Chapter 5

A thunderous roar of cheering from the Arena rumbled the city of Noxus. The fierce winds and heavy clouds above did not deter the open roofed coliseum in which two hundred thousand denizens could be seated. The massive circular arena stood thirty stories high and was constructed from fine concrete, marble and steel. It was the epitome of Noxian architecture with stolen Piltoveran technologies and forced labor. The round walls were filled with intricate designs and markings depicting the Grand Marshal's pride and triumph and were flourished with endless banners of black and gray. Inside it was no less impressive than its superficial appearance; a huge ring, layered by hundreds of thousands of seats surrounded a singular arena at the middle where the bloodshed and slaughter took place for the sake of Noxian entertainment. A complex maze of gears and clockwork lay below the arena grounds, allowing for a multitudinous array of traps and settings. Sometime, the arena could be flooded and became a small ocean, sometimes the arena could become adorned with tropical trees turning it into a deadly jungle filled with predatory animals for those unfortunate enough to end up inside. Not a single hour would the Arena be unlit as always there were lights and shows happening and blood spilled.

This enormous architectural masterpiece was the work of thousands of hours, countless of plans and the sole symbolism for Noxian wealth and power throughout Valoran. It towers over almost every other structure in Noxus and has become both an icon of strength and prosperity and an icon of death and fear. It was the embodiment of the Marshal's rule, and an example of what awaited those who dare oppose him. For miles this behemoth could be spotted with its very domes reaching into the skies. For many, the Arena was simply an over-exaggerated form of execution for those deemed an enemy of the state. Once inside those walls and under two hundred thousand eyes, your death was imminent and will only serve as sick twisted entertainment for those who cheers for blood.

"DRAVEN! DRAVEN! DRAVEN!" the thunderous voices of the crowd screamed in unison as another helpless prisoner was decapitated with one swift throw of an axe.

High above on a singular iron tower adorned with wicked spikes and fire with an equally terrifying chassis roamed like a wild beast stalking prey upon the sandy arena ground that was stained with spilled blood and entrails. On top were Noxian archers and the executioner Draven as they effortlessly picked off scurrying prisoners below who were frantically trying to hide but it was of no use. Scattered through the Arena were low hanging steel walls meant for cover but it was merely a ruse, a way to keep it entertaining. Draven's axes could curve over and split open a head if he so desired, but he enjoyed it slow.

"DRAVENNNNNNNN!" the crowd cheered like animals as a shower of black bouquets of roses rained onto the grounds as Draven opened his arms and basked in the glorious light that shone from intense floodlights surrounding the Arena.

"YEA YEA YEAH!" Draven shouted in response. He had a whirling axe in one hand and a half empty bottle of ale in another. Through a drunkenly manner, he raised the bottle to his face and emptied it before promptly throwing his axe almost blindly yet it still found its target as it curved through the air and embedded itself on the skull of a prisoner. When he realized his bottle had been finished, he tossed it over the tower and took out yet another.

The Arena was now littered with the mutilated corpses and blood and shattered bottles. Draven quickly chugged down his sixth now and announced to the crowd and he can no longer see properly before striking down yet another, much to the crowd's sadistic delight.

At the very front row of the seats was the Grand Box where all the Noxian officials and the Marshal himself sat upon luxurious thrones and tables lined with feasts. Swain watched the show underneath his mask, occasionally feeding his raven sitting on his left shoulder, Beatrice some of the bread and wine. Beside him were several other generals and high-ranking officers who accompanied Swain and would only clap and react as their leader did.

After another round of cheering following three more heads gone, Swain lightly clapped, mimicked by a few others. Then, from behind him LeBlanc appeared and approached his side.

"Lovely show isn't it?" Swain rasped without even turning his head to acknowledge her as his eyes were trained on the Arena.

"Very," LeBlanc responded indifferently.

"All this excitement keeps the city alive, no?"

LeBlanc remained silent, waiting for Swain to finish watching yet another round in the Arena.

"So, what is it that you have to tell me?" Swain asked.

"It would appear that Katarina Du Couteau has been captured by the rebels days ago, she is now in their hands," Leblanc replied.

Swain's grin was hidden underneath his mask as he fed Beatrice a piece of bread which it then devoured hungrily.

"A shame, to lose such a fine pawn," Swain said sarcastically.

"Then shall we send a rescue? The rebels can extract valuable information from her," LeBlanc said, slightly annoyed at Swain's nonchalant manner.

"Why? Do you fear the rebels? They can do nothing, whether or not they have Du Couteau in their hold. Our primary focus is Project Zealot, the rebels are a separate matter."

"The rebels can attack Demacian and threaten our project."

Swain chuckled, "Do not be foolish, darling, the rebels, even if they have the knowledge they do not however possess the manpower required. They are a restless fire in the forest, and we a great gust of wind shall stamp it out with impunity. Do not taint yourself with the thought of them, I have already taken care of those pathetic rebels, you will see soon enough."

Then, another thunderous applause sounded from the frenzied crowd as Draven wobbled about drunkenly yet still deadly precise with his axes.

"Look at the crowd, tell me what keeps them under," Swain rhetorically began, "Bread and circuses, that is my most powerful tool in commanding this empire."

LeBlanc remained silent.

"Breads and circuses," Swain repeated. "What do you think is the greatest loyalty? Fanaticism? Blind fervor? No, that is quite wrong. In fact, indifference is the greatest loyalty of all, ignorance, the desire to feed and consume without thinking is the highest form of loyalty. You give them bread to keep their stomachs full, you give them circuses to keep them entertained and all the while they will not question, not even once."

Swain pointed to the crowd, "That, is the purpose of this Arena. If they cannot think, then they cannot revolt. They are not even aware of the rebel's existence, they do not even have the concept of rebellion for they have no desire to, no power nor capability. Like pack animals, they only exist to feed and follow."

"Their indifference can as easily sway as the wind," LeBlanc said.

"True, true, and that is the irony of our situation. But what way is there to sway when the only way they know is my way? Indeed there are those rebels you speak of, but they lack the proper influence to affect a whole nation, let alone a single city or village even. Such dangers are but fruitless fantasies, dear."

"I pray that your overconfidence will not be your downfall."

"Nor should under-confidence, shall I say? It is all a calculated move, but sometimes it is wise not to overestimate your opponents. Now, please, go to Chief Warden Vladimir and inform him that the project should be entering its final phrase within the month," Swain ordered.

LeBlanc silently nodded before disappearing into the shadows as Swain's attention returned to the Arena. Up above that wicked tower Draven was now on the verge of collapse but not before hurling two massive axes across the grounds at a desperate man trying to run for the gates. When the two blades cut through him, it had complete bifurcated the man as his two halves fell onto the sands like butchered meat. Then, after basking in the glory one final time, Draven collapsed into a drunken sleep like a sloth.

The night was deep and filled with heavy silence, not even a single utterance could be heard. The soft glow of moonlight gently blanketed Valoran, marking the end of yet another day. That round orb, so bright yet mysterious, drifted high up above in the black sky with a tapestry dotted by countless cosmic stars behind it. The twilight shone upon the manor as not a single flicker of life shuddered from its windows, a precautionary detail against prying Noxian eyes. On occasion, the eerie whispering of a breeze followed by rustling leafs could be heard but that was it. All the animals had vanished from sight as though they were never even here, only trees and grass and the perpetual lunar light remained.

Within the manor, the feeling of the hot water felt divine against Katarina's body as it washed away all worries. The warm steam rising from the showering floor soothed her mind and allowed her to relax as she cleaned herself with a sweet smelling soap, like a rose. She allowed the water to fall onto her face and streaming down her long hair before washing her face. She rinsed the frothing bubbles and soap off of her silken head as it swirled down into the drain and vanished. As the warmth showered down on her back, she held down her head in contemplation with her wet hair dripping down her shoulders.

She needed a move, a path or something, anything. She was a prisoner and that she will not mistake, she refuses to believe that she is a rebel now as she desperately searched for a way out. Jarvan had her pinned against a wall with a spear to her throat. In this deep night, she could perhaps take up her blade and slit everyone's throat but then what? What would come next? She knows she is a Noxian, but also a rebel now, but not a rebel against Noxus but Swain. Katarina amused herself with that thought and pondered if it was just nonsense. Perhaps they did share similar goals but how could she turn her back on her home? That was the question which cursed her thoughts and tempted her to take up her daggers.

After several minutes, she turned the water off and dried herself with a towel before getting back into her daily assassin's garbs. She wondered curiously down the darkened halls with deliberately light footsteps without even the rotten floorboard creaking. She had remembered much of the inner design of the manor which has brought her to the bathroom and back to her own. The kitchen, the bar, the grand lobby, the living room and even the servant's quarters are now etched into a mental map in her head as she maneuvered about the complex building without hindrance. There was however, one last place she had not been to; the storage area.

She made her way close to an unexplored door which without a doubt would lead her to the storage. All the way, she had ensured that she made not a single noise as she sneaked through, undetected like a shadow in the twilight. When she arrived, she gave a slight push to the door which opened in a surprisingly silent manner.

Inside was that resembling a junkyard, its walls covered all the way to the top with obsolete metal scraps. Several row of florescent light tubes above flickered constantly over the mountainous heaps of iron waste and junk bent into unrecognizable shapes. Oil leaks, water and other chemicals were spilled all over the concrete floor, leaving only one clean path which forks into the heaps. Katarina could not see the other side of the room, or the left or the right side as her vision was blocked by the room's contents.

She treaded carefully, following the deliberate path created through the oil sludge and knee-deep pools of unknown liquids. As she went deeper and deeper into the hills of metallic scraps, it had become denser and denser and soon she had to struggle to get through tight squeezes while having to be cautious not to accidentally pull down one of those heaps.

Up ahead, Katarina noticed a small clearing and the only area in the massive room that was being constantly lit by a functional light. There, in the center, a pile of scraps were put into a little shrine and bathed in the greenish light as though commemorating a fallen soldier. As she walked closer, she saw two robotic figures buried underneath, one of them was a massive golem who once shined a bright yellow and now stained by dirt and damage. The other was of a female shape, small and petite and had features strikingly similar to that of a human and shared the same damages and rust as the other one. Katarina recognized them in the midst of all the junk; Blitzcrank and Oriana. These two robots had a place in the graveyard of metals, at a glance they would've blended perfectly in the heaps of trash. No longer did they emanate the strange life that they once did, their two eye sockets were dark and lightless.

Katarina kneeled in front of them and dug into the heap. Soon, she found that they had their hands joined together like a loving couple laying in their deathbed, sharing their final moments. The shapes of their metallic finger joints did not easily match but Oriana had her hands locked tightly around Blitzcrank's like an inseparable bond. Upon Blitzcrank's wide chest, an opening was slashed across from left to right, revealing the intricate wirings inside and a hollow hole, no doubt damage from a blade. Katarina inspected the damage and found serrated markings along the twisted metal, a sign of cruel Noxian weaponry. Oriana seemed relatively untouched but she too no longer functioned and had become nothing but a shell, dead in a sense.

Katarina ran her finger along the golem's iron chest and found it still surprisingly smooth despite all the rust and dirt. It had no longer vibrated with energy as it did in the past and no longer warm from the steam, now it was but cold and unpleasant to the touch. Katarina stared at their locked hands, trying to recreate their final moments in her head. There were no expressions on their faces, only a blank slate yet it tells a thousand stories of which words cannot. She looked closer and found a small, rough but readable engraving at the base of Blitzcrank's neck. It read: I have a soul, as do we all, as does she.

"We found them like that," a rough voice sounded behind Katarina which caused her to jump to her feet. She turned around and was met by Jarvan, still in his rugged cloak and wearing the harsh, shaven beard. His synthetic arm was not attached, revealing a closed stump of flesh with a few bolts screwed into what is left of it. On his other hand he held a mug of ale, the stench potent enough to be smelled by Katarina several feet away.

Katarina casted a hostile glare at him before turning back to the graveyard.

"The Noxians got them before we did, they had took them into the city and tore them apart. They tried escaping but it didn't work, they were recaptured, their memory cores were ripped out and their exoskeletons dumped into a junkyard. They died, if you would, together," Jarvan continued. He approached the buried robots and gazed at the damage Blitzcrank took. "I suppose that is one good thing about being a robot, is that you don't feel the pain of those last moments. The agony of the cold, steel blade cutting deep into your flesh and your life slips away, for them, they just close their eyes and it ends. A wound that does not hurt, many of us desire that."

Above, the lamp had now also had begun to flicker for several moments before returning to its constant luminance.

"I have nothing to say to you," Katarina coldly said.

"But I have a lot to say to you, Kat, so bear with me," Jarvan replied, taking a sip of his ale. Then, he sat down onto the hard ground cross-legged and set aside his mug. "Come, have a seat. I know it's not the most comfortable thing but it's better than standing, please."

For the next few moments, Katarina stood in silence as Jarvan waited. Seeing that he will not relent, she hesitantly lowered herself and rested on her knees, her stance still lightly taller than Jarvan's.

"I'm sorry Kat, for what happened today but you must understand that I'm in no better position than you are. I am desperate, as are we all," Jarvan continued while Katarina refused to meet his eyes and constantly held a face that speaks of anger and annoyance. "You feel as though you have been driven to a corner today, but that is what we all feel every day. Each day and night, Swain's men scurries through the city and slaughters countless innocent people and ransack their homes. If you were me, what would you do? What would you do if your city had fallen to your enemy's hands and your people suffering at the hands of those you hate? This is a desperation that you have not felt, yet.

Katarina clutched her fists but remained silent. Jarvan paused for a moment for another sip of the ale and for a moment held his words before taking out his synthetic arm. He began to reattach it to the stump.

"These wounds, they cut on the outside but not inside. Warriors lose limps all the time, Kat, but the true pain for me is losing my city and seeing my people suffer. All of us here has have changed, we have all received this wound that darkens us forever. You are fortunate enough not to have felt one yet and I do pray that you never will but soon you will and when you do, you will understand what I have become."

With a few final clicks of the bolts and screws, the false arm was in place and Jarvan made a few weak fists to ensure it is properly connected.

"Indeed, many of us have changed. You must wonder why Garen has become this pathetic shadow of his former self, no?" Jarvan asked, sensing Katarina's curiosity. She did not respond but she wanted to know.

"Lux is dead, she died before his own eyes," Jarvan said emotionlessly.

Katarina was surprised and subconsciously, she let out a faint gasp.

"When the Noxians marched to our city's gates, my father gave the order to defend our home but Demacia was already corrupted by Noxian spies in our ranks and our army already weakened from the war. They marched right in, without any resistance. Only a few Champions rose and gathered a few men for a valiant but futile defense. Lux was defending a school filled with children from the invaders. She was outnumbered, outflanked but she held on. She fought to save those children with her life. When Garen arrived, he found Lux on the ground barely breathing and surrounded by a mountain of charred Noxian corpses. The smell of burnt flesh, bright fires of chaos devouring homes and stores, the sound of flesh being torn and screams of agony were all there. Garen held her to his arms and she looked at him one last time and told him one thing that saved him, the one thing that has so far kept him from being a hollow shell, she told him to promise him to fight on for Demacia and for himself. He hasn't cried like that in years after as she died in her brother's arms."

Katarina stared blankly, her face laden with guilt and her fists loosened up and fell flat on her knees.

"But do you know what the saddest part about it is? It's that I wasn't even there to see it happen, all of this he had told me. He remembers day and night, each and every single little detail, the smell, the sound, the sight, even the taste of bland ashes he had told me. He is a broken man, but not hollow, he still has a heart and he can be unbroken and returned to his former self. As his Prince, and as a friend, that is what I need of him, of us all."

Jarvan finished the rest of the ale and saw Katarina's face in the dim light. Her eyes were weary and somewhat saddened by the news.

"My father too has died for the cause. He told us that he will die, and that his death will serve as a catalyst for what he had hoped for a Demacian revolt. Each of us has sacrificed something, and we will make sure that it will not be in vain. I know you, you too despise Swain, and you wish your home to be free and your father. All I ask of you is to become our ally, we have the same goals and ideals. Please, consider it, and together we can forge the world that should've been and remove the tyrant from his throne," Jarvan said, extending his real arm at her at the notion of a handshake.

"I can solve my own problems, I will free my father and my city," Katarina uttered.

"I know you can, but I am here to help you and you can help me."

"I can do just as well alone."

Jarvan chuckled, "we cannot always be alone, Kat. It will be a lesson you must learn, it is fine to depend on others at times, we all do. At these times, these desperate times are the time to rely on others."

Jarvan's hand was still extended but Katarina made a rule for herself that she would not accept.

"You are the one who has imprisoned me here, I cannot see you an ally," Katarina said.

"Then I ask you also not to see me as an enemy," Jarvan replied, lowering his offer, "no matter how you see me, I will still help and I will expect nothing in return."

"Why? Why do you do this? Why can you not just treat me like an enemy? Why must you act like this?" Katarina said, annoyed.

"Because there has got to be something in there Kat, I know you better than you think. You don't know what to do, then I can tell you one thing, fight with us and we can see Swain's death and a free Noxus and Demacia once again," Jarvan answered.

Katarina grunted but did not retort as she felt more and more trusting towards him despite her reluctance. She wanted to convince herself that this was all just a mere ruse to get into her for information for the rebels but his seeming sincerity was undeniable. She rose from her seat and turned her back to him and avoiding having to face this man any longer.

"I trust you Kat, despite what you may think. All I ask of you is one thing, to not betray this trust. I need you, we all need you. I see you as a friend and ally and I hope that soon you will too," Jarvan said.

Katarina's eye were trained on the gash on the steam golem's chest but they were not seeing anything, her thoughts were being bombarded with confusion and chaos.

"I will await your answer tomorrow, Kat. You should return to bed and get some rest soon, you will need it for what we are about to do," Jarvan said and left the room out to same path in, through the mountainous heaps of junk and waste.

When all was silent again, Katarina clutched her arm as though she was in pain. Her long crimson hair fell lifelessly downwards, covering her face and her scar. Her eyes were tired and desperate for a solution and answer.

The light above flickered continuously as though nearing the end of its lifespan, its luminosity had become dim and its glow lustreless in its struggle to remain lit. Just as it was about to die, it relit itself and brought forth clear light once again as it had now become the sole functioning lamp in the entire storage room, shining over Katarina's contemplation.