesting timeline indeed. Let us get started, shall we? The orb, if you please."
Ephrial holds Avarosa's Eye up to himself. "Tell me, what is your stake in this, Chronokeeper?"
"Why ask questions to what you already know? I am quite aware you have done your research on me, as well as the other participants of the League. I trust you have already gathered my intentions of saving Urtistan."
"Yet this trip is only to go back a limit of one week, correct?"
"Yes, you are right. However, it is a necessary step in developing a way to go back further. It just so happens that we have a mutual benefit from this experiment."
"…You're worried about the results, so you're starting off small on purpose, aren't you?"
"Well, if you have gathered all the answers you seek of me already, then perhaps we should get this timeline back on track."
"Very well," Ephrial steps onto the platform with Zilean.
The creation of a collaborated design between Heimerdinger and the Chronokeeper stands about ten feet tall. It is an open platform with a beam of metal arching outward and back over them in a crescent shape, like that of a stand that spins a globe. On the front of the arc is a terminal that looks out of place, being freshly tinkered around with, and obviously improvised with some rough modifications. The brass-colored contraption looks far different than what it was once described during the time of the incident.
"Insert the orb, and we shall begin," he directs Ephrial to the terminal with a slot designed to receive a sphere.
The mercenary-knight steps forward and carefully inserts the relic. In response, the machine perks up, glowing and humming lively. With a series of clicks and whirring, parts of the terminal begin to twist, rotate, and slide as they adjust to the introduced object. Clockwork snapping into place, the orb now hovers in the middle of an open frame of metal rings around it. The halo over the orb begins spinning rapidly, and a swirling force begins enveloping the machine in a transparent barrier like that of a force field.
"Now for the tricky part…" Zilean floats over to the edge.
Raising his hands, he begins an indecipherable incantation. Magical runes of light blue begin forming around him, and the timepiece on his back begins ticking away in a counter-clockwise motion. The barrier around them adopts the cyan coloring of his magic, and a faint chanting from outside begins. As the seconds pass, the voices seem to overlay in perfect synchronization, creating an odd version of a melodious echo.
"What is that?"
"Do you remember the many summoners that were required to quell the Noxian and Demacian conflict here? That sound is them, only repeated a few dozen times."
"Repeated?"
"Think of it as taking a step back in time…and then moving sideways."
"…A parallel timeline?"
"Precisely! I am merely borrowing the same summoners from the same point in time as they are all performing the necessary spell, only from alternate realities."
"Alternate realities, huh? Who knew fate could have so many plans at once."
"The rest is up to you, Blazing Swordsman. Gently turn the orb counter-clockwise to move back in time."
Ephrial looks back to the device. An odd feeling of empowerment washes over him as he slowly takes the orb in his grip. Time is quite literally in his hand now, and with it, the ability to challenge fate itself. A heavy responsibility gingerly begins rotating the relic, and their surroundings begin to shift.
Morning turns to night, and night to day, as the sun rises and falls backwardly. Debris and leaves that have succumbed to gravity now take back to the air and their former positions. Freshly bloomed flowers now retreat back to their buds, and migrating birds overhead fly back to their original roosts. Everything that has been done is being undone right before their very eyes.
As he begins getting a feel for it, Ephrial speeds up to pass the remaining days to the desired point. There it is…the moment he departed to find a way to fix this tragedy. From a different perspective, he sees the battle take place in reverse. Watching himself, like in a dream, he slows down and takes it all in. The familiar feeling of an overwhelming skirmish floods back to him as the flames that disintegrated the surrounding area come to life again.
"Be very careful. Going forward in time is not as simple as going back. Treat this as a one-way trip only, and think cautiously about what position in time you wish to start over from."
Ephrial hears his warning, but does not shift his gaze from the scene. He scrutinizes every detail that he can, looking for a way to turn the outcome. With great care, he approaches the time of the blast that derailed his self-imposed mission. Though sound does not carry through the barrier, he can hear the echo of his own voice shouting the Exile's name after the explosion. It is a hard scene to swallow, but Ephrial forces himself through it, taking it all in. There has to be something… A moment of weakness, some sort of vulnerability. Just what can stop an attack to immensely powerful…?
A glint of offset light catches his eye, and Ephrial snaps the scene to a halt. At the very end of the beam's track, just before it erupts, the straight line bends out of shape in a sharp direction. It is faint, but the interference is definitely there, at the far wall of rock. Just what is on that cliff that could deter something like that?
"Wait…Kalamanda was rich in precious stones. That's it…!"
With extreme focus, the swordsman follows the beam of light as it comes back to its starting position. He measures the angles it was fired from and impacts on. His free hand clenches with the determination of enacting a plan not sure to succeed, but stands as his best option.
Slowly, he resumes backtracking the flow of time, and arrives at the point where Riven is struggling with what he can only assume to be post-traumatic stress disorder. While her history is not exactly a well-kept secret, her personal account and what it means to her remains all to herself. Only speculation floats around the elusive and reclusive Exile that refrains from talking about her past. Even so, Ephrial cannot help but believe it is an essential piece of why he fights for her. For right now, however, he can only dive into one past at a time.
"I'll stop here," the mercenary freezes the scene again.
"An interesting choice. Are you sure?"
"There is no room for any uncertainty."
"I knew you were going to say that! Very well."
"I'm not going to run into myself, am I?"
Zilean chuckles, "No, it doesn't quite work that way. You will inherit the same place you did before, kind of like a replacement."
"Time and space are funny things. Though, that brings another point to mind… What of your home, Urtistan? Are you going to go further back in time after I get out?"
"Not quite. This version of me and this device will most likely disappear for a while."
"…Disappear?"
"Oh, I won't trouble you with the details you would not understand anyway. Just think of it as a big reset button on Runeterra…that only goes back until now. Well, not now…then," gesturing at the time outside of the barrier. "Time displacement doesn't quite affect me the same as it does others."
"Wait…this is effecting all of Runeterra?"
"Well, yes, of course. We're using quite a lot of amplification with all the summoners we're borrowing. Didn't I mention that this would be the case?"
"No. In fact, you're far more lucid now than when we spoke last."
"Yes, my condition can make it quite difficult to convey a single track of thought."
"This changes things a considerable amount… I can't simply take back all that I did in the Freljord. Especially after Braum and Anivia helped me out," a new weight added to his conscience.
"Then don't. What happens from this point on is purely up to you. Not everyone gets a second chance. I mean, I do, but not everyone does."
Ephrial takes a deep breath, sorting himself out. "All right…one thing at a time…"
"Simply step out of the barrier when you are ready. Oh, and if you see me around when you get back, be sure to tell me not to have the spicy raptor wings. I'll know what it means."
"Well, I suppose this is where we part ways. Thank you."
"Though I may vanish for a while, it is inevitable that I will be back….and I may call upon you to help me as I have aided you," Zilean finishes his thoughts.
"Then I shall answer that call…if there is still time."
A smirk quickly fades away as fast as it appeared, and the knight steps through the swirling barrier of magic. He feels as though he is floating to his already-present body, and in a blink, he resumes the sprint towards a frozen Riven. Everything is slow, taking a gradual acceleration to a normal pace. Like that fuzzy, slow-motion effect in a vivid dream just before one wakes up, Ephrial's thoughts are speeding far faster than time around him. Using that to his advantage, he prepares for a firm course of action.
"Just hang in there, Riven… I won't let you down this time!"
The sound of his own heartbeat gradually becomes swallowed in the sounds of battle as everything begins resuming as normal. With cerulean eyes burning with the fervor is known to display in battle, he charges toward the Exile. Instead of tackling her out of the way this time, he uses the momentum to follow through with his blade.
Razorlike crystals rain from above, and with fiery strikes, Ephrial parries them into smaller, harmless shards in front of Riven. The scattering mess catches her attention, retrieving her from a playback of the past in her mind. In front of her, she sees a tattered brown cape draped over the gilded red armor of her partner.
Without taking his immensely determined face off of Goliath, Ephrial reaches for a shard stuck by his right shoulder, caught between the plates, and pulls the object out. With unflinching resolve, he crushes it in his grip, letting the blood-stained pieces fall to the floor in defiance. The mercenary-knight has traveled too far and for too long to let something like this stop him. He has beaten this creature before, and his spirit roars out to do it again, but this time, without casualty.
The bright display of heat and light maintains the Crystal Scour's attention, and a tell-tell sign of hesitation caused by confusion leads the monster to let out another barrage of lethal projectiles.
No running…not this time. As overpowering as this foe is, Ephrial refuses to let it control the direction of the battle. With the Noxian principles inside of him, he summons the strength to take the shortest path to victory, straight through the enemy. Controlled focus of his Ionian half guides his passion-fueled blade with clarity and precision.
"Give me all you've got!" the flames on his ardent blade dance and swirl lively.
Ephrial slashes his sword outward, shattering a handful of sharp missiles. Another follow-up, and another, begins a chain of counter-attacks. A moderate pace accelerates swiftly, blazing strikes rapidly ramping up to cut a clearing in the cloud of a hellish hail. Direct contact with his blade gradually ceases as streaks of flame shoot outward, creating a widening gap of an inferno. Both assaults come to a halt, and a sea of razors jut out of the ground, leaving only a small clear space where the two unlikely partners remain.
The out-of-control guardian lets out an enraged, screeching roar, and raises its two head-like claws and dragon-esque tail. Ephrial's gaze sharpens with familiarity and focus. This was the same attack it had performed before obliterating the terrain almost entirely.
A sweep of the massive tail sends Ephrial and half of the others in the fight flying back. Already expecting it, the agile swordsman turns a harsh impact into a backflip with his free hand. He plants his sword firmly into the ground, bracing himself for the powerful shockwave that follows. The two beast-like arms slam downward, and narrow stalagmites shoot out from the ground. A thunderous quake with unpredictable attacks from below cause the group of champions to scatter like before.
There it is! The dark red glow of a charging power with devastating potential. It's just like before… Everyone is divided and exhausted, gazing at the mysterious glow they are seeing for the first time once again.
Except it is not like before. Ephrial rises to his feet, remaining in the blast zone, unlike the previous event. Electricity begins arcing around the sphere of building energy, sparking more and more violently as it arrives to its maximum charge.
"I need to borrow this," the swordsman rushes past a collapsed Taric, grabbing his shield on the way.
This is it. One last chance to fix what has been broken…to take back something that fate has stolen. With no room for error, Ephrial stands at the designated spot he had measured earlier. The very point in which the beam of energy first touched the ground to unleash a cataclysmic blast. He primes the shield in front of himself, bracing it tightly for what is to come. With unflinching eyes and unwavering resolve, he faces the all-or-nothing gamble head on.
The red and black energy spouts from Goliath's mouth like a very narrow laser, colliding with the large gem crested in the middle of Taric's shield. Ephrial hangs on as the force of impact slides him backward across the ground, tearing up the earth beneath his boots. Without hesitation, he tilts the shield backward, and the beam of light bends backward toward the colossal enemy. As swift as the previous strike had been, the laser arcs from the guardian's belly, upwards and back to its mouth. Upon the attack contacting its own source, a massive explosion rings out. Instead of the ground erupting like before, the company of League champions are pushed backwards rather than engulfed in its wake.
The pillars of skewering crystal that litter the ground shatter into pieces with the resulting blast. A large cloud of dust and dirt tosses up like a volcanic eruption, concealing the result everyone is struggling to see as they shake themselves off.
Careful attention to detail has successfully reflected the creature's cataclysmic attack onto itself. An anxious silence washes over the battlefield, waiting to see the results with their own eyes.
"Is…is it over?" the Piltie explorer huffs.
A wounded Skarner feels the vibrations of the earth below his feet. "He is…"
As if in response, that haunting shriek of their massive foe pieces the air, and even clears out the shroud of dust around himself. The Crystal Scour sways back and forth slightly, dazed by the effects of its own attack, but still swelling with furious might.
"Zis is hopeless," the signature accent of Fiora musters, as she leans on her rapier.
"At least we could contest Baron Nashor," Jax remarks.
The wounded ego of two of the League's most prideful members reaches the others, causing a wave of somber expressions.
Ephrial tosses the shield, glowing orange with heat from the attack, to the side. He stares into the transparent shell of the tremendous crystal guardian. Small cracks spider along the plates, spreading around the length of its frame. The blast has done some major damage to the armor's integrity, but it's not enough.
The feeling of failure hits Ephrial like a tidal wave, and he can feel the hope he had been preserving begin to drown once more. His heart beats heavily with the weight of both the past and future. Was it all for nothing? Does it really end like this? Does nothing I do matter…?
A phantom burn ignites along the scar on his cheek, and words of a promise echo through the darkness. The grip around the sword's hilt tightens with the unique zeal of serenity infused with fury. His blade begins to burn with an extremity only matched by the fire in his eyes.
Blazing with passion, he charges forth, running and leaping between parts of a severely broken terrain with great speed and agility. The intense flames on his blade brightly trail along his movements. A leap off a rock, and Ephrial brings forth a fiery maelstrom of attacks against the base of Goliath.
"I didn't come all this way just to surrender…!"
The steaks and trails of his sword begin to hold their place along the impacts, floating like a fiery echo of an attack, waiting to be finished. Small chips and scratches of crystal skip across the blade's path as it scrapes by.
"…I've lost enough people already…!" his voice almost appears to overlay itself, just like in the Freljord.
Rapidly heightening fervor accelerates his strikes, fierce and gracefully precise form alternating between one and two-handed slashes. Another slice, another suspending streak of flame, each adding onto a three-dimensional canvas of varying sizes and depths.
"…You won't take her away, too…! Not this time!"
The flurry of lightning-fast strikes comes to a halt, and Ephrial adopts a very well-grounded stance. His longsword surges with power, almost pulsating like a heartbeat racing with intense avidity. Raising it above his head, its flickering becomes so rapid that it's almost as if the very blade itself has been replaced by a larger one of pure flame.
"I WON'T ALLOW YOU!"
Reaching a new level of strength within himself, the Blazing Swordsman crashes his blade upon the colossal target. What would normally be the equivalent of a knife cleaving a large building, a fiery ignition sets off a chain reaction. The hovering streaks of burning desire erupt into an immense blast, and the resulting explosion covers the scene. Raging flames engulf the majority of Goliath's frame, enveloping him in an enormous burst of superlative willpower. The heated barrier that protects Ephrial becomes more apparent as the tossing debris and smoke collide against it, keeping him unharmed in the middle of the massive temperature shift exerted by his own attack.
Only the faint orange glow of that shield peeks visibly through the obstructing smokescreen, like a sunset amidst a whirling storm of sand and darkness. All of the witnessing combatants watch as the dust quickly settles, anxious to see the outcome of such a sudden assault. The smoke clears around the Blazing Swordsman, revealing the panting warrior maintain a glare of determination, waiting for some sign of effectiveness. With hopeful eagerness and curiosity, the champions of the League wearily stand back up, each looking intently at the Crystal Scour.
"Did that do it…!?" Ryze gazes.
Skarner hobbles forward a few steps, "His shell…it's…!"
Goliath's transparent plates quickly frost over with cracks as they swiftly rise and spread throughout his entire body. The massive head reels slower and slower until it appears as if he has frozen over, halting all movements. A few breaths pass, and like a sudden shattering of glass by soundwave, the monster screams in unbridled vexation. Shards of its broken exoskeleton glitter in diminutive pieces, reflecting sparkling glints of light in wake of the sun's rays. The near-indestructible armor of the incredible beast is no more, and the dark blue and purple flesh lies exposed. Like a serpent that has lost all of its scales, the ancient creature lashes out in wrathful pain.
With a renewed take on the battle, the surrounding legends take their arms back up. The overpowering guardian is now vulnerable to attack, and a window of victory opens widely. A second wind waves over them, and their spirits ignite with a new vigor. They glance at each other, a silent acknowledgment and agreement to pool their efforts together as a team. The differences between them take a backseat to the seriousness at hand. Being brought to the brink of defeat and death brings them closer, and they ready themselves for an all-or-nothing dive. Unlike the normal battles that have taken place in the Crystal Scar, what dies here, stays dead. No respawns, and no more rematches.
With fierce fervor in his voice, Ephrial calls out to the others.
"LET'S FINISH THIS!"
Legendary figures spring into action, bearing their signature weapons and prowess. Maokai and Malphite each contend with one of Goliath's head-like arms, restraining the weakened limbs to grand the others an opening. With a stylish grace, Taric smashes his hammer into the sawhead tendrils as they spring forth, crushing through their damaged crystal plating.
"You are nothing more than glass!"
Alistar stampedes beside him, pulverizing anything that resembles the crystalline form of the mountainous foe. His wild rampage creates a clearing for the others to fight on, bulldozing anything dark purple and moving.
Skarner races behind his former Vanguard general. "Now I've got you!"
A paralyzing sting asserts itself on Goliath's tail, freezing it in an arch as he wrestles to keep it still. The crystal scorpion plants his feet and claws into the ground, buying an opportunity for a follow-up. Nidalee rushes forth, changing into a cougar in mid-leap. She pounces on the restrained appendage, clawing her way upward to gain altitude as she runs along its length.
"Over here, Ugly!" the Prodigal Explorer calls out.
Ezreal disappears and reappears, blinking from place to place between each volley of magic bolts, avoiding the piercing hail of razors raining down upon him in response.
With Goliath distracted, Blitzcrank picks up a large spike leftover from a broken crystal stalagmite. The golem fires his arm with calculated precision, and rockets the oversized splinter into the neck of the gargantuan. Feline agility at work, the Bestial Huntress leaps off of the Crystal Scour's tail on all fours, and lands bipedal on the newly-improvised platform created by her steam-powered ally. Nimble steps bounce from one footing to another as Blitzcrank launches additional spikes, creating a stairway to the top of Goliath's head.
Keeping her balance on the twisting and writhing head of her prey, the skilled feline makes her way across to the front. A brave leap, and she turns herself around in midair, her spear priming to strike as if pouncing off a tree limb. She plants her weapon in one of the deranged, citrine eyes of the colossus, hanging on as Goliath reels and wails in agony.
In a defensive struggle, the Crystal giant calls forth a perimeter of sharp spires. It starts out as a ring around itself, like a wall, and smaller spikes begin shooting out towards the group.
Ryze clears a path, charging a ball of arcane magic, and launches it into a nearby protrusion. The sphere bounces from stalagmite to stalagmite, obliterating them into nothingness, and dissolving the rapidly forming sea of barbs. The bolt makes its way to the barrier of crystal spires, and decimates it with a massive blast of crackling energy. Jax wisps through, deftly avoiding the piecing skewers sprouting by his feet. With a mighty leap, he descends upon the lion-like head of Goliath's arm, crashing his lamppost down on it like a meteor. Repeating strikes pummel away, eating away at the vitality of the restrained limb, and deforming its shape with each blow.
Fiora bolts for the other beastlike appendage, grace and poise in her footsteps as well as her blade. Like a deadly waltz, she dances around what can be called the 'neck' of the fang-bearing jaws that form the Vanguard's hand. Each strike wears away the struggling limb, cutting deeper and deeper still. With Maokai's anger stretching the arm taught, one last flash of the Grand Duelist's blade dismembers it completely.
Twinging pain around its body causes Goliath to release a deafening roar. Nidalee expertly makes her way down to the ground safely, landing on her feet, bloodied spear in hand. The group rallies together, turning their efforts to the abdomen of their titanic foe.
Ephrial steps toward the Exile, who has remained behind, caught in a trance between the past and present. Frustration strews across her face, and the grip on her massive blade shakes.
"Riven. Riven…!" he attempts to break her out of her thousand-yard stare.
Through sounds of clamor and thunderous roars, the serene side of a fiery fervor shows itself, and she hears his words reaching her like a warm breeze. For a brief moment, the smoldering ambience of battles around her dissolves into a muffled silence. Cerulean blue and reddish-brown eyes reach through walls of time and regret.
"C'mon…this isn't like you. I don't know what you've been facing alone, but I'm with you now. Are you with me…?" Ephrial extends a hand.
A river of varying emotions, the former Noxian soldier hesitantly creeps her hand towards his. With a solid clasp, the partnership between them reaffirms itself with a steady pull back to reality, and the mercenary-knight welcomes her back as one warrior to another.
"Show me the resolve I've come to believe in, Riven!"
She snaps back, the grip on her sword tightening with the heat of the battle. The two turn their gaze back to the monstrous tower among them. Without any more limbs to defend itself with, the ancient Vanguard begins preparing the only viable option it has left. Dark red and black energy begins to swirl in its throat again, gathering its remaining strength to perform a catastrophic attack.
"All at once!" the raspy voice of Ryze calls those with ranged attacks by his side.
Together, a blast of runic energy, a magical spear, and a barrage of arcane bolts blast away at the belly of the beast. Taric and Maokai add their own bursts to the attack, priming the finishing touches of a softened spot for Malphite to charge himself into. Like an unstoppable rocket, the Shard of the Monolith cannonballs at full-force, landing a critical blow.
Upon the massive impact, Goliath lurches forward and collapses along the ground. The gargantuan serpentine head crashes in front of the enchanted blades, mouth hinged wide open with the flickering lights of an attack, still enduring its charging phase.
Seizing the opportunity, the Blazing Swordsman and Exile dash forward, straight into the jaws of the enemy. They erupt into a whirlwind of sharp strikes, slashing away at all sides and angles of the ancient Vanguard's mouth from the inside. Crystalline fangs shatter and dark purple flesh tears, causing the wailing beast to jolt back upright and violently writhe in pain, taking the two up with him.
Red and green blurs continue to dance wildly around each other, and the arcing electricity around them heralds the launch of Goliath's most devastating weapon. Refusing to flinch at the amount of time they have left, the two relentlessly cover the inside of the serpent's mouth with grievous gashes and wounds.
The beast begins to twitch and gurgle at the assault, unable to close its jaws on the swordsmen at the risk of its attack backfiring. Incapable of withstanding any further punishment, something within the throat of the serpentine Vanguard ruptures, and the dark sphere of energy becomes unstable.
Taking that as their cue to withdraw, Riven and Ephrial leap out of the ravaged fangs of their enemy. An explosion from the dark globe disintegrates the neck and head entirely, and the two begin to race down Goliath's winding body. Swift blades take turns covering each other from the hailstorm of burning remains and crystal razors from the creature's internal workings. Their deft footwork has them switching and alternating paths around each other, avoiding the loss of their balance as they shield each other from the falling hazards.
They safely join the rest on the ground, and a tremor ripples underneath their feet as the Crystal Scour's frame crashes into the ground behind them. A wave of wind and dust washes over the group with the impact, and thunderous echo of the collision fades into a victorious silence.
"Is…is it finally over?" Ezreal questions with uncertainty.
Skarner droops down with a guilty conscience. "This should have never happened…"
"Just what other so-called 'allies' do you have underground, Skarner!?" Ryze growls.
"The others…! I must go!" the Crystal Vanguard scuttles back to the mines he had first emerged from.
He opens his book, ready for a snaring spell "Not so fast, you—!"
"Let him. It would be best if he sees that no more of his kind rises to the surface for the time being. Their confusion would only incite more chaos," Ephrial intervenes.
"You seem rather suspect yourself, Blazing Swordsman! You didn't look the slightest bit surprised when that thing shot a laser at you."
"It's true. You did seem to know what you were doing," Taric chimes in, gesturing with his reclaimed shield.
"Call it a lucky guess. All that matters now is the current threat has been eliminated, but the real danger remains unknown."
"He's right," Ezreal agrees. "We've all been lead here to be slaughtered. Whoever is responsible for this will be looking to see what has become of their pet."
"Someone care to fill the rest of us in on what's happening?" the Grandmaster states his confusion.
"Right…not everyone was present at the Institute when it was attacked. Most of the League's champions that were got teleported away," Ephrial recalls Summoner Ricky's words.
"The Institute was attacked? Are you sure you're talking about the Institute of War, Newbie?"
"Who would be foolish enough to do such a thing?" the gem-studded champion adds.
"Someone who knows their stuff," Ryze responds. "To be able to turn the League's collection of nexuses against itself is no simple feat."
"How did they manage to do that?" the explorer questions.
"How and why are questions we have yet to come close to answering." Ephrial crosses his arms in thought. "The short of it is that they have done exactly as Ryze has described, turning those one-track-minded minions we're all familiar with into a real threat. Even the Master Nexus, despite our efforts, became a tool to simultaneously disperse us."
"You said 'most got teleported away'…but Ryze, Maokai, and Malphite all came here straight from the Institute. Why were they not affected?"
Ryze hypothesizes, stroking his beard. "The chambers used to conduct research and experiments are covered in mass amounts of negatron, in order to prevent magic of a more…volatile nature from escaping. It's likely it prevented that wave of magic from coming in."
"I was meditating. The caverns outside of the Institute are…peaceful," the introspective Shard of the Monolith says with reminiscence of his home.
"While you were all enjoying your freedom, I was caged in the summoners' dungeons," Maokai growls. "That fire spirit never shuts up! Day and night about 'cleansing the world'!"
"Brand…? It makes sense that the prisons would be protected from such effects, but the creatures we fought at the Master Nexus were running amok. Did someone let them out on purpose?" Ephrial ponders.
"Whatever's going on, they clearly don't want us to be at the Institute," Ryze surmises.
"Yet, they are still calling us out to places like this, even when some of us don't have a clue about what's going on," Ezreal adds on.
"Why us?" the Gem Knight asks the question on everyone's mind.
"They probably wanted to knock the biggest threats out first," Jax answers cockily, resting his arms over the lamppost behind his neck like a scarecrow.
"I think it's a fair assumption to say that everyone in the League that poses a threat to their operation is a target. At the very least, they must want us out of the way until they accomplish their goals," Ephrial considers all the information he's gathered.
Ryze, vexed at being sent by the Institute's request. "The Summoners are not to be trusted."
Malphite leans in with curiosity, "Then who is watching over the Institute?"
"It's…a convoluted situation. There are summoners we can trust, and summoners we can't. With all that has been happening, we simply can't decipher sides right now," Ephrial states an unfortunate fact.
"Mages ruin everything…!" Maokai's anger flares.
"I resent that, coming from something that blows up his own friends," Ryze glares.
"So, what do you propose, then?" Taric asks.
Ephrial takes a moment to ponder a plan. "…They are counting on us to have perished here, but the only ones they expect to arrive for certain are Ryze, Malphite, and Maokai, each having been sent here directly. For the sake of obtaining the element of surprise, I would say it's best if you three play dead for a while. Lay low and gather all the information you can until we know who we're up against."
"With the massive energy surges that have taken place here, they will be curious to investigate the results of their little trap," Ryze points out.
"Exactly. With Goliath down, there will be no more energy readings as such, possibly leading them to send a few scouts here to find out what happened."
"I get it… Force them to make a move, and grab their messengers while they're out of their hiding hole!" Piltover's explorer hammers a fist into an open hand.
"What about the rest of us?" Alistar joins in, slightly more level-headed after expending energy in the battle. "I don't want to stand around and wait to bash some skulls in!"
Fiora slashes her rapier through the air, "I agree. Zis insult to my honor will not stand!"
"We'll have to divide up into teams. It's imperative that we spread the word on the status of the Institute, but without inciting chaos. There's no doubt that some form of cover-up is being broadcasted for the lack of League matches," the mercenary-knight works on a strategy. "Ryze, Taric, and Jax would probably be best at that, being as well-traveled as they are. We also need more presence in the Institute itself. They clearly do not want us around while they finish with whatever they are up to."
"That won't be easy. The Institute was just starting to go on lockdown when they dispatched me here," the archmage states. "No one in, and no one out, unless they have strict authority given by someone really high up on their payroll."
"Surely the ones working so hard to investigate this whole matter won't refuse the aid of noble warriors to bolster their efforts," he gives them a foot in the door to use.
"And what exactly do we do in there if they are just going to lock us down, too?" Alistar inquires.
The mercenary-knight thinks back to his last trip to the League. Ricky and the majority of the lower class summoners are currently being held under curfew. Lack of necessary information makes it difficult to discern what moves to make, but action must be taken swiftly at this point.
"Your presence may be enough to make our mystery assailants uneasy and more cautious. Whatever time that might buy in our favor, use it to form a coup of summoners that are aligned with us. We'll need their help if we are to accomplish anything."
"What if they find out?" Alistar snorts in doubt of such a patient plan.
"Then do what you did in your last prison break. Start a riot."
The minotaur finally hears a piece of the plan he likes, and laughs while slamming his fist into his palm with eager anticipation.
"I think you, Fiora, and Nidalee should handle that front."
A raspy blue mage tosses his hands up in the air complacently. "Oh, sure. Pick the most inconspicuous ones. The cat, the bull, and the whiny fencer walk into the Institute. Sounds like the setup of a bad joke!"
"How dare you!" the Grand Duelist snaps at him.
"Why not? Alistar is an award-winning humanitarian, so his interest in the Institute's well-being is not out of place. Fiora is always looking for a challenge, so where better to start searching for it than the League, especially after such a daring attack. Last, but not least, Nidalee is big fan-favorite of the summoners, so I'm sure they'll gladly let her in, and she can pry for information quite easily."
The Bestial Huntress leans on her spear, raising an eyebrow at Ephrial's assertions.
"Oh, don't bother with that look. We've all seen how you dance!" Ryze jabs.
The shapeshifting woman lets out a hiss at him.
"I'll head back to Piltover! Maybe my grandfather has some insight on how they tampered with the nexuses," Ezreal volunteers.
"Actually, I was hoping you would head to Demacia," the mercenary-knight suggests.
"What? Why?"
"Your direct connection to the Crownguard family may help us gather some forces together. Preferably with the utmost discretion. We don't want to cause a panic or suspicion with a large army, not to mention Demacia could be unwittingly host to the same corruption as the League. The quieter we make our moves, the better."
Flustered, "C-connection with the Crowngaurds? Me?"
The others give him a straight-faced look.
"All of us know about your little fling with Luxanna, kid," Jax says directly.
"Oh…Demacia it is, then."
"Blitzcrank, Malphite, and Maokai would be best to stay here for those aforementioned scouts," Ephrial divides the last team. "You guys are a bit too big to blend in with a crowd, but big enough to scare some information out of whoever is sent here to check on their giant crystal hydra. Not to mention, you may camouflage rather well here, with all the boulders, trees, and bushes in the area."
"What iz it you intend to do, and why should I take orders from a peasant!?" Fiora lashes.
"That's a good point…why should we trust you, Newcomer? You've barely been in the League, and you act as if you know what you're talking about," Ryze glares.
"A fair set of questions. I've no reason for any of you to give me your personal trust. However, I am willing to trust each of you. Whether you take my word for it or not, I still believe you will take the right course of action."
"A bold statement…but you would not be the first to cover deception with noble words. You don't even know us! Who's to say none of us will stab you when your back is turned!?"
"If any of us wanted the others dead, our fight with this 'Crystal Scour' afforded more than enough opportunities. However, we all still stand. If you are asking me if I can trust you in particular…I would say that the purpose of you carrying that scroll around your back is more than enough proof. It makes it known that you possess the understanding and caution for destructive potential of any kind. You respect magic too much to be a part of attacking the Institute."
"Erk—! Fine! Do as you wish…" Ryze trails off in mumbling.
"You still haven't told us where you'll be going," Ezreal points out.
"I'll be heading to Piltover. Perhaps I can find a lead there."
"What? Why would you go to Piltover, and I head to Demacia!?" suspicion arises.
"As I've said, you're the one that possesses a connection there. I have none. With all that has transpired, it won't surprise me that Noxus will be the prime suspect. Perhaps they are even right to think such. Considering the history Demacia has with Noxus, they would not be likely to believe me. I would just receive the same stare I am getting from you, only multiplied."
"You don't seem very confident in your reputation, Blazing Swordsman," Jax remarks.
"There hasn't been a place, so far, that I have been to where people have not counted me as just another bloodthirsty Noxian. Of course, who's to blame them? The innumerable misdeeds of the city-state carry throughout generations, far more than whatever handful of years of reputation I may hold."
"I have heard enough!" the fencer chimes back in. "If zis will grant me the opportunity to prove that I am ze best, zen I will play along…on one condition! Zis insolent whelp must relinquish the title of 'Grandmaster' to me!"
"Over my dead body," Jax glares at her.
"Zat can be arranged," accepting the challenge.
"Enough of this bickering!" the Twisted Treant shouts. "If I will at last be returned to my home, then I shall cooperate…for now," reluctantly agreeing to the plan, mostly for the opportunity to crush a few summoners.
"It would seem we have no choice but to agree on this alliance. Are we all in accordance?" Taric's mellow voice evens out the tone of the group.
With exchanging looks and silent nods, the company of unlikely allies from various regions acquiesce. Each holds their reservations to themselves, faced with a common enemy yet to be revealed.
Ephrial turns around to walk in the Exile's direction, leaving the others to finish collaborating and disperse. Riven, with a somber expression, sits atop a large, flat rock amidst the torn ground. She notices him and quickly rises, her visage hardening again.
"…Are you okay…?" the mercenary-knight asks, still concerned with her episode of PTSD.
She glances away, averting her eyes to the same question that made her hesitate once, long ago. "What's the plan now?" diverting the inquiry.
A pause takes the air between them, and Riven looks back due to a lack of a response. With the adrenaline rush wearing off, Ephrial can't help but stare at her with the frozen expression of having seen a ghost.
"…What's with that look?" the Exile fidgets slightly with unsettlement.
"…I—… A-apologies. It's just been…a very long week. I'm glad to see you're okay."
"We don't have time to waste. Let's head back to the Institute."
"Change of plans. I think we have a better chance of finding progress in Piltover."
"Why Piltover?"
Ephrial pulls out a fried piece of flat equipment with wires and metal pieces running along it. "This fell out of Goliath's head shortly before we finished him off. It has Hextech written all over it," turning the frazzled circuit board over to give her a full view.
"Don't you think this might be more of Zaun's handiwork?"
"I do, especially after those barrels of waste we found before. However, if we're to gather any information on such a device, we'll have to find it in a less…hostile area. I'm thinking Heimerdinger might be just the yordle to help us."
"That's a far journey…and the Institute is right along the way."
"It may be best to avoid going there. A few of the others will be working on the inside, and it might work better in our favor if you and I stayed off the League's radar for a little while."
The mercenary-knight thinks carefully, a heavy responsibility weighing down on him. Having succeeded in rewriting a portion of history, the last thing he wishes to do is let Riven out of his sight. However, he has witnessed a glimpse of the threat that lies in the North, and cannot simply ignore it. As he has learned before, time is a very delicate thing, and he does not take this second chance lightly.
"Snap out of it, already!" Riven calls him out of a daze.
"Sorry. I'm just…thinking."
"You look terrible."
"What?"
Both examine the scratches and marks done to Ephrial's armor and body. The damage he had sustained in the Freljord appear to have carried over the trip through time. This must be what Zilean must have meant when he described it as a "replacement." He has taken the very spot of his past self, carrying with him the memories as well as the physical effects of his journey.
"I see… Heh. Like I said, it's been a very long week."
"…So long as you don't slow me down," a warrior's pride in the Noxian way shows itself.
"I'll try not to," humoring her with a smirk.
Ephrial's thought on his journey to the Freljord begins to conclude itself with the idea that, with the knowledge of what to expect, he can recreate the series of events just as they were. Perhaps with less injury, at the least… In order to prevent changing up the rest of the timeline too much, he will have to be a precise with his words and actions. Braum needs to learn of the Watchers, and Anivia can deliver Avarosa's Eye to Ashe, both as a morale boost to her army and to keep it out of Lissandra's clutches. It's a feeling of doing the right thing that compels him, keeping intact the selflessness that has earned him the 'knight' portion of his title. His newfound allies to the North aided him in making things right. The least he can do is return the favor, even if they don't know it.
It will be a challenging stretch, but with a rune tablet set to go to Piltover, he can meet Riven there in the same time it would take her to travel there on foot.
"Actually…" he goes somber. "Do you know the safest route through the Ironspike Mountains?"
"The 'safest' route?" almost taking insult to the question.
"Well, with all the journeying you've done, I'm more than sure you know you're way around. Just…stick to the safest paths, alright?"
"What are you talking about? Are you not coming, too?" curious at his behavior.
"I have…errands I need to see to first."
"What kind of—"
"It's complicated. I can't explain it right now… In fact, if I am going to make it on time, I have to leave very shortly," looking at the sun's position over them.
"First you want to tag along, and now you want to leave without explaining?"
"I wish I could, but…that's a story for another time. Just…trust me."
Riven falls silent. He has given her no reason to doubt him, and every reason to believe in him. The fiery image of the mercenary-knight standing in front of her, blazing away a sea of deadly, over-sized needles comes to mind. Somewhere lost in time, between flashbacks and that moment, she could swear she saw him slashing away the barrage of toxic chemicals on that fateful day in Ionia, so long ago.
"…I will meet you at Piltover. You still owe me an explanation when we get there," she looks at him with resolve.
"Deal," he replies with a grin.
Without further words, he departs from her, both honor-bound by the word of one warrior to another. The sinking feeling of worry and guilt washes over Ephrial with every step, taking a huge gamble against the very fate he had just opposed. Still, even though he must repeat a journey through a frozen hell and back, it would still be for her in the end. Why is that…? Braum had asked him if she was important to him—a fair question considering the lengths taken during that trek. With a predictable revisit to the Institute and Freljord, he has plenty of time now to dwell on it.
"…Don't die, Riven…"
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Author's note: So...that took a while to type up! A really harsh work schedule didn't make it easy either. But with over 10k words, I hope I made your wait worth it. That's like the size of 2-3 chapters, so that makes us even, right? Also, Riven is back!
Please let me know what you think with a comment. Favorites/follows/etc. are also very much appreciated!