I will not be clapped in a hood,
Nor a cage, nor alight upon wrist,
Now I have learnt to be proud
Hovering over the wood
In the broken mist
Or tumbling cloud
The Hawk (William Butler Yeats)
TWO DAYS LATER…
"Fuck this." One of the candidates said the words that had been lurking in their heads all afternoon.
Darius didn't exactly disagree with him. Water was pooling in the trench thanks to the rain, clumps of dirt and vegetation floating about as fine particles permeated through his wet clothing and made him want to drop his weapon and scratch his nether regions. Sharp rocks were now being revealed as the rain and the candidates' frustrated movements swept away layers of dirt.
There were five of them in the muddy trench- Chauster, Trucco, Rian, Hayes and himself. The other candidates of his platoon were somewhere farther away, to carry out another part of his convoluted plan.
It was a rather strange plan- but then again they did not have much of a choice given their circumstances. It seemed like a thousand years had passed since they had formed ranks in front of Chief di Castellamonte for the final phase of the Crucible.
"Dominance Company, there are only forty-four of you left, from one hundred ninety." Chief di Castellamonte had given them a grim smile. "I feel that is a number that could still be whittled down. One trial remains for you to complete the Crucible- there are five objectives on the grounds, and you must capture at least one of them and hold it at all costs."
"Who would be our opponents, Chief Instructor?" Darius had asked then.
"Why, each other." She had replied with a cruel turn of her lip. "The entire training standard will also be participating, and their goal also is to take those five objectives. At the end of two days, whichever platoons are holding onto the objectives have the right to live. The rest will be culled."
She had divided them into two platoons composed of some twenty-two men and women, and then explained what the objectives were: the instructors had moved through the grounds a week before, planting a large Noxian standard on top of a rock cairn slathered with white paint. Two were in the middle of flat land, with no natural defenses about; the other three had been planted in the middle of a bog, perched precariously on a ridge and placed beneath a sheer cliff respectively.
"This is your final task, one you must complete to be worthy of further education. Do not disappoint me." The Chief had stared at them all judgmentally, and Darius felt her gaze burn into him. He cast his glance down onto the gloved hand that was holding onto a new, standard-issue axe- he had never found his old one and he did not regret losing it at all because it had just been an axe. "If you fail, I will take great pleasure in terminating you myself."
Chief di Castellamonte had made Harkin the leader for his platoon. The man was ape-like, with long arms, a thickset face and large hands. Privately, Darius had felt that it was a rather stupid decision for her to make because, even though Harkin was tough, he was an absolute buffoon. But he had held his tongue then- he did not want to disrespect her by countermanding her decision.
That had been one day ago. Since then, Harkin had proven himself to be about as stupid as Darius had imagined him to be. The idiot had insisted on going after one of the flatland objectives, telling them that it was easier to obtain. Darius had stopped him the first time, pointing out that there was absolutely nothing there to help them, that there was no tactical advantage or disadvantage present. Harkin had stared at him stupidly, his ape-like face contorting.
"But it's easier," Harkin had told him. And Darius had stayed his hand then purely because a platoon had suddenly come rushing out of the heavy murk, trying to kill them before they even went near a single objective. They had fought off the assaulting platoon easily- Harkin did have his merits- and had looted the bodies for supplies.
Darius had tried arguing with him again, but the bigger man had shrugged him off. He had kept his mouth shut after that, because he did not want to delay his platoon any longer. After trudging through rain and rapidly disintegrating terrain, Harkin announced that they were going to assault the bog objective instead.
"What the fuck," Darius had practically railed at him then. "Are you doing? You can't go to the bog objective- not in the motherfucking dark. We haven't even conducted a foot patrol. What if there's already a platoon there?"
"Well, the bog objective is close, isn't it?" Harkin had asked him. Darius had shown him the map only ten minutes ago. "So we should go there."
"At night?" He had shouted before someone from his own platoon hit him in the back and told him to shut up.
"Why are you being such a bitch, Darius?" Taller and burlier Valdas, of the House of Daubney, told him. "I want to get an objective too, so we should probably hurry."
"You insane fuck," Darius had spat back. "There's a difference between being aggressive and being reckless, and there is no point in running through a marsh at night to get to an objective that you haven't even scouted yet!"
He would have throttled them both to death, but at that point the older and more veteran Seamus decided to interject- he had been placed into Darius' platoon, and he had remained silent thus far.
"Let him make the mistake," Seamus had suggested wryly.
"At the cost of our lives?" Darius had whirled on him. "We're going to fucking fail if that asshole gets what he wants."
Seamus had taken his rage and had laughed at him. "You fuckhead, I've seen all kinds of dogshit in the infantry. You get officers like that all the time. Let him do his gamble- if it pays off, we've got the objective. If it doesn't, kill him, then take command. It's that fucking simple. Nobody's going to fucking stop you when they're all tired and shit."
And so they had carried out Harkin's disastrous plan, and true to Darius' suspicions, the objective had already been taken. They were already exhausted from marching through the knee-deep sludge. The moment they reached the objective, they thought they were the first to come- no one was around.
"You see," Harkin had said. "We've got this."
And then they were surrounded- the platoon that had taken it earlier had decided to wait in the murk, deceptively leaving the Noxian standard alone. Now they fell on Darius' platoon with brutal fervor, cutting down Valdas and another two candidates before Harkin managed to sound the retreat. They had run through the bog, heckled by arrows and spells. They lost one more with that retreat, and the moment they felt that they were well and away from the other platoon, Darius had walked straight up to Harkin and separated his head from his body.
As Seamus had said, the rest of his platoon had been too exhausted and too hurt to complain about the abrupt change in leadership. The first thing Darius had done was to relocate them all to a more defensible position, a thicket on a hill, with brambles to the north and a solid cliff face in the east. They had taken stock of their situation then.
All the platoons had been issued the same supplies: one waterproof foldable map of the grounds, to be kept inside an oilskin bag; fifteen packs of biscuits and meat jerky, which essentially was just one day's worth of rations for five people; a pack of medical supplies, for three minor scrapes or one major injury; one survival machete; six explosive runestones, for whatever reason; twenty-two water canteens, with three packets of water purifying agent to prevent dysentery; two field-issue binoculars, with vision of up to 350 feet at 1000 yards; twenty-two spare uniforms and waterproof ponchos; three packs of waterproof matches, each containing twenty sticks; three pieces of rope cord, ten feet long; two canisters of lamp oil; two black square lanterns, armed with a sliding metal visor in order to send coded messages with; five fishing hooks, for whatever reason; one waterproof pocket watch, to keep track of time with; one hundred pieces of ammunition, for the candidates who used ranged weapons; one shovel, to dig trenches with; and two communication shards, to be shared within the platoon.
What were communication shards? An exceedingly important innovation, communication shards essentially were the Noxian answer to Piltoverian radio technology. The shards were just that- smooth pieces of black crystal laden with heavy blue runes. The things were made in pairs and enchanted to communicate with others in a network.
The advantage behind using communication shards was that it was not at all easy to eavesdrop on Noxian communications whereas Piltoverian radios were easily infiltrated by Zaunite tech. Noxian telepathic crystals allowed for a greater and more secure connection, and communication happened in real-time. Of course, the only drawback was that once one held onto a Noxian communication shard, if one knew how to utilize it, it was a window into the entire Noxian battlefield network. And if one had any magic-neutralizing artifacts, it would be an easy matter to cut off communications for entire regiments. Needless to say, the shards were destroyed if capture was imminent.
On paper, it was fairly easy to use: Noxian mages had no trouble at all, and even the most magically inept person could tap into the network because the shards had been made with them in mind- one only had to maintain focus while accessing the shard. In practice, however, holding focus was immensely difficult to do, especially while spells and other projectiles were flying over one's head. That was that was why there was more than one person in every Noxian platoon capable of operating the shards. Darius had utilized the crystals easy enough in their classroom lessons, but he had yet to use the shards in the field.
Harkin had kept them all on the move, even pushing them to eat while on the march. Their food supplies were down to only three packs of biscuits and jerky now. Their medical supplies had already been run through thanks to the failed assault. Some candidates had gotten off easily with only minor scrapes, but there was one man with a broken leg that had to be put down- none of them knew healing magic, and it was a nigh unanimous opinion among them that they could not afford to haul him about on a litter or give him a crutch.
There had been only seventeen of them left, and all tired and soaked through. Darius had opened the map, had stared at it before calling Seamus to his side to consider their options. Despite his rough manner, the veteran had proven himself on more than one occasion, and no one else was moving to take command.
"The closest objective would be the bog objective," Darius had stated as rain peppered the map's waterproof covering. "But we're down to seventeen heads and if the fighting hasn't gotten worse for the other companies, we can't possibly compete with them- assuming that their numbers are the same as ours when we first began."
They thought of a plan then- it was a risky one considering the fact that they only had a limited number of hours left. Darius had not wanted to wait that long, because it was a risk that he did not approve of at all, but Seamus had managed to convince him otherwise.
"If it fails," The veteran had told him. "Then at least you didn't fuck up like Harkin. You've got brain and guts, kid. That's saying a lot."
The moment they had completely formulated the plan, Darius had them moving through the sinking wood to carry it out, and making them go in pairs so that they could pull each other out if the wet earth had decided to eat them. There had been a particularly risky portion of the plan when they skirted close to one of the objectives, but thankfully they had not been discovered. Once preparations had been complete, he had settled them into what had been a relatively dry and stable place, to wait out the rain and to rest until the next phase. He had decided to share a foxhole with Seamus for the night, because he had wanted to go over the specifics of the plan again and again until the two of them were absolutely certain they could have done the troop movements in their sleep.
It wasn't until midnight rolled around- it was hard to keep track of time with the rain obscuring the clouds but the watch that they had been supplied with had survived thus far- that another platoon had come literally marching into the platoon's bivouac.
Darius had been nodding off because the events of the day had exhausted him, and so when he clashed with the other platoon he had fought like some dazed, shambolic thing until the adrenaline returned to his veins and gave him a sort of hyper clarity- his entire frame was tingling, his heart was racing, and it almost felt that he could see every single thing about him, right down to the water droplets on the black trees' trunks. They did not lose anyone in the assault, which was a blessing in itself, and the supplies that the other platoon carried were immensely welcome.
"Gods above," Darius breathed out. His teeth flashed white against the mud and grime on his face as he grimaced and massaged his temples with his muddied gloved hand. "That was… something."
"Yeah," Seamus grunted out as he sank into their shared foxhole. Both of them were shaking- from the cold, from the stress, from the exhaustion.
Darius' heart was pounding in his ears still, even as he cleared the arrows that the other platoon had misfired, gathering the bolts that had not snapped into a tidy pile. "I hope the plan works." He told the older man.
"It will. Can't wait." The veteran grumbled out as he set his crossbow next to him. "Are you going back to sleep?"
"I have to decide the duty rotation first." Darius replied- he was halfway out of the hole.
"I'll take first watch. I need to do a combat jack anyway." Seamus returned as he too exited the foxhole.
The fourteen year old blinked in curiosity, tilting his head at the veteran in front of him.
"A what?" Darius asked him.
"A combat jack," Seamus repeated, as if the words would suddenly just explain themselves to the younger man.
"What's that?" Darius said slowly.
The veteran stared at him as if he had been some Void creature come to consume him. "Am I really," The veteran said dryly. "Going to fucking talk to you about combat jacks?"
Unfortunately for Seamus, Darius was too curious for his own good. "… Yes?"
"… If you leave me alone at my post for a very, very long time," Seamus said snappishly as he relented to the teenager's persistent questioning. "I'll answer your questions. Deal?"
"Alright." Darius replied uncertainly. "What's a combat jack?"
"A combat jack," Seamus spoke very quickly. "Is when you beat off while you're in the field. You know how tingly you got after a fight like that?"
Darius looked down at his shaking hands, felt the adrenalin rushing through his veins and filling him with a sort of raw joy and then looked back at the veteran. "Yeah." He replied.
"Okay, it's not hard to beat off after. With all those tingles in you, you'd stay up for the rest of the night. It's really handy when you're trying to stay awake for watch."
"What's beat off?" The question was an innocent one, and it almost made the veteran's eyes pop out of his skull as he gaped at him openly.
"What the fuck," Seamus said incredulously. "You don't fucking know what that is?"
Feeling suddenly ashamed for not having done something that a battle-hardened veteran perceived as important, Darius felt himself shirk back. "No," He said rather awkwardly. "No, I don't."
"What a bitch." The man snorted. "Look, we've got canteens, right?"
"Right,"
"And we have that little flavored powder to put in it so that it doesn't taste like asshole and give you the shits."
Darius stared at him blankly. "Yes…?"
"The instructions say to pour it in the canteen and shake liberally."
"And…?"
"And that's it; just shake your thing like you shake your canteen."
Darius stared at him blankly. "… From side to side…?"
"No, up and down, you fucking stupid bitch." The veteran snarled at him impatiently.
Darius watched him fidget impatiently. "But what do you think about while you're… shaking?" He couldn't help but ask.
"Titties, dicks, whatever gets you up. Now go decide the duty roster for the rest of the platoon and the leave me the fuck alone to enjoy my jack. I'll find you later when I'm done."
Darius left him to go to his post then, trying to ignore the faint fleshy noise that was sounding off from beyond the tree line as he left- it vaguely reminded him of the sound his hands would make whenever he would smack pigs on their backs to get them moving when he still worked as a butcher's apprentice.
He did his rounds through the bivouac, holding one of the provided lanterns in front of him to light his way. Most of the candidates had figured out their own rotations in their own shelters, so he mostly wandered from point to point, letting the rain soak him through and wash the dirt out of his clothing and his shoes before he settled down to take a quick nap against a tree.
He awoke some two hours later, according to his timepiece. As far as napping in the field went, the rest was enough. Feeling slightly more energetic than before, he chewed on a piece of jerky and drank some water from his canteen before he decided to go relieve Seamus.
As he approached Seamus' position again, he heard a long groan. For some strange reason, he felt extremely uncomfortable, and so he stopped in his tracks and listened to the sounds that came from the trench with inexplicable curiosity. The groans rose to muffled words and then fell into a rather deep and contented sigh a full three minutes later. For Darius it could have been an eternity.
"Seamus?" He ventured finally, when he was quite certain that the man was done with whatever he was doing.
"What?" Came the irritable growl.
"… Are you alright? Do you want to take a break now?" He asked cautiously, uncertain as to what he'd find.
"... Alright."
He shifted carefully through the brush; coming across Seamus perched on top of a pile of earth. The man looked to be washing his hands in the rain, a white substance crawling off his fingers and dropping into the dirt by his feet.
"I was enjoying my jack." Seamus said to him with a lopsided smirk.
"Is it really," Darius said slowly, feeling like he had just seen something that should have made him feel disgusted at some point. "That important?"
"Obviously, you have no have no fucking idea." Seamus pointed out with now clean fingers as he offered Darius a pair of binoculars. The younger man took it gingerly. "How good a combat jack is."
They swapped posts- Seamus crawled into the foxhole to take a nap. Darius would have settled where Seamus had been- it was a great place to keep watch because it commanded a better view of the rest of the platoon's position, but he felt oddly sickened at the thought. He settled instead on a nearby tree stump, the binoculars slung about his neck and his axe cradled on top of his knees.
Yet again, he found himself listening to the pouring rain, staring up at the dark skies overhead and marveling at the little glimpses he had of the full moon and bright stars. It was all very beautiful, in a raw and primitive way, but it was also rather quiet and the tree stump was flat and not at all sharp.
He was very comfortable then, and even though he had just come from resting his eyes, he still felt somewhat sleepy. It would be so easy to sleep, to drift back into nothingness, but he did not want to fail in his duties and he certainly did not want to be caught by the instructors.
So his thoughts eventually turned to Seamus, and the man's fixation on a 'good' combat jack. Supposedly, doing so would make him less sleepy, and he had heard the man extolling its virtues to the other candidates before they had all been scattered like dust on the wind.
He stared down at his pants again, and then thought of how to approach the idea. He pushed his axe off his knees, holding onto it with one hand. He rubbed his dirty hands on his wet shirt, trying to get the leather clean. Of course, it didn't help much, and his gloved hands were still rather filthy. After some time spent in thought, he yanked his gloves off and then slowly and somewhat guiltily slipped his hand into his trousers, wrapping his hand around himself and then stopped.
Now what? He found himself thinking.
It was a very awkward scene, if anyone cared to look at him at that point- Darius had one hand inside his pants and the other was holding onto his axe. He had a sort of confused and thoughtful expression on his face, because he wasn't quite sure if combat jacks were supposed to be this static or this boring really.
I might be forgetting something. He told himself, because waiting and holding himself certainly was getting rather silly. He remembered what Seamus had said, and then experimentally flicked his wrist, up and down.
… Well, He thought as he carried on. It feels very strange.
The feeling- it was a tingle that spread all the way from his groin to his legs and then back again- was not a bad one. It was not painful per se, because he knew what pain was like and this was not it. It was not disgusting either, because he knew what disgusting was, had felt it and smelled it when he handled pigment bugs and hacked pieces of pork. It felt like he had fallen asleep on a limb and then woke up after a long while, so there were little pins everywhere that teased him incessantly and made him sit up a bit straighter.
He felt very warm, but it was not the pleasant warmth that made one drift off into sleep. It was more on a radiant heat that washed over him and made him more aware somehow, more aware of the tingling, more aware of his limbs and his skin. He focused on his movements, trying to build a sort of constant rhythm, and then bit at his lip when he felt a pressure building deep inside of him.
He tried to move faster at one point, but as a familiar ache settled on his right arm, he found himself slowing down again after a while. He didn't want to waste any more energy than he felt he should have, and so he continued- up and down, up and down, every single motion accentuated with prickling sensations that filled his mind and his nerves.
It didn't take long for the pressure to reach its limit, and when it did he felt a sudden urge to simply let go. The warmth came from all the way below, rushing up and spilling onto his hand as he gave a heavy groan and leaned back, feeling utterly content. The fluid was disturbingly slippery and hot as it welled over his knuckles and onto his palm- soaking into his trousers but it hardly made a difference considering he had forded a river earlier.
He didn't know what possessed him to pull his hand out and flick it off, but he did. It was a faint milky white, and he saw some of it splatter onto Seamus' pack- the man must've left it there. His nose prickled as he wiped at the sweat beading on his brow with the back of a sleeve- essentially he was smelling himself and he knew sorely needed a bath after running through brush and marsh.
He wiped his hand self-consciously on his pants, feeling a bit sheepish for some strange reason he couldn't quite fathom, and found that he couldn't bear to even look at his hand afterwards because it felt rather slick and even after he had poured some of his canteen water onto his palm he couldn't quite get the feeling off his skin. He tried to ignore it for the rest of the night as the tingling feeling persisted on and on and kept him awake- as Seamus said it would.
The hypersensitivity and energy he enjoyed, but the fluid that welled up if he gave into the pressure- not so much- as he learned later on when his watch ended a good three hours later. Seamus had taken one look at his bag and then had thrown it into Darius' face.
"Clean that up, you piece of shit." The veteran snarled at him. "What a rude motherfucker- I didn't gush all over your things."
Darius didn't know what to say- he had actually stared at the veteran for a long while before he mutely offered his own pack to replace the one he had apparently marred forever. That morning, Darius had evaluated the supplies again, and after some consideration, he sent them all to find insects to eat. His father had taught him most of what he knew, and even though the various creatures the entire platoon had gathered tasted largely like nuts and dirt put into one package, it was enough to complement their meager supplies and fill their stomachs for the morning march.
They had gotten on the move then: Darius' men went to their pre-planned positions near a bend in the river that held an ancient tree, while Seamus took the remaining candidates with him to their staging area near the cliff objective.
Seamus had been glaring at him as he accepted a communication shard from his gloved hand.
"Did you fucking wash?" He had asked him suspiciously.
"… I did." Darius had replied, feeling all the more silly that he had been apparently so crass so as to flick whatever that had been at the veteran's pack.
"Fucking disgusting." Seamus had grumbled again.
All that had been in the morning. It was well into the afternoon now, and all the tension and anxiety of being in command was taking its toll on him. He felt worn down, his shoulders were stiff and there was a pressure on his forehead that he didn't know how to get rid of- but everything about the plan was dependent on his decision-making skills. He couldn't afford to sleep, and he certainly didn't want to try having a combat jack to stay awake- not when he was sharing a trench with four other men.
"It's the second day." The candidate continued on as he pushed his hair out of his eyes. "And we haven't even captured an objective yet."
"We tried, though." Another spoke up.
"We didn't succeed." Darius pointed out irritably. "Because Harkin thought it was better to go through the marsh."
"Well, he's dead now." Chauncer snapped irritably. "You killed him, remember?"
"Shut up." Despite being younger than the other man, Darius didn't hesitate as he reached over and punched the other candidate in the face. "I did what had to be done. Harkin's assault over the bog was a fucking stupid idea."
The man landed in a pool of dirty water as one of the other candidates cocked his head back to see what was happening.
"What kind of improvement are you, anyway?" Rian asked him. "You've had us cowering in this trench for the past three hours now, and before that, we were on a hill doing nothing. This is fucked up."
"We are not cowering." Darius retorted as he pushed himself up and out of the mire the trench was rapidly becoming. "We're waiting."
"For what?"
"I don't have to fucking explain myself to you again," The adolescent who would become the Hand of Noxus growled. "I told you before that this pass is the only safe way to get to the river- unless you want to be an utter moron and storm the bog like Harkin did yesterday. Where did the Chief say that they'd be dropping food supplies on the second day?"
"… The old tree by the river." Chauster grumbled under his breath as he massaged his face.
"Right, and since we were only given supplies enough for one day, where will everyone be today?" Darius asked him.
"Going to the river." Trucco stated.
Chauster sat up- Darius stared at him, trying to think of what was missing. It took him only a few seconds to realize that the man's tourniquet had gone flying. Since they had to put down one of the other candidates for having a broken leg, Darius had them all making tourniquets out of the cord.
He pulled the loop of cord from the muck now and threw it at Chauster. "Don't forget your tourniquet."
Chauster caught it with a muffled curse.
"So all we have to do," Darius turned his attentions back to lecturing the rest of the men in a forced patient tone. "Is to wait for the supply drop at the river and then we'll take the cliff objective to the south of us. There'll only be a few of them left. Most of them will be hungry and glad for supplies."
"We're not well off ourselves." Trucco pointed out. "We lost Cyrano and Adalwin yesterday, and in case you've forgotten, they were the ones carrying our medical supplies."
"That was Harkin's mistake, and I made him pay for it," Darius grimaced. "We won't be able to patch ourselves up, but at least we're not hungry."
"Who knew bugs were so delicious?" Chauster stated dryly. He was still sore about being hit. "I love eating crickets, cicadas, louses and grubs."
"At least you're not fucking hungry, so sit down and shut up." Darius snarled at him. He was about to rail at the other man more when a blue flare rose into the grey skies, lighting them all up in a cerulean glow. He pulled the binoculars from his neck, pressing them to his tired eyes as he looked at the tree by the river bend. It took a brief second for him to realize that the Chief- and he knew it was her because her platinum hair was so distinctive- lowered a box at the foot of the tree. She vanished when he blinked his eyes.
Darius pulled the communication shard from his pocket and held it to his ear, trying to keep his focus as he had been taught as he singled out the strand that linked him with Seamus' team.
"Package dropped." Darius told him in a matter-of-fact tone. "Chief Instructor di Castellamonte deposited the cache personally before she disappeared."
Seamus sent back a grumble of assent.
Darius felt his heart race in anticipation for the coming chase. "Get your people moving. The cliff objective only has one entrance and exit, so wait at the staging area. They'll be crawling out of their hiding places soon. Let the bulk of the force pass before you act. Keep your heads down."
"Mhm. And you? Ready to rabbit like a cowardly Demacian girl?"
Darius' mouth quirked in a sardonic grin. "I'll see you on the other side."
"You know-" Seamus said, as Darius almost broke the link between them. "You do realize I can just take the objective with just my crew?"
"I do." Darius told him. He had thought about that- it was only too easy to leave him to die, considering their plan. "But you're forgetting something, Seamus."
"What?" The man asked him with a snort.
"I'm not going to die," He stated with as much confidence as he could muster. "And I will kill you if you turn against me."
"We'll see." The veteran retorted. "You might want to move."
"Come on." Darius barked at the other five candidates in the hole. "Let's move."
"I hope you're fucking right." Chauncer grumbled under his breath.
They made it to the old tree quickly- Darius had scouted the path early on and the trail was still somewhat more stable than the rest of the land around them. There was only one crate- as he had suspected- and it was not that big at all, perhaps only as long as his arm and as tall as his boot. He picked it up easily- it was disturbingly light-, covering it with his own poncho as he cradled it underneath his arm. The rain outlined the ghostly shapes of several candidates- they all looked to be worse for wear, with torn clothes and gaunt, hollow faces.
"HEY!" Trucco howled, cupping one hand about his mouth to amplify his already considerably loud voice. His other hand carried a segment of hollow log, also covered with his waterproof poncho. "You assholes hungry? Too bad!"
The starving candidates took a few seconds to realize that the cache they valued was in the hands of another squad. With howling, demonic faces they raced at them all.
"Run," Darius barked at them all as he pushed through mud and water, fording the river with the crate under his arm. Misfired projectiles raced past. Something exploded behind his head. "Run. You all know the way. Don't fucking make a mistake!"
As the candidates practically poured out of the surrounding tree line like rats, Darius and his fellow candidates fled, following pre-determined trails in the muddy terrain marked out with strips of cord and scraps of uniform cloth. Adrenaline rushed through his system, soaking through tired muscle like the rain and giving him the strength to push past mud branches.
Darius had figured that the candidates would all be too hungry to realize that the instructors would only leave one crate, and so he had played on that uncertainty by making all of his candidates carry something light underneath one arm, covered by their ponchos to confuse the enemy. They ran now in separate directions, ducking and weaving to avoid projectiles, running for their very lives.
Why had he chosen to be the rabbit for this endeavor? It was not an act of sacrifice, no. He did not think the candidates in his platoon deserved to survive the Crucible, except maybe for Seamus himself. It was not because he thought Chief di Castellamonte would take pity on him if he ever failed the Crucible- her judgment was nothing but cold and rational. It was not because he wanted to know the feeling of being hounded by other candidates- he had already experienced that before in Adamant Company. No. His reason was pure and simple.
He had chosen to be the rabbit because he did not want to be afraid when he was older. Fear was something that he did not like, and he felt that this was only way he could overcome the terror he still felt sometimes at night.
And so he kept his head down, running as fast as his legs could carry him, on relatively more stable paths through the muck. Every now and then he reached out into a hollow of a tree or at a seemingly benign piece of vegetation hanging from a branch. He would claw at it, scratching away with his gloved hand until he found the wet length of cord and pulled with all of his might.
Explosions sounded behind him as screams of pain filled the air- two of six explosive runestones spent. He turned on his heel and ran again, pulling on hidden trap triggers and ducking from arrows, spells and gods knew what else. One of the arrows managed to score a lucky hit, burying the entire head into his shoulder. He gave a muffled grunt, biting into his lip accidentally as he tried to block out the pain and the burning feeling in his chest.
Four explosions now, four stones spent. A candidate came at him screaming- he must have come late because Darius was now too far from the original drop off point. The young man struck at him with his sword, and grazed the boy who would become the Hand of Noxus on the leg.
Darius pulled out the survival machete- his axe was presently strapped to his back and he had only intended to cripple the other candidate. However, he was not at all used to the machete anymore, and when he struck the blade buried itself deep into the other man's torso, and he was screaming as he fell back into the earth.
"You can keep it." Darius told him as he ran on.
Another explosion sounded in the distance- five of six. There would only be one final explosion left, and he was the only one who knew how to trigger it. There was a reason why he had chosen to take the cliff objective. Not only was it the most defensive position, but because there was only one way into it- and that singular fact made the long run worthwhile. As he could see his vision blacking around the edges, he slowed his pace and tried to breathe. He was no longer being chased- the sounds of fighting were too distant for him to consider as a threat.
Still, he did not stop moving. He walked as he stared down at the black patch that was spreading on his pants. He was bleeding, but he didn't think it was too serious. He took the improvised tourniquet from around his neck and then wrapped his leg good and tight before he continued on.
The entrance to the cliff objective was through a gorge that usually was dusty and arid during the dry season. Now it was a veritable river. In order to reach the Noxian standard planted within, the officer candidates had to negotiate a narrow trail of slippery rock that was only wide enough for one person. Needless to say, it was quite easy to see invaders coming, lined up along the path as they were to escape the raging floodwaters.
There were only two of them at the rendezvous point. Trucco, Chauster and the rest of his team was gone. Rian was nursing a wound on his arm, and he gave Darius a fevered nod as he cradled the tourniquet laden limb. His poncho-wrapped item was nowhere to be seen.
"Are we going to wait for Trucco?" Rian asked him impatiently. "And Chauster?"
"No." Darius stated simply as he reached over and pulled a rock away from the gorge face. A small stone glinted at him from the dry darkness- the final explosive runestone. "Can you make the crossing?" He asked the other candidate.
"Yeah." Rian rasped. "Yeah, I can make it."
He tapped the man on the shoulder, grimacing as the arrow that was still buried in his back twitched and scraped against his bones and his muscles. "Alright," The young man said. "Go on. I have to be behind you."
Rian did not need further encouragement. The two of them attempted the trail, and Rian almost slipped and fell into the raging river nearby. They were both peppered with the brown spray, but after having run so far and through the rain it did not matter at all.
It seemed to take forever- they moved so slow because they were injured and they were negotiating a rather difficult path- but they made it to the other side. The Noxian standard was visible in the distance- tall, red, and defiantly vibrant against the grey rain. He could see people fighting underneath it, spilling blood onto already darkened soil. He turned and threw the explosive runestone at the pass, moving his head away and shielding his eyes as the pass disintegrated, whole chunks of the gorge falling into the roaring river.
There was no way out of the objective now. Having sealed the passage, Darius reached painfully over his shoulder, feeling around the buried arrow and managing, albeit painfully, to release his axe from its harness. It fell to the ground with a thump, and his back felt lighter and less burdened as he did so.
"How bad is the arrow?" Darius dared to ask Rian as he threw the supply crate to the side. He needed both arms for his axe.
"How bad is my arm?" Rian returned to him with the smile of someone who did not truly care any longer.
"Bad." Darius stated when he looked at it again- the pain must have been excruciating for the other candidate. "… You probably won't live."
"Hm. You're looking alright." Rian tilted his head so he could see the arrow shaft quivering in the rain. "… If you don't pull it out, I don't think you'll bleed out like me."
"So I just have to walk about with an arrow in my shoulder." He grunted as he reached down and picked up his axe. The weight felt welcome in his palms.
"If you can collect enough, you could pretend to be a hedge pig." Rian stated good naturedly.
They walked into the fray, literally. Seamus was on top of the painted cairn, firing his crossbow at whatever he could hit. Bodies were piling up about his feet- some were from his platoon, some were from other companies. Many things were happening all at once- and if one did not know how to keep focus and keep calm, it was quite easy to be lost in the sound of rain, screams and barely-missing projectiles and spells.
He didn't know how long they fought- they were all so very tired and so very hurt. Each and every swing of his axe dug the arrowhead deeper into his flesh, ripping his muscles apart with its barbed edges. If it wasn't for the fact that he had been tortured with worse pain, he would probably have drifted out of consciousness like Rian had- he had seen the man fall from the corner of his eye, and though he felt some measure of despondency at the other candidate's death, he felt all the more depressed by the fact that his platoon's numbers were growing fewer and fewer.
The rain had wound down to a light drizzle. The clouds had moved away. The moon was full and bright.
It seemed like forever before he noted that there were less than ten people left near the cairn, and he was very close to his limit when he realized that everyone had stopped moving. Alarmed, and thinking himself to be under some sort of hallucinatory spell, he reached over to his back and willingly took hold of the arrow, wrenching it in place. As pure agony wracked his frame and nearly drove him into the abyss, he forced himself to stay awake and to see. Everyone was standing still- he wondered why.
"Candidate." Her voice was at his ear. He turned his head and the first thing he saw was Chief di Castellamonte's scowling face. She was so close he could see the crinkle of the lines on her face and how the moonlight reflected off her platinum hair and cold grey eyes.
He swallowed nervously, and then rubbed at his eyes, ignoring the sting of the dirt as he did so, and then blinked several times to make sure that the Chief Instructor was not just some sort of bizarre ghost.
She was still there, staring him down and scowling at him, a predatory look in her grey eyes.
Darius' axe fell to his side immediately, his closed fist hovering over his heaving chest. "Ma'm." He croaked out.
"So," Her voice was deadly flat as she reared back and regarded him with a critical glare. "Did you take the objective?"
"… I believe so, ma'm." He said lamely.
"You believe so." She practically purred at him. He followed her gaze to the cairn. Seamus was holding onto the standard with all his might, breathing heavily, his other arm mangled beyond belief. Darius saw the bodies stacked, one on top of the other, arrayed like an offering to the primeval gods.
"I believe so." He tried again, begging his voice to be strong.
She cocked her head back. He forced himself to focus, to see- and then he knew why they had all stopped. There was a ready instructor standing next to every candidate still standing, a queer looking blade in one of their gloved hands. It looked to be a simple, black straight stiletto, but it was crawling with violent orange runes.
He looked down at the Chief's hand- she too bore the blade. He looked up at her, dared to stare at her, dared to ask the question in his mind, in a voice as small as his conscious self.
"… Chief Instructor?"
She turned her head at him, considering his transgression and smiling oh so slightly. She placed a gloved hand on his cheek, and it felt disturbingly cool against his own burning skin.
"Yes?" She asked him, as her other hand shifted upward. All around them, the other instructors had done the same- a hand on the candidate's cheek, another on the blade as it made the slow procession to rest atop the candidate's throat.
"… Did I fail?"
She stared at him almost lovingly, even brushing the grime away from his face.
"Do you trust me, candidate?" She asked him instead, and he took note that she did not say 'warrior-child' like before.
"Yes." Darius returned- he was utterly exhausted and in pain. He had been afield for two days, had shouldered the burden of command for one, and the only thing he wanted to do with all of his heart was to close his eyes and to sleep.
"What is our creed?" She whispered to him, and he had to strain his ears to hear her because he could feel himself slipping away.
"Strength above all." He replied exhaustedly, mechanically. He had memorized the creed of Boram's Point on his first day in, had run his eyes over the words until he had been absolutely certain he could recite it as he slept. "Exploit every weakness. Defeat your foes with overwhelming force. Fight to the last man. Never surrender. True warriors of Noxus will never falter- even in the face of certain death."
There was a strange, tearing feeling on his throat, followed by an intense burning pain that made his knees buckle underneath him. His scream had been heavy and hoarse, and the buried arrow howled in his back as he fell to the ground like a dead thing. He caught himself just in time as his right hand automatically went to his throat, clutching the left side of his neck where the pain was emanating from. When he pulled his hand away and looked down. All he saw was the bright red of his life, mixed with a strange flame that seemed to dance on top of his bloodied palm.
"Candidate Darius, this is your test." Chief Instructor di Castellamonte was saying as she flicked his blood off the ceremonial knife dispassionately. "This is the true Crucible. If you are strong, if you are resolute, then you will live. If you are weak, if you are uncertain, you will die. You will find strength, or die by my hand. Noxus has no need of officers who falter."
As the realization that she had just slit his throat settled in his mind, he felt nothing but utter fury. Like a wolf with a deathly serious injury, he looked up at her, his hand clasped over the cut she had done on his neck. He could feel his own pulse dripping out between his gloved fingers.
"Anger will not help you, Candidate." She said coldly- she had caught the murderous gleam in his eyes and though she seemed as if she approved of his spirit, she did not approve of the rage that had accompanied it. "It will give you temporary strength, but no more. Against the eventuality of death, you must be at peace. With peace comes focus, and with focus comes true strength against the inevitable."
Hand still clapped against the tear in his throat, he watched her warily. He did not have the energy to go against her, but he did not want to forgive her. He had done all he can, and if he was about to die by her hand, he would not go easily.
She smiled at his pitiful attempt at defiance, at the fire that somehow managed to burn in his drained eyes. "Such a fast learner, it is no surprise that they would favor you. Indeed, candidate, it is not wise to struggle, or to panic with such a wound. Bide your time. Keep your wits about you. Quiet determination breeds true strength that will never be taken from you."
"… Is this to be my end, Chief Instructor?" He managed to say.
"That," She said as she sheathed the blade and offered her hand to him. "Would be your decision."
Hand still clamped over his throat, he reached up and took her gloved hand. She pulled him to his feet, which was no easy task, and placed a hand on his shoulder. Against the screams of the muscles on his back, he tried to stop himself from falling over again as she swept her hand about the gorge.
All around them, candidates were twitching on the ground like dying flies. A few of them were being helped up by the instructors. Most were still on the ground, spraying their life all over the muddy earth.
"What… is this?" He asked her, somewhat mystified.
She pulled the high collar away from her neck, regardless of his discomfort, and he saw the long white scar across the left side of her throat fully for the first time. It was about as long as his middle finger, and about as wide as a matchstick was thin. "You see, Candidate, we are all branded as such." She declared. "The proof of our indomitable will, given form on our flesh. This is the mark of a true Noxian warrior, born here in the Crucible of Boram's Point."
He thought of his blood, pouring from his throat and into his fingers, how it was so hot when compared to the coolness of the air. She had just marked him in the same way she had been marked decades ago- given a brand to show the rest of the world that his will would not easily bow down to death itself.
He felt... content.
"Do I have to save them?" He asked her, his throat was dry and it hurt to speak, but he pushed himself to be loud, to be strong, even if he was so close to capitulating himself.
"Do you wish to save them?" She tilted her head at him, studying him inquisitively.
He looked at the cairn, and saw Seamus twitching like a smashed roach. He would not survive.
He could not bring himself to feel anything.
"… No." He admitted.
"Good." She said coldly. "If they cannot overcome their fear of death, they are nothing to Noxus."
She reached around his back and took hold of the broken arrow. She pulled it out, tearing through countless muscles and blood vessels as she did so. He screamed and fell back, squirming and gasping for air, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of the water.
Panting, he stared at her with glassy eyes, as she placed a little marble slightly out of his reach, something like embers hidden in a pile of coal shining in its mysterious depths. It emitted a homely warmth, like a fire on a cold and wet day.
"Are you still afraid?" She bent down on her knees and asked him.
His eyelids were heavy but he did not want to sleep, even if it called to his very soul.
"… No." He mumbled.
"Show me you are not afraid, then. Heal yourself, candidate."
Without hesitation, he reached out and touched the glowing thing.
There was a light, calling to him; wrapping about him like his mother had held him as a child. He felt safe for the first time in many years, and when he would have once resisted, he now fell into the white light gladly.
"Welcome to the Academy." She said to him, and it was the last he heard before he gave in.
Author's Note: Okay, I have a lot to explain here, I hope you'd give me the time.
Why did I put in the masturbation segment?
There's a time in everyone's life that they do this. Don't send me messages like 'o but i never masturbated ever!11 i don't need it' because I will ignore you. I put it in because it's the baby step before sex. I didn't think it would be proper or even remotely realistic to just skip straight to the prons without going over this awkward and admittedly depressing phase of his life.
Do realize right now that he's essentially jerking off to stay awake, and his thoughts reflect that much. Dar's been busy for most of his life, and I really don't think he had the time or the energy to jerk off ever- what with Draven sharing his room and work taking some 12-16 hours of his life every day.
So yes. I had to put that in. Because I can't just go 'hey ninja fact- he did so and so'.
How many candidates died?
My beta and I did the math together and we determined that only some 5-10 candidates survived for the cliff objective. There are 5 objectives in total. Assuming that the other objectives would have suffered the same number of casualties, we can safely say that the graduating class will only number some 25-30. Down from something like a thousand hopefuls. Not bad for the best military academy in the city-state, I guess.
It's sort of normal. I guess. We've seen their training, so the officers that graduate could be perceived as either truly and deeply psychologically disturbed or as absolutely fearless warrior generals. Knowing Noxus, they would take pride in the latter, not the former. You do what you must to be strong.