First chapter is here, I'll be cut off for awhile, attending SIG at Yale in a week. Please inform me if there's anything historically inaccurate here, as the Black Rose thing is a bit fuzzy. I'm compiling most of my information from the LoL wiki and JoJ.
On yet another routine day at Zaun, with polluted air emerging from the numerous factories so dense that visibility was near zero, a man emerged from a narrow passageway between two shabby industrial buildings. If one looked closely, which of course no one did, the man would have been clutching at his shoulder, which was bleeding profusely and staining his trench coat a deep dark red. Instead, he blended in with the morning rush of exhausted citizens and vanished in the sea of black and grey jackets.
Caitlyn silently fumed inside her office days after the failed arrest. On the exterior, she was herself, with the cold calculating stares and mouth set in a firm hard line. On the inside, she was furious. The smug bastard had gotten away again, and left her another one of those damn elaborate cards. He was just taunting her now, she realized. There was no other point in showing up in Piltover with Noxian clothes, that is, a black coat and hat; he would've stood out like a firefly in the dark. The Sheriff noticed she was absentmindedly tracing the letter C with a manicured fingernail on her mahogany desk and abruptly stopped. She sighed, staring at her office wall and contemplated on her only remaining open case. Perhaps she was missing something, something obvious but easily overlooked. She would have to skim over all those files relating to the criminal again tonight. Just then, the amulet in one of her countless pockets on her leg straps began vibrating and giving off heat. A Summoner in the League had chosen her for a match; every Champion had one of those amulets for Summoning purposes. She stood up from her desk and rubbed her eyes softly, only to be brought to the preparation room to gather her weapons and armor. She saw her arranged team of Champions and scanned them over quickly: the Might of Demacia, Jarvan the Fourth, the Grandmaster at Arms with his trusty brass lamppost, and Ezreal, who she met occasionally in Piltover. Not too bad, she thought as she grabbed her rifle and cocked it. The five champions greeted one another before stepping onto the platform embedded with runes, taking a deep breath in unison before teleporting to the Rift.
Roughly thirty minutes into the match, and she was doing quite well. Her Summoner was more experienced than the most, and together they pushed the topmost lane in Summoner's Rift past two enemy towers.
"The Frost Archer sent a crystal arrow your way, step into the brush," the gruff voice of her Summoner commanded. She complied and was rewarded with a swoosh of a huge enchanted arrow comprised of ice soaring past her and shattering into countless pieces after contacting the boulders behind her. She was finally getting used to hearing the Summoners' voices as if they were standing right next to her. The spell was quite disorienting for newcomers.
"Jump to the middle lane, the Exemplar is in trouble," the rough voice instructed again.
"Copy that," Caitlyn replied, and traversed through the jungle and brush to find Jarvan IV about to be executed by the Darkin Blade. She aimed her rifle at the winged figure's head. "Calibrating," she whispered, taking a few deep breaths. On the third exhale, she released her shot and knew instantly knew she'd get a decent shot in. Aatrox dropped dead with his sinister blade just about to be brought down to Jarvan's neck. Overhead, the female announcer voiced her kill with passion and excitement. Jarvan looked at the shot's origin while dusting himself off and yelled a word of thanks.
"Anytime," she responded, before disappearing in the jungle again. Another fifteen minutes of putting pressure on the enemy and a few more wrecked towers, they eventually found themselves on the verge of victory. As a last ditch effort, the five enemy Champions grouped together and rushed the middle lane. Ezreal was slain before Caitlyn managed to arrive, shortly reinforced with the two Demacians and the Grandmaster. The opposing Miss Fortune tripped on a few of her traps before landing a barrage of bullets on Jax, while Jarvan extended his lance and cleaved a nasty wound on Aatrox's abdomen. LeBlanc sent out a doppelgänger together with Shaco, bringing chaos along the way as now there were seven enemy Champions instead of the beginning five. The Frost Archer was firing volley after volley of arrows, denting the ragtag group of defending four. The summoner's voice is in her ear again, demanding a retreat. Before she could turn, the scarred battlefield between the two teams suddenly lit up with olive green flames, immediately reminding her of the scene at the bar in Piltover. A figure emerged from the carnage, in shining black armor in kneeling position with his sword vertically embedded in the dirt. Adrenaline kicking in again, the Sheriff noticed the surprised cry of the announcer mixing in with the incredulous shouts of her Summoner, and Ezreal finally back, arriving by her side to investigate. The intruder stood up and plucked his weapon off the ground; his armor had a malicious look itself, as if it would devour you if it had the slightest chance. The whole plate was intricately shelled layer by layer, even the pauldrons and guards, creating a lightweight but amazingly flexible piece of equipment. The helmet was no better in the looks, with a trident visor glowing green with magic, malevolent in intentions. The neck was protected with a sturdy high collar, a veneer of bulkiness. His weapon was equally terrifying. A narrow blade, barely half the width of Garen's Justice, jet black glass with dark green runes, seemingly Noxian and somewhat similiar to the Exile's jagged sword. The new guest looked at the shocked Champions on the Field of Justice, his visor scanning through the faces, through defiance to stunned, and paused momentarily on Caitlyn, before settling on LeBlanc's pale face. Before the invader uttered a single word, the ten Champions in the Rift had already come to an agreement. Briefly discovering that she was no longer in connection with her Summoner, the Sheriff steeled herself. With a deafening roar, Aatrox leapt at the intruder, monstrous blade held high; The Exemplar of Demacia joined, jumping into the fray and terraforming the ground with what meager magic he possessed in his veins. The Grandmaster at Arms flipped his lamppost and yelled a battle cry, also springing into the battle. Garen Crownguard mounted his blade in the ground, summoning the might of Demacia out of the sky, aimed at the warrior. Caitlyn blindly fired into the terraformed arena with precise but careful shots, along with Shaco tossing his venom coated shivs. Ezreal fired a salvo of golden bolts along with Ashe and Fortune with their enchanted crystal arrows and barrages of bullets. The Deceiver sent illusionary chains towards the battle, attempting to trap the unwelcome guest. As the rubble retracted back into the ground and the dust settled, Jarvan IV was revealed, his head in the invader's hands. After whispering a phrase in his ear, the woundless warrior snapped his neck with an audible crunch, sending him back to the Nexus. The Darkin Blade was gripping his arm, now a diagonal gash visible, blood trailing down his forearm and painting a gruesome sight. His blade lay discarded a few meters away. The duelist turned back to LeBlanc, this time successfully addressing her.
"LeBlanc," he growled, his voice with a slight rasp in it.
"Ajax," LeBlanc hissed in reply, her voice even and betraying no emotion, although visibly frightened. LeBlanc was never frightened; the Deceiver, after all.
"The Black Rose must abandon their upcoming plans devised before Kalamanda. It will bring grave danger to Runeterra if executed." Ajax turned around talking to LeBlanc with his head turned halfway. "Relinquish control, or you will have to be eliminated like the others. Do not attempt to evade." Without another word, he vanished in another burst of emerald flames, just as he had arrived, leaving the hazardous corrosive sizzle, disturbingly similar to the scene in at Piltover.
Any comments, helpful information, and constructive criticism is deeply appreciated.