Nothing.
In a place where time has lost all meaning. A place where he constantly feels like he is on the edge of decaying entirely. In a place where he couldn't possibly understand what is real and what is just a product of his warped and twisted mind.
Here he is, existing but also not existing. He has no physical body. Or maybe he does? If so, he cannot feel it. Here he is, imprisoned by mere mortals through the power bestowed upon them by a God. Forgotten. Left with the unbearable agony of his pitiful existence.
He perks up. There is someone approaching him.
How long had it been?
It matters little. What matters is that this person needs to notice him. To simply touch him, and he shall be free.
A sudden fire burns deep in his being. A fire so full of desire to escape this torturous existence. He cannot stay here any longer or his mind might really break. He needs to get out. NOW!
With desperation, he tries to pull himself up. To make himself more visible. He doesn't feel anything, but that doesn't stop him.
The mortal draws closer.
It needs to be now or never. Soon, the mortal would be here. He needs to get his attention, or he might just run past him.
He absolutely cannot allow this! Just imagining what would happen makes him shiver with horror. He would rather surrender his entire existence once and for all than be left here for another unfathomably long time.
He willed his body up with one final, frantic push, hoping so desperately that the mortal would notice him.
And just as it seemed as if the human would ignore him, he feels a touch. The foolish human is trying to control him. HIM!
HA!
Immediately, he seizes the opportunity with everything he has.
Like a wild storm, he forces his very being into the innocent mortal, ripping his flesh and soul apart as he forges the new host into something that would fit the likes of himself. The two other humans that had followed the now dead man here are quickly robbed of their lives as well, and he notices with great pleasure that he can absorb their essence too.
As he finally breathes fresh air for the first time in what might be hundreds of years, he looks down onto the giant, pulsing sword that is stuck to his hand like a tree to the ground. What had once been his trusted weapon in battle is now the prison in which he had suffered for so, so long. And even now, after he has been freed, it is by his side like a forceful reminder of what can happen if he ever falls for the traps of mere mortals and Gods again.
"They will regret having sealed me up." He seethes, gazing over the battlefield before him.
Right now, he is just a mere mockery of his former glorious self, but that shall soon change.
With indomitable steps, he moves closer to the still ongoing battle nearby.
Soon the world shall know the consequences of their foolish actions. Because he, the strongest of the Darkin, has awakened once more.
The Gods have chosen him for this.
They gave him the power to subdue this horrible monster! He had trained long and hard every single day, sweating and bleeding and even leaving his wife and newborn son in his hometown to pursue the being that had been terrorizing the lands for years now.
Many, many have tried to put an end to the Beast's destruction and bloodshed, but no one could do it.
And he knows why.
"Fighting a Darkin is like trying to kill a wave. You may slash and destroy it, but it will just reform once again in another part of the ocean. Only sealing a Darkin away can stop their reign, and only you have the power to do it, son."
This is what the old man had told him back then, when he first became a warrior to protect his wife and the country. He had felt it then. The power deep in his very soul. The power to defeat a God.
He focuses back on the sound of men screaming and blood splattering.
There are brave warriors fighting in the frontlines, trying to buy time.
He should hurry too.
Steadily, he moves towards the center of the battle, surrounded by his trusted men that have served him well over the many years of battles.
But this? This is no battle.
'No, this is just a slaughter!' He thinks sourly.
His face twists with anger as the body of a great fighter he personally knows flies past their heads above them, his body mangled and twisted with the head missing entirely.
He is their last hope. The last resort. He might die on this battlefield, but if he can take that Darkin with him, it is worth every bit!
"For my wife, and for my son!" He shouts, finally drawing near the dreaded Demon.
Its large body towers over him and his men and the closer he gets, the more difficult breathing seems, but he still marches on.
He is not afraid. He does not fear his own demise.
What he fears is the safety of his wife. The safety of his son!
Suddenly, its horned head snaps in his direction, staring him dead in the eyes like a piercing spear.
He freezes.
All around him, his friends and allies were shouting at him to do it, to finally seal the monster.
But he hears nothing.
Those are not the eyes of a merciless monster that murdered for fun. Those are not the eyes of a horrible terror like everyone had been telling him.
Those are the eyes of someone who is afraid.
He doesn't even feel the giant, bloodied blade bury itself deep into his heart.
All he does is stare at those lonely, fearful eyes of the being he is meant to destroy.
He slowly puts a hand onto the blade in his body. He feels no pain, none at all.
He can feel its hands trembling, and he smiles.
"You look scared."
"DON'T LOOK AT ME! STOP!" He shouts.
He covers his eyes with his wrists, but he still sees the look of that man so very clearly.
Pity. Sadness. Empathy.
"Please! Just stop!" He pleads.
He covers his ears with his wrists, but he still hears the voice of that man so very clearly.
"You look scared."
"P-please…"
He rocks back and forth like a helpless child as the thunderstorm bellows around him, trying so very desperately to just forget.
But he can't.
He felt it back then. The man had that God's powers. He could have sealed him.
He had been foolish to think that the Gods had forgotten him. He should have paid the price for it, but he somehow survived.
No. Not somehow.
That man had let him live.
He had been spared. By a mere mortal.
Despite how strange it sounds, that is not what is tormenting him.
No. It was those eyes. It was those words.
"You look scared."
They had stirred something inside of him. Something ancient. Something that his Darkin body is rejecting with every single fiber.
"It hurts! It hurts so much!"
Just when he thought that he had escaped the torture, it began again. Only this time, there is no escaping it. No amount of mortal essence can stop this foreign feeling deep inside of him from awakening.
"I HATE IT! I HATE IT! MAKE IT STOP!"
And no matter how loud he shouts, no one hears him.
Between this and being sealed, he feels the difference become less and less noticeable each day.
"Already giving up, huh?! Come on, Xeroth! I know you can do better! What do you think that traitorous father of yours would say if he saw you like this?!"
It is cold.
The others laugh.
A young boy, no older than ten lies on the muddy ground in just his underwear, shivering with his legs pulled close to his chest. He has bruises, bleeding wounds and badly healed scars all over his thin body.
Surrounding him are a dozen boys his age and older, holding rocks, sticks and other objects that could be used to hurt him as much as possible.
"By the gods, Jamile!" The voice of an older woman echoes through the heavy rain as she approaches them. "How many times have I told you that I want you to be home when dinner is ready?! You can play with the son of the traitor later, come eat now!"
All the other boys laugh again as the mother pulls Jamile away by the ear, causing them to also go their own ways one by one. Just when Xeroth is sure that everyone is gone, a piercing pain in his side makes him flinch violently.
Why is it so cold?
"Be a good boy and wait here for us until we are finished with dinner, yes?"
Not daring to look at what causes the pain, he just nods slightly, receiving a few pets on his shoulder.
"Very good. Oh, and make sure that this stays in, yes?" Another jolting pain runs through his side as the person above him touches whatever object is stuck in him. "It would be quite sad to see you bleed to death while trying to get the knife out. Someone needs to atone for the sins of your father, right?"
Xeroth nods again, moving as little as possible.
"Good to see that you still know your place." The boy says as he stands up, leisurely walking away until he is out of his sight.
He just lays there. Shivering.
The cold is unbearable.
Why do they hate him? What did he do to deserve this?
He knows the answer. It is not him who they hate, but his father. They call him a traitor, a god forsaken betrayer of the country and a filthy murderer.
But he knows that all of this is not true. He never met his father and can only vaguely remember his mother, but he still knows that this is not true.
He just knows.
Or maybe he tells himself that because he would completely break if his last reason for staying alive is just a lie.
He flinches as he hears footsteps approaching, trying to stay as still as possible so that they won't punish him for moving.
To his surprise, a voice he has never heard before mumbles something from above him. The knife that is stuck in his side is quickly pulled out, but instead of feeling any pain, he just feels a slight tingling where it was previously.
A strong hand suddenly grabs him by his arm and pulls him up with ease.
"My, you are even lighter than you look, son."
His long beard sways in the wind as the old looking man stands before Xeroth, his eyes glancing over his body.
"Here, take this."
The man pulls a thick fur mantel from his shoulders and hands it to him.
Xeroth takes it gratefully, covering his upper body with it. Immediately, the warmth from the thick blanket envelopes his undercooled body.
It's not so cold anymore.
The man receives a blinding smile from the boy.
"Ho, who would've thought that you could still smile like that after what they're doing to you."
Not even bothered by the mention of his tormentors, Xeroth slowly bows down as deep as he can, careful as to not agitate any wounds.
It is only common sense to thank those who do good.
"Stand straight, boy. No need to do that for lil' old me." A hearty laugh filled the silence.
"Now, follow me. There is something I need to show you."
Unsure, Xeroth follows the man along the small path that leads out of the village and into the surrounding forest, the wet mud burying itself between his mangled toes with every painful step he takes.
"What's your name, son?" The old man eventually asks.
Xeroth opens his mouth to answer, but only a dry cough comes out. He lowers his head.
It hurts.
"Ahh, I see how it is. Don't worry, son. I will give you some tea at my place."
They spend the rest of the way in silence. Finally, they reach a small wooden hut, hidden between the thick trees, which they quickly enter.
"Sit down, lad. Let me prepare you some tea."
Smiling at the man's unfamiliar kindness, Xeroth takes a seat on a worn-out wooden chair next to a small table. After some time, the old man places a cup of tea in front of him.
"Drink up."
Carefully, Xeroth takes a sip. His eyes widen as the delicious liquid slides down his dry throat, and he quickly drinks the whole cup in one breath, licking his lips as he sets it back down on the table.
"Well? Can you speak now?"
Xeroth opens his mouth once again, and this time, to his own surprise, a sound escapes his throat. Frowning with concentration, he tries to speak again.
"I-I'm X-X-Xer-Xeroth."
A wide smile blooms on his face. He hadn't heard his own voice in so long.
The old man looks at him.
"Xeroth? Did your parents give you that name?"
He shrugs, looking at the floor.
"T-the people s-said it is t-the perfect n-name for a t-tr-traitor like m-me."
The old man sneered.
"Do you know what that name means?"
Xeroth shakes his head.
"It's similar to Xerath, the person who betrayed our King Azir a long time ago. Calling you Xeroth is like calling you a traitor of the highest degree."
"Oh…"
The old man mumbles something under his breath.
He suddenly shakes his head.
"The reason I wanted to talk to you in private has nothing to do with your name, whether it is your real one or not."
He sits down on the other side of the table, folding his hands together.
"Xeroth, the Trickster has chosen you."
He paused, observing him.
Xeroth just blinks.
The Trickster?
"How foolish of me. Of course, you don't know about the Trickster. Let me start from the beginning. Do you know who the Darkin are?"
Xeroth shakes his head.
"I'm sorry that I'm stupid."
"Don't worry about it, son. I'm here to explain everything to you. To sum it up, the Darkin are very, very strong beings that have turned evil after the great King Azir perished. They killed and destroyed for more power, but because they were so strong, no one could stop them."
Xeroth listens with rapt attention.
"The Trickster is the benevolent God who gave us the power to seal these dangerous Darkin away, because they cannot be killed by us humans anymore. Thanks to that power, all the Darkin were sealed away eventually, but more than a decade ago, one of them managed to awaken again. Aatrox, the strongest and most brutal of them. He has caused death and suffering all over our lands for many years now, and no one has been able to stop him."
Xeroth's eyes widen.
"But the Trickster, the God, has chosen you, Xeroth. You are the person meant to save us all. For when the day eventually comes, our destiny lies within your hands."
He can feel it. Unimaginable power hidden deep inside of him like a calm ocean, waiting patiently to unleash a tsunami onto the enemy. The man is not lying. He can truly feel it.
"Xeroth." The child looks up. "Do you know why the people hate you?"
He shivers.
"B-because of my father."
The old man stands up, walking towards the door with deliberate steps.
"Xeroth, your father was chosen by the Trickster before you. But he let the Monster live. He betrayed us all."
He opens the door, and a cold breeze enters the small hut.
"You are stronger than him, Xeroth. You can do the right thing, Xeroth. I know you can."
The door closes, stopping the cold winds.
Tears of sorrow drip down his chin.
Why is it always so cold?
Slaughter. Murder. Kill. Destroy.
All to forget. He needs to forget.
Another head goes flying, drenching his giant sword in delicious blood. He grows stronger again.
He is not scared! He is not sad! He needs no pity!
"I AM AATROX, THE WORLD ENDER!"
Humans cry and scream. Mothers hold their children close. Fathers grab their old weapon to face him. They are all fools!
He will cut them all down! He will become even stronger!
HE WILL DESTROY THE WORLD SO THAT HE CAN FORGET!
…
Silence.
Blood and corpses litter the ground like a banquet of power prepared only for him.
He scoffs.
"Weaklings. All of them!"
He leaves, looking for yet another battle so that he can forget.
He doesn't even notice where his feet take him anymore. How long has it been?
Months? Years? Decades?
It matters little.
…
PAIN. SO MUCH PAIN.
HE IS ALONE. HE IS FORGOTTEN.
DARKNESS. NOTHING BUT DARKNESS.
He screams.
"You look scared."
"I'M NOT SCARED!"
Those eyes. They are looking at him again.
His sword is pulsing. He can't breathe.
he falls down. He can't move.
He can't see. He can't hear. He can't feel.
Everything hurts.
"Please… no more!"
How much longer does he have to endure?! How much more pain will it take to stop?!
Why is it so cold?
He would cry if he could.
Why is it always so cold?
Xeroth shivers.
His empty eyes slowly adjusted to the light of a candle that someone had placed right in front of him. It is the only light source in the dark room, causing vague outlines of other people to appear at the edge of his vision.
He is bound to a chair.
He cannot move.
"When I told you to stay there and leave the knife in your side, I was not expecting you to simply disappear by the time we got back."
He just stares at the candle.
"Normally, I would hurt you really, really bad for it, but the old man told us to go easy on you today."
Xeroth's eyes widen. The old man?
No…
"Don't tell me you don't know?" A sadistic laugh fills the room. "He was the one to tell the village about what your father did. He made sure that we keep you in place so that you won't become like your trash father. So that you won't betray us as well!"
What…?
"Whatever. He just told us that today, we have to make sure that you know what you should do when the time comes. You're our Hero after all, right?"
He feels the tip of a sharp object touch his forehead.
No…
The power that previously felt like a calming ocean, suddenly feels like a curse. A binding that he can't get rid of.
No!
He doesn't want to do this anymore! He doesn't want to be the chosen one!
"Let's start then, shall we?"
NO! PLEASE! LEAVE ME ALONE!
But he can't speak.
He feels cold. He feels empty.
Maybe, he should just die.
A small village finally comes into view and Aatrox accelerates to get there faster.
More sacrifices. More blood.
The thick trees don't even bother him as he bursts right through them. He can't wait any longer.
The winds pick up.
CRASH
The small huts don't even stand a chance as he just tramples over them, slashing at everything that moves like a feral animal.
The smell of blood fills the air.
It's the same.
It's always the same.
People shouting. Mothers crying. Children running.
He heard it all.
CRACK
It thunders in the distance.
A storm is coming.
Something tickles his leg. He looks down to see a man with an axe trying to cut into him. His face consumed by anger and despair. There is hate, so much hate.
Not in the slightest like that man.
He stabs the man in his heart, scowling at the image of that man overlapping with this one.
Why can't he just forget?!
The anger fuels him.
He slashes and stabs and absorbs one after another without mercy, and before he even notices it, there is only silence.
SILENCE. ALONE. FORE-
"STOP!"
His cry echoes over the lands, carried away by the winds where no one could ever possibly hear it.
It begins to rain.
He hates the rain.
His feet move again before he can even command them to, but he suddenly stops when he hears a near silent gasp.
That is rare. He usually knows if there is someone still alive.
Turning to the origin of the voice, he freezes.
A small child stands before him, his almost naked body drenched by the rain. Scars numbering the near uncountable cover his body from head to toe.
He notices the word "Seal" etched into his forehead.
But that doesn't matter to him.
No. What matters is the power that Aatrox can feel in that person.
The power of that God.
The power to Seal him.
He roared, unleashing his full might. He will NOT be sealed again! Not now, not EVER!
BANG
Lightning strikes near them, the deafening bang only shortly overpowering the now howling winds that try to push and pull at him.
But he feels nothing except hatred.
Hatred for the Gods.
Hatred for his existence.
And hatred for that man.
He raises his weapon high above his head, preparing an attack that would leave nothing behind. He will eradicate the God's power once and for all, so that no one will ever stand in his way again!
"I AM AATROX, AND I SHALL END THIS WORLD!"
His infinitely heavy sword races down onto the small child like a guillotine, unstoppable and undefendable. With this, he shall finally be free of the God's grasp! HE WILL-
"You look scared."
Everything stops.
"I know how you feel."
Nonononono-
"I-I have this power, but I don't want to use it to seal you."
The fragile, oh so fragile child slowly approaches his unmoving body. He locks eyes with him.
Pity. Sadness. Empathy.
Just like that man.
He feels everything, and yet nothing at is drowning, and yet he is burning.
The world is turning upside down. He is breaking apart.
He cannot handle it. It is just too much.
"Somehow, I feel like I can help you."
He wants to stop the child from talking. He wants to stop the child from touching him.
But he can't. His mind is incapable of giving commands to his body. His mind is incapable of anything.
The child touches his leg with his palm, and Aatrox feels the power to seal him enter his body.
Is this it?
Is this where he will be sealed again for another eternity?
"Please…"
Droplets of blood stream down his face, blown away by the wind before they can even go past his nose. He would rather die than experience being sealed again.
"Please k-kill me!"
He would rather cease to exist than live through that unbearable torture again. But the child doesn't hear him. Or maybe he can't.
Slowly, like an inevitable tsunami, he feels the power crawl up his body until it eventually reaches his head.
He is scared. He is so scared! He doesn't want to die! He doesn't want to be sealed! He just wants to Live!
And suddenly, the power vanishes.
"What…?"
His head suddenly feels so clear. There is no pain anymore. There is no more suffering. There is no loneliness.
There is no fear.
Has it always been this warm?
A thud.
He looks down, still deeply shocked.
The child has fallen to his knees, blood flowing out of his eyes.
But he was smiling like a blooming sunflower.
"What did you do?!"
His voice feels weak. It feels Human.
The child's smile only widens.
"Looks l-like I really d-did it." A heavy coughing fit interrupts him. Blood drenches the wet ground, but when he looks back up at Aatrox, his smile is not diminished in the slightest.
Despite himself, Aatrox keels down, his massive body shielding the snow-white body of the child from the heavy rain. He doesn't know why, but the sudden urge to help this child arises in his very soul. It is alien, it is weird, but he cannot ignore it, and his mind is still too confused to really understand anything.
"I se-sealed away t-the b-bad stuff i-in your h-h-head."
His eyes widen.
He remembers.
After the fight against the void, everyone was left traumatized. When King Azir died and they had no one to lead them, they became corrupted by it.
This child has just sealed away the corruption. This child has just done something that no one thought to be possible. This child just did something that the Gods refused to do.
"How…?"
Aatrox can literally feel the child's life essence decrease by the second. He is dying.
"I took it."
No. How- Why did- That's not…
"You don't look scared anymore."
His voice is nothing but a whisper, yet he hears every single word through the crying winds.
"No!"
The child smiles one last time.
"I forgive you."
Aatrox grips the child, trying his best to hold him upright.
"NO! WAIT! YOU NEED TO STAY ALIVE! YOU NEED TO-!"
His body goes limp in his arms.
The child is dead.
"NO! PLEASE DON'T LEAVE ME! PLEASE DON'T GO!"
He can feel the child's essence slip through his fingers, and in his delirium, Aatrox tries to absorb it.
Like a drop in the ocean, he feels the essence of the child enter the infinite expanse of other essences, but despite the miniscule amount of power he gets from it, the essence of the child is as visible as lightning in a dark night.
Emotions so raw, so untamed define the child's existence that it almost blinds him. And yet, he feels drawn to it. The negativity of it is overwhelming, but the pure positivity outshines even the essence of the most just warrior he has ever faced.
But the essence of the child radiates warmth.
"Kaiyo, huh?" Aatrox mumbles with wet, shaky hands, holding his body close to his chest like a child would hold her toy at night.
"What a fitting name."
He slowly stands up, watching as the clouds part to allow the sun to shine her rays down onto the wet earth.
He takes a deep breath.
"I will make this right, Kaiyo. Please wait for me in the afterlife."
A Darkin no longer.
Aatrox has been reborn.
He smiles.
Never has he been this warm.
~The End~
Kaiyo: Japanese = To Forgive
A/N: There is a severe lack of Aatrox stories on this site. Aatrox and the Darkin have one of the best story lines in all of League's lore!
P/N: Frfr on God on God
Cover Art by: "Kiyaama" on Reddit
