Jarvan the 4th wandered and walked cautiously as he was deeper and deeper into the nearly pitch black maze. Stone walls surrounded him, cold unforgiving stone walls that seemed to freeze his lit torched from blazing brightly. The walls were littered with cracks and holes. Clearly the test of time was not good for a maze, though it stood proudly for all these centuries it does not mean that it stood gracefully. Scattered all around were remains of unknown animals, unknown to Jarvan the 4th at least. Jarvan was in another crossroads once more, he examined each momentarily. One led to the right while the other led straight to another path.
Jarvan the 4th continued to examine it trying to search for a hint on what is the safer way to go, all this time he was blindly following his instincts going to any which way he so pleased, but as he was deeper and deeper in the labyrinth he could not think so careless as he did before. Out of nowhere a shrieking noise came from the straight path, an animal in agony is what Jarvan the 4th could compare it to, it sounded like its throat was currently being torn to shreds as the screams became less audible and more disturbed.
Jarvan the 4th was not afraid he took the straight path and rushed towards where it was coming from. Jarvan the 4th was not afraid of monsters and beasts, he knew all to well that he was one of them, this expedition wasn't what Jarvan the 4th had stated previously, it wasn't even to feed the hunger that the monster inside of him was begging him to quench, No, it was simply to be greater, Jarvan the 4th would not accept a title such as monster, but he knew a being less than a monster could not protect his citizens or fight his battles, this expedition was to make Jarvan the 4th higher than a monster an accolade no one has ever achieved, Jarvan the 4th would be the first, but he wondered…what is greater than a monster? Though he did not care for the answer all he knew was he had to be stronger than a monster because he was one and so was his tormenter, Swain and his would be executioner, Urgot. He would not be in equal footing along with those pair. He despised having the same title so he wanted to be stronger, both to destroy what defined him and to be stronger than those who once hold the same title he did.
….
Jarvan the 4th was in tatters, his wounds were begging, begging to be healed-to be treated and to be helped immediately. Jarvan the 4th's body however begged as well but it did not beg to be treated or fixed, it begged for an end, whether it be to stop all this pain by means of death it would comply his body just begged for all of this to end, Jarvan the 4th's mind also broke but his soul wasn't, he wasn't fighting to stay alive because he wanted to live, Jarvan the 4th only wanted revenge. And this is what burns inside of him, the spirit that keeps his mouth shut and unable to beg for an end, Jarvan the 4th was stubborn a habit that he may take to his grave.
Swain stared blankly at the fallen prince. He was merely another broken body. Merely another addition to the list Jericho Swain compiled of the people he broke if there was any. Swain was frustrated by the tenacity and stubbornness of his greatest rival, his body, his mind-his men all had given up, but his soul did not, anger is what fuels Jarvan the 4th and that is a force that Swain knew all to well, anger can lead to destruction, desolation but to swain…Victory. Swain composed himself and gestured Urgot to come closer, the bloated behemoth called the huntsman's pride, held an axe by his shoulder and a look of impatience in his fat red face that resembled a boiling kettle, clearly waiting for the time of Jarvan the 4th's execution, a matter that he, the huntsman's pride attend to personally.
Swain crouched with difficulty. He grabbed his wooden staff and pointed it an inch away from the prince of demacia's forehead. Swain's eyes said it all he had just thought of a cunning plan, if Jarvan the 4th will not break, Then Swain would just have to have fun at least, to play with his rival who is merely just a ragdoll at this point.
"I'm going to ask you a question…" Swain said in a shallow voice, clearly mocking the prince as he used his right hand to slap Jarvan the 4th awake, he slapped him tauntingly and repeatedly, but did so with little force-no, that was not his intention he had already caused him a severe amount of pain, his goal now was to mock him and he did so with a smile that fortunately was covered by the cloth resting in his mouth, which gave Jarvan the 4th a sense of paranoia, for all he knew what hid under Swain's mouth was the smile of the demon. But Jarvan the 4th knew one thing for certain that the smile under that cloth belonged to the murderer of his troops, the red eyes that looked at him in pity and in pleasure, those eyes belonged to the man he wanted to murder in cold blood, that is what Jarvan the 4th knew for certain and that is the thought that persisted even as Jarvan the 4th lay as useless as a corpse.
"Are you going to die…?" He asked ominously without even glancing at Jarvan the 4th but instead investing all his attention on his raven, Beatrice. He stroked the bird's body with a steady and calm hand, unlike how he treated everyone and everything else; Swain had a soft side for his companion but Swain did not meant to flaunt his compassion to Jarvan the 4th, No, he intended to taunt him just like he did before giving Jarvan the 4th a high amount of attention that comes miniscule compared to his attention to a lowly pet. That is how a master tactician works, to instill fear, to cause pain and most especially to torment to the point of being broken entirely all in the sense of mind, body and soul.
The question was simple enough but complicated all the same, Swain whether Jarvan the 4th wanted to believe it or not was in all majesty, his tormentor. Urgot, his executioner; these pair did not hold these titles for everyone else they were erected specifically for Jarvan the 4th, for Swain was known as the master tactician and Urgot was known as the huntsman's pride. But to Jarvan the 4th their titles as his tormentor and his executioner was what defined them, to Jarvan the 4th at least. Whether he liked it or not these two had the answer to the question…
Will I die here? In this cage, surrounded by monsters with only ill intents in their minds and carnage in their hearts? Jarvan the 4th asked himself slowly, descending into madness. These monsters called noxians lived bitter lives with a fowl attitude and take lives much better then theirs. If demacians were the definition of bravery and kindness, noxians were the complete opposite it was to be understandable in a land were you are treated as puppets and stringed along until you are no longer of use, until your string breaks and you are regardless as useless. Noxians were bitter and fowl all their lives, with nothing but hate living in those black fragment they call their barely beating hearts.
Swain glanced over lazily and smiled beneath the cloth that hid his mouth, he was producing a very sinister smile full of pleasure and triumph. He knew that it was only a matter of time before he was broken. The tormentor did his job adequately and if he succeeds then the executioner would carry on with his job as well. Swain looked over at Urgot who knew the sign all too clearly, the behemoth walked over with excitement in his lumpy and disfigured face and with his large beefy hands he carried his giant executioner axe overhead, the steel was craving for blood and so was its wielder both were perfect for one another, and in a harmony of malevolence, executioner and weapon were as one.
The axe un-mercilessly fell, and with a collision of steel and metal it pierced the cold metallic floor. The executioner shown a side that could be compared to the tormentor, Urgot knew it was a different sign, to test the demacian prince in a game of bravery, Surprisingly enough Jarvan the 4th was still stoic, as still as a statue and not acknowledging anything around me most especially the very pity ruse of a show that his tormentor and executioner had hatched. They plan to test his tenacity by giving him a scare, truly that will destroy the strong front he's holding up so proudly. Urgot had no intention of executing Jarvan the 4th by beheading, an annoying meat sack like him deserved, not an execution but torture, even as he held the Giant axe over his head he had no intention of giving him an almost painless death by beheading, he did not wait all this time to end his life by mere seconds, he planned to listen to his screams and moans for days, weeks even months or years if it was possible all to make him pay for making an impatient man wait. It was clear that Jarvan the 4th did not know whether he would die or not but even then he did not cower or flinched, the ploy of a feint execution did not produce any reaction, both Urgot and Swain were in the verge of tearing this man apart, the prince was not a title they gave to him neither was a rival or a human being for that matter to both Urgot and Swain he was simply a nuisance, they wanted him to be less than worthless, a simple insect that only has one purpose in life, which is to dirty the shoes of those who step on it.
"I will break you demacian, only a matter of time." Swain declared as a guarantee as he left the room together with Urgot, their steps thudded and echoed across the metallic floor but Jarvan the 4th only stared at the reflection the Axe provided. Prince Jarvan Ignitius Lightshield the 4th, bruised and beaten; barely recognizable as a human much less a prince. If the people of Runeterra could see him now, this man was merely dirt, less than dirt, he was the demacian prince who led his squad to death with a proud smile. If he was seen today, his eyes full of hate and his mouth producing fumes of vengeance people would mistake him as a deranged monster, a noxian-he would be compared, No, he would be mistaken as a noxian and that is what stings most. A man like Jarvan the 4th who started from the top did not know failure…until he came face to face with it as the form of his reflection…
….
Jarvan the 4th was drawing nearer and nearer to the screams the filled his ears, dropping his lit torch due to haste, it would have been a situation where he was surrounded by darkness and only darkness but as he saw a light in the end of the tunnel he could not help but compare it to the metaphoric sense. Jarvan the 4th was in the middle of a grassy field, filled with life, life that seemed non existent not long ago. Jarvan the 4th looked back and spotted a tunnel, the labyrinth was merely a hole in the mountain, the tunnel where he came from was out of place with everything else, a man made structure which was placed in somewhere man should never taint. Jarvan the 4th could only compare this paradise to Eden, his definition of paradise.
Jarvan the 4th was jolted awake from his daydream as the screams were made more apparent as the unknown creature continued on. With haste he sprinted once more now preparing to take out the spear that he carried around on his back, awaiting an attack that could come from any direction. Jarvan the 4th was closer and closer, but now, the screams were merely groans and the groans were becoming less and less audible-the fight in the creature was dying down-it was giving up, the screams were gone and silence took its place but Jarvan the 4th could still trace it and as he darted faster and faster to where it once came from he stood as silence as the scenery.
A creature that lay on its side, never documented before lay on the ground head twisted and rib cage open, its skin was pale, gray as concrete, its eyes red, simply just red no traces of white or anything just the color of blood red. It had a pair of black horns as dark as obsidian which was displayed in each side of its large gray head, it had wings both looked like it was as strong as leather but had sloppy chew marks that prevented its flight and it was the size of a nearly grown man. He approached it and looked it in the eye, judging by the exposed ribcage which showed a beating organ that continued to spray blue liquid, it was still alive.
There was no fight in it for sure but it was still alive…
Jarvan the 4th looked on and now approached his heart, this organ that continues to move even if the body and the mind are in all sense both broken, it still beats and continues to beat even if it does not want to. Jarvan the 4th was disgusted with himself because all the while as things transpired as this beast lay almost dead he had one thought, and as he stared at the thin blue puddle made from the blood of the creature he saw his reflection and he knew he could only be honest to one person in this world, himself. So he confessed…
…I wish I was the one to do it…
…I love a challenge after all, so why wasn't I provided with one…?
…I even rushed here to impale my spear right in its neck…
…I was so excited…
Jarvan the 4th, a prince who holds the title monster and thus made an expedition to make him better than monster, was in all sense a monster, in this moment the title fit him perfectly and he agreed…wholeheartedly. Jarvan the 4th held up his spear and in one swift motion pierced the organ that the creature called its heart, it was now spraying blood in larger amounts but as fast as he dug his spear into its heart he detached just as fast, like a waterfall it gushed and in the end it pruned up as it popped like a deflated ball. Its heart was simply a useless, blue, pound of flesh that one could see in the rode side.
…In a sense Jarvan the 4th was the one to slay the beast…
In a little corner of his mind however Jarvan the 4th would like to think that his actions of ending the life of a creature who begged for death was an act of heroism…
…Just a little thought that would help Jarvan the 4th sleep at night…