Chapter 2: Malefic Visions
"You have failed me, T'sssa!" the goddess hisses, and T'sa bows her head.
"Mistress, I summoned the temple, and scouts are being sent at this moment to investigate the Black Sands ruins," she caws humbly.
"The Black Sssandsss Doctrine had nothing to do with thisss! As I told you once, my priestessssss, no one but a creature of another world could have taken my Fang!" Registrana snarls, her scales tearing at T'sa feathers as she coils around her.
"I tried to stop him, mistress, but his flesh…he regrew it from void energy even as I tore it from his body!" T'sa croaks desperately. Her skeleton is fully changed to lapis but the pressure of Registrana's coils continues to increase. "He could not have been of the Void, or else those wards would have kept him out, and he could not be of another planet or of our own people else the stranger and loyalty runes would have recognized him!"
"Hisss name isss Kassssssadin," Registrana hisses cruelly, "and he isss both man and monssster. He isss unique, but I thought that my highessst ssservant would have been able to defeat him, a half-mortal, in combat! Perhapsss you have weakened, T'sssa…perhapsss another ssshould take your place. We ssshall sssee…"
T'sa sucked in a startled breath and held it, listening to the blood pounding in her veins. Registrana said nothing lightly…and that meant—
The hyena-form roars and leaps at T'sa's back as the high priestess slumps into the ritual trance once more, poison gleaming on her outstretched claws and sand in her pelt. Halfway through her leap, she sees T'sa sink down suddenly, as if she's lost consciousness, and bares her teeth for the easy kill—
The one sure way to get out of ritual trance is to lose the connection with one's conscious mind. Surviving such a transition without losing one's soul's grip on one's body was another matter entirely. But T'sa was strong, and as her thoughts fade she calls to the waters of the Oasis of Life, and moments after the pressure of Registrana's scales fades the water touches her and she snaps back to alertness. In one motion she throws herself forwards and slams the sand in the air behind her into solidity, one with the sandstone walls. There is an anguished scream and a spurt of blood, before the quicksand hardens into rock, pressing T'sa painfully into Registrana's statue. She coughs and chokes for the remaining air, gathering her wits and talons together long enough to reopen her tomb. All that is left of the hyena-form is a smear of blood and bone.
T'sa sinks down, digging her talons into the sand, and touches her crest to the warm grains. The smell of the desert fills her nostrils as she takes slow, deep breaths, letting the grit slip into her mouth. She will not weep.
"Nasus," she whispers, feeling a shiver of old pain run through her. "I swore I would leave you be, but now is a time for oath-breaking."
She swallows, smiling slightly at the rasping feel of the sand slipping down into her belly to be changed to gemstone, and rise sto her feet. She summons her armor from its resting place and adjusts the veil around her beak so the starlit gems do not block her vision.
T'sa presses her claws into the back wall of the shrine and sends out her sacred talons. She waits, even as footfalls begin on the edge of her hearing. There is a cold shock as they break into open air, and she follows that shock, pushing her body through the sandstone down the path her talons took, energy within energy, until her body emerges, crouching, in the shadow that Registrana's temple casts in Ammun's triple sun.
She sets her eyes upon the walls of the Great Library at the edge of sight and starts to walk.
The Void is a hissing mass, creeping tendrils crawling over unprotected flesh and plunging into minds. It is a murky darkness filled with gleaming eyes.
Malzahar misses it. For several years after his exaltation in Icanthia, the Void was constantly in his thoughts. He could hear it, always whispering, follow its orders and receive the harbingers it sent down to Runeterra; Kog'maw and Cho'gath. Frustrating Kassadin and his null spheres was always around the corner, trying to foil his attempts to integrate himself and his allies within the League and continue to keep the power in Icanthia growing. But slowly, subtly, it had grown faint, and its vision of annihilation quiet. He had received no warning of Kha'zix's appearance on Valoran, and his companions had grown distant and savage.
When he had tried to approach Kha'zix, for instance, the insectoid had chittered, "Fear the Void!" and tried to eat him. This was fairly common behavior for Kog'maw, but Malzahar thought that Kha'zix was more intelligent.
It was all very disconcerting, and he thought he would be in a worse mood than he was now if he was not floating down a corridor, Orianna on his arm.
"Tell us-again-what you-plan Pro-phet?" his sweet one trills, the gears in her body rumbling musically as she dances down the hall, the Ball orbiting them at a watchful distance.
"Well, it's really a lovely day for dreamwatching," he says, patting her hand. "And I've been doing a lot of practice to make sure it doesn't cause coma-inducing nightmares."
"And this-will allow-us to gather infor-mation for Curator Nas-us?" she asks.
"With luck," he says modestly, "it will give us more insight into the Demacian prince's motivations for his sudden change in policy."
"You are-so very cle-ver Prophet," Orianna chirps, twisting her head all the way around so she can widen her mouth in a beautifully unnerving smile. Her bright, mechanical eyes swivel open wider as he pauses to look at her.
He is fairly certain that most everyone in the Institute questions his attraction to Orianna. Her unnatural movements and robotic voice frighten the humans, and her kittenish devotion to the Ball baffles the monsters. He had been contemptuous of his own feelings towards her, at first, until a match where his summoner—a little female called Eyowyn—had murmured, surprised, "well, she is intelligent, and kind enough," after he had watched the Clockwork Lady run off to the bottom lane with Twisted Fate.
He was fond of Eyowyn, for that. After the match, he spent a long time in his chambers considering his feelings. Orianna was neither hideously mortal nor untouchably alien. She was pleasing of form, utterly cold and ruthless in battle, and her thoughts ticked in ways he could barely understand. And he was lonely.
"Thank you, Clockwork Lady," he says graciously, bending over to kiss her cold metal hand. He wonders if she can feel his lips through his mask. "Now to business."
They stop at a storage room for spare reagents, and Malzahar knocks on the door, politely.
"Excuse me," he says to the summoner who opens the door, "Leave now, and forget you saw us."
"I can't—"the poor man stammers, and Malzahar waves his hand lazily. A tendril of void magic darts from his fingers and burrows into the summoner's left eye. His scream of panic is cut off by a spark that shoots down the tentacle and sinks into his eye.
"Go to other duties and forget this encounter," the Prophet of the Void hisses.
"Yes, master," he groans.
Malzahar smiles beneath his mask as the tentacle jerks back into his sleeve and the summoner walks off, his stride quickly returning to normal as the magic sunk into his subconscious.
"That should give us a couple of days," he says, holding open the door for Orianna. "I also included a desire to obstruct others who wished to enter this room."
"Your mag-ic is always excellently-cast, Pro-phet," she says admiringly, patting the Ball as it shoots through the gap to huddle among the crates.
He steps in after her, and closes the door firmly behind them. This particular storage room happens to be built adjacent to the end of the Demacian wing—with Jarvan IV's bedroom not four feet beyond the back wall.
A voidling pops out of his cowl and climbs down his face with its tiny hook feet. It manages to snag a seam that it rides down to his waist, then hops off and lands with a perfect, purple pirouette on the ground.
"Chrrhrchirrr!" the voidling chitters, clapping its arms together.
"Very good," Malzahar says, leaning down to pat its soft head. It makes a gurgle of delight and rolls over, exposing the coarse violet hide of its belly. He scratches it obediently.
A few of Orianna's extraneous circuits burn out from the cuteness of it all.
"Oh-my," she sighs.
Malzahar blushes and yanks his hand back away from the voidling. It's not like she can see it, but he still stands up straight and turns away from her to examine the wall.
"Hmph! Well, are you ready to combine the Ball with my voidling?" he asks, flicking a glob of energy at the seam between two stones. The void matter eats through it—and the front face of all the stones underneath it.
"We do-not like-being parted-from each oth-er," Orianna says sadly. The Ball gives a high pitched whine.
"Well, I need its lasers to cut a straight hole through this wall to Jarvan's room—make sure to stop with an inch to go—and then we can record what he sees under the influence of my visions in the Ball's imaging crystals if it's connected to one of my voidlings," he says reasonably. The voidling tugs on his trouser leg and he rubs its head absentmindedly.
"As you-say Pro-phet," Orianna agrees with a click of gears. The voidling bounces, clicking its claws together, and scrambles up the wall to the small perch carved out by Malzahar's magic.
The Ball, floating just behind, glows briefly with an electrical charge before plates begin to float off its surface. They latch onto the voidling, covering its back, head, and legs with golden metal. A tiny crystal is the last to float between the Ball and the voidling, coming to a stop above the voidling's head. The crystal sparks, and settles down into the metal, which melts slightly accomadate it. Orianna's mouth tightens and a stream of electricity shoots from the tip of the crystal, melting through the stone. The voidling settles down on its haunches as Orianna manipulates the direction of the laser with mechanical whirrs and chirps, directing it to carve a tunnel the small creature can fit through. Malzahar leans against a crate and chants softly, infusing his voidling's claws with the power of the Void.
"Seek and search and steal," he hisses, "peel and pluck and prick. Connect my power with his mind and its secrets will be ours."
It grows dark in the storeroom as they continue to work, the mage flames in the corners dimming to show the transition between night and day. Neither Malzahar nor Orianna give it the slightest attention, or pause more than a moment in their work. They know neither hunger nor thirst. They do not sleep.
At last, the Ball gives a loud beep, and Orianna halts in her work. "Pro-phet," she says quietly. "We are-close to-the prince."
"I am prepared," Malzahar grunts, straightening up and lacing his fingers together, "be ready to record." He takes a deep breath, and exhales…pushing his mind into that of the voidling. Maddening colors flash before his vision, and his thoughts shiver in pain as they are compressed and forced into an alien mind. The world goes black, then violet, and a low hissing sound becomes audible, the background noise of the Void.
Malzahar blinks the voidling's yellow eyes and looks around. Its head has a limited range of motion, but he can see well in the dark and its claws are sensitive to motion. It feels Jarvan's breathing, rumbling beyond the stone. He spits a little void matter onto to stone ahead, and tears an opening in the bubbling rock. It takes several moments before he can assume control over the voidling's leg, then he climbs carefully through the hole.
Jarvan's room is terrifyingly huge from the voidling's viewpoint. It stinks of soot and dragon and man, and is dominated by a huge bed of pale wood and gold and black cloth. Weapon racks along the wall hold his lance and Shyvanna's clawed gauntlets. A closet, built into the side, has rows of armor and more casual clothing.
Malzahar directs the voidling to a bedpost and begins to clamber up the wood. Its claws hook on the bedsheet, and Malzahar resorts to using a little void energy to let it float delicately up to Jarvan's head. He is snoring, one arm curled around Shyvanna, who is draped over his chest, while the other rests tenderly in her hair. The voidling snorts softly and makes its way to the back of Jarvan's head, carefully pushing his black hair out of the way.
It lines up its claws carefully. Malzahar starts to sweat as the voidling's mind pulses, covering his vision with writhing darkness as the Void tries to push him out. He fights it silently for two long minutes before it retreats, letting him take a voidling-sized gulp of air and sink its claws into Jarvan's flesh. Bursts of violet energy shoot under the man's skin and he jerks slightly in his sleep before Malzahar forces his way into his dreams.
Heat and sorrow. Malzahar cloaks himself in shadows and looks around. He and Jarvan are on a grassy plain at midday. A thought roils through Jarvan and the Prophet of the Void seizes it. It looks like a translucent scrap of cloth, and he holds it up to the light to read it.
"Ionia," Malzahar murmurs.
There is a huge nest in front of them, and Shyvanna has thrown herself atop it, weeping bitter tears of fire. There are dents in the grass where eggs once were.
Another thought. "Zed."
The scene changes. A huge pyramid of black metal floats above a destroyed Demacian village. Jarvan roars in fury—a change. Demacian ships at the Ionian shore. Irelia, stands at the dock, shaking her head.
"You cannot bring armed forces into Ionia! Are you the same as the Noxians?"
Anger. Change.
Three dimly lit figures steal through the Demacian palace. Malzahar recognizes them as the Kinkou. A guard spots them, demands that they stop, and is slain in moments. They continue to a room where Zed stands, smirking, his arms across his chest, as Shyvanna paces the ground in front of him, snarling, "They do not belong to you!"
The Kinkou attack, Shen hurling his kama at Zed's back, and the Master of Shadows disappears, flickering away into his shadow. The weapon slashes Shyvanna's side and she roars in fury, her body flickering as she changes into her dragon shape.
"Trying to trap me for those wretches?" Zed hisses. "You'll see the fruit of your foolishness on the morrow, dragon."
He vanishes. Shyvanna lunges at the ninja as Akali says, flatly, "Hesistation is the seed of defeat.
Change. Bloody fragments of black eggshells litter the flagstones of the entry hall. Within the gore are small, scaly bodies.
"We cannot control the Kinkou," Karma says sorrowfully.
"You must let us deal with Syndra," Irelia warns. "We will not let any city-state land soldiers in Ionia again."
"Do not deny me," Zed spits, crushing the last egg under his foot. He is gone before Shyvanna's claws can tear his head from his shoulders.
The next scene is older. Jarvan speaks, threatening to drive the Noxians from Ionia himself. The rematch. He stands in the Placidium as the Elders calmly say they will remain neutral—all they wanted was their island back. Frustrated, furious, he returns to Demacia. He is unable to challenge the League. Noxus, smug, looming ever black against the sky, a taunting fly unable to be squashed.
Being summoned for the first time—the indignity of being controlled burns through Jarvan with such heat that Malzahar draws back. Demacian summoners, turning to the League rather than to their king. The planet's safety assured…and all held helpless before the magic of the summoners. Temporal stasis sets in over Kalamandu and he feels fear for the first time. A smile on the face of Zilean.
Frustration. Lux, defiant, helping Ionians, refusing orders. Her missions are slower and less reliable. The greatest Demacian spy no longer wants to help her country. Shyvanna, raging against Lux's disloyalty to the country the half-dragon loves, pacing in their chambers. He holds her, soothes her, promises that the Crownguards know their place.
The vision whirls so quickly that Malzahar feels sick. He pushes at Jarvan's mind. "I know the why, little prince, but how? Who will open the portal to Ammun?"
Darkness and a forest outside the institute. Quin and Valor are nearby, keeping watch. There is a thunderous crackle of energy.
"I will show you true power, Demacian."
Protection for Demacian and all righteous folk—it is little to ask for that. Hope swells in the memory. And Nasus is an animal…
His mind writhes and forces Malzahar out. He feels Jarvan stir as he regains control of the voidling, and quickly directs it off the bed and back into the hole. Orianna commands "Protect!" and the voidling is suddenly picked up and carried through the tunnel at tremendous speeds until it crashes into the unyielding surface of the Ball. It falls to the floor as Malzahar relaxes his control and returns to his body.
The plates and crystal float off of the voidling and meld back into the Ball's surface. With a sigh, the creature melts into energy and vanishes.
"Quickly, now, back to our chambers," Malzahar says, his speech slurred by the effort of reasserting control over his own limbs.
Orianna is strangely silent.
"Darling?" he asks, floating over to her and touching her slender metal shoulder.
"He does not-seem evil," she says.
"I do," Malzahar assures her.
"That is-little comfort-that we do-the right thing," Orianna sighs, with an accompanying whirr from the Ball.
"Absolute power corrupts absolutely," Malzahar says, guiding her out of the room and shutting the door behind them. It is just before dawn, and the corridor is deserted. "I know that better than most."
They disappear into the darkness, as miles away, another figure appears out of the shadows in the streets of Zaun, her magenta hair freshly slicked into spikes.