And now, a traipse through Bilgwater.
Ruination: Return Chapter XI
Depths Beneath Part III
Senna had thought the city would have been quiet, like so many others they had explored since this all began.
That dreadful, weighty silence that pervades every alley and doorway as the Mist closed in.
That was not the case with Bilgewater.
It was… chaos.
Long had the Harrowing stalked the city's shores.
Long has several spirits laid claim to their own desired haunts.
Long had the pirates, scavengers, and natives of this ramshackle city learned how to resist them.
The Black Mist was an ever-churning torrent, racing through the streets like a storm surge.
And amongst it, sad clusters of abodes, market squares, and lone homes, the emerald and white flame of the Buhru's Goddess turning each into an isle savaged by the storm.
Gunfire flashed free of some of these small beacons in the distance, scattering the Mistwraiths like gulls, only for them to descend again and again, waiting until the flame burned out.
And that was only the war being waged between living and dead.
It appeared, despite the return of Viego to his throne, that here, if nowhere else, his forces were fracturous.
She watched a screaming female spirit clash again and again with an amalgam of crab and steel while in the air above her, numerous shapes and forms clashed and careened, screaming insults in languages ancient and new.
Yasuo cut down the fifteenth spirit to lung towards their small troop and grunted as he sent a current of wind to scatter half a dozen more.
"I'm starting to think the others got the easier job," he remarks, wiping sweat and grime from his face.
"Chaos reigns everywhere. It is just more vocal here." Diana counters, carving cleanly through something that was likely once a wharf-rat.
"We're nearly there!" Lucian shouts, pointing upwards, where atop one of the many sea-worn arches of stone, a ship-turned mansion-turned-fort was bathed in Nagakabouros's light, "That's Fortune's seat!"
A wraith screamed down towards him, and a single shot from Senna sent its head scattering from its tattered body.
"Then let's pick up the pace," she remarks, falling in beside him.
He nods, plugging one last Mistwalker right between the eyes over her shoulder and setting off the others hot on their tails.
"You seem to know your way around," Senna remarks, shooting her husband a glance.
"Spent a lot of time here." Lucian responds, smiling at her, but there is something haunted in his eyes, "Hunting. Fighting…. Waiting."
"Looking for me," she murmurs, smiling at him lovingly.
He nods, though there is a hesitation, "I-"
A scream cuts him off, and a part of her can only feel frustration as he puts on even more speed.
The four of them round a corner and skid to a halt as lying there is a person, their protective charm across the ground.
The Mist invaded them through a single wound, a gunshot from on high, right through the heart.
"Fiends," Diana growls, her glowing eyes turning skyward, scanning for the attacker.
Yasuo glances at her and Lucian, who looks a mixture of disgruntled and disgusted.
"I've got this one," he remarks, lowering his blade.
This one.
That was another facet of the chaos.
The living, freshly dead, occasionally with charms still glowing, untouchable by the Mist.
Even in all this, some rivalries refused to quit.
Yasuo scans the body and points with his blade toward the man's pectoral, where a flaming heart tattoo rests.
"One of Fortunes," he remarks, flicking his eyes up to join Diana in scanning their surroundings.
"What a waste," Lucian mutters, returning to the path, "We need to find her."
"You seem to know this 'Fortune' fairly well," Senna notes as they continue onward.
"She was an ally during a Harrowing not so long ago." Lucian notes, "Seemed ready and willing to do anything necessary to ensure Bilgewater survived that siege. That it's people survived it."
He glances back at the chaos consuming the city, "I hope… that's still true."
Is that regret, fear, or worry in his eyes?
Sometimes, he could be so private with his thoughts, but he glances at her and nods, "The only way to find out is forward, I guess."
She nods as the uncertainty chewing on the corners of her mind pushes in again.
There.
The last bit of chaos.
The Mist, poking at the corners of her mind, trying to work its way in, to grab hold of her and her ward, her dear 'friend'.
"You will need to let her go eventually," it murmurs, Illaoi and Viego's voices mingling amidst thousands of others.
She blinks, fighting to block it out, and refocuses on her husband, but the Mist, too, switches tactics, picking at insecurities it had planted, she knew, but couldn't wrench free of.
He was waiting for you, obviously. But to what end? What was his life here?' Who was in it, and what did they ask of him? Are you holding him back, as his quest ever did? He never moved forward. Commendable or foolish? Or just disconcertingly familiar.
A cold pain surges in her chest.
"No," she growls, and for a moment the voices quiet.
She feels Diana's eyes flick to her, but she pays it no mind, nor the voices, nor the chaos behind them; as her beloved has said, the only way is forward.
Ledros was warm.
Countless ages of nothing but the haunting chill of the grave.
And now, his body feels like it is touched by the sun.
Comforting, calming, inspiring, all in one wondrous symphony.
Yet, for all his calm, the world around him bends and roils at his presence.
He is a rock parting a raging river, yet he will not weather or wear.
The Black Mist can not touch him, recoiling from the chill flames of its ancient counterpart.
Mistwraiths dart and weave, shrieking curses and taunts, yet if his blade touches them, their cries become anguished relief as the Hallow Mist ushers them on.
He does not know how long this blessing will last, how long he has before the chill grips him again.
So he surges forward, for his providence is not fully assured, but whatever he has, he will use to his full.
He seeks the bay, charging through worn alleys and soaring above sunken steeples.
He can vaguely sense the spark of his former queen, as all touched by the Isles can, some bitter remnant of Viego's desires refusing to release him.
She lies deep, and while he could brave the depths unhindered, the others will need assistance.
So, as directed by the Priestess, he hunts for a "Pyke", uncertain of what providence this individual could possibly provide.
"Seek the open waters. He will find you soon enough." she had urged before casting them to the surface.
One daring former Camavoran soldier steps into his path, blade rising, and without even a glance, he cuts them down.
They do not wear the armor of his regiment, making them once a loyalist, and he has little time nor care for spending any more effort than a glancing blow.
Yet that blow is all he needs as the soldier shrieks and bats at its chest, the Hallow Mist flaring and flashing with each strike.
Ledros mulls that over for but a moment. Gwen's touch had always healed. Perhaps the Hallow in his hands was more biting, a scalpel instead of a salve.
Or perhaps the Black Mist is attempting to shift him still to the darker aspects of his character.
He can't hear it, a blessing in itself.
But that does not mean it has fully left him.
He is new and old, and the scars still linger.
Yet he is…
He pauses as his foot leaves dry land and sizzles against the chill storm-wracked waves of the central bay, seeing another racing to meet him.
Four hooves.
Spinning halberd.
Skeletal visage.
Hecarim.
The warmth surges in his chest.
Ledros grins.
"I was already enough for that one," he murmurs, and he feels a surge of energy course into his arms as he draws his shield.
"Now I am more."
Lucian watches Senna as they continue through the city, aiming for one of its many lifts.
Her expression is strained and unfocused even as she carves another diving wraith from the sky.
He is unsure what the Goddess showed her, but something in his gut tells him she did not come to the same place of understanding as the others.
Or perhaps her connection to the ancient queen of Camavor and partial cause of the Black Mist had meant not even a god's protection was enough to turn the eyes of Viego's servants from her.
That… they needed to speak about that. So much had happened, so many distractions and threats.
Never time to sit down and discuss what this meant for her.
What it could mean if this was to ever come to an end.
The voice from his visions echoes in his mind again, alluring and ensnaring.
"There could always be another way to get all you want."
"Lucian!" Senna cries, drawing him from his momentary lapse of attention.
And he barely manages to duck out of the way as a familiar blade carves through the air, nearly cutting through his neck.
Rolling backward, he looks up and sees, leaning almost lazily at the mouth of the lift, Thresh waving his lantern back and forth slowly.
"Lovely day in Bilgewater, is it not?" Thresh sneers, a brief flash of a human face overtaking his skeletal countenance.
Diana surges towards him and is tackled away as a snapping and snarling jungle cat-like Ruined Vastaya lunges free of the Mist and tries to bite into her throat.
Yasuo batters aside a thrown axe as Draven and his retinue begin to pull themselves free, and Karthus rises, casting his hands wide.
"You dare come to this, second most hallowed place of our lord in the new world, and think you would escape notice!" the preacher demands.
"Hardly." Senna returns, her first shot slamming into his chest.
Then, the tide of chaos they had been avoiding or barely holding off their entire race through the city finally came crashing down on top of them.
Senna's cannon roars, lancing through Yasuo and bolstering him before crashing into the corrupted Noxian gladiators.
"You aim for the champ. You better not miss!" Draven shouts, leaping out of the detonation and sending both of his axes flying.
Senna glares up at him and batters both strikes aside before lunging toward him in her wraith form.
Karthus continues to chant and cast out his hands, the Mist writhing and surging with each gesture, attempting to assault them from all angles.
"Your quest is in vain." the preacher rasps, "She will return, and the world will be set right. Your resistance only prolongs this suffering existence!"
Yasuo batters two of the gladiators away and sends a tornado ripping toward the wraith, but a wall of mist blocks the strike.
Diana kicks the snarling vastaya off her, spins her blade, and launches a series of slashes with her blade. The vastaya darts, dives, and rolls, avoiding the slashes, attempting to bait her into following them away from the rest of the Sentinels, but she stands firm.
Lucian sends Thresh a glare, who chuckles as Senna slides to join him, "Shall we dance our old motions again?"
"False charm doesn't suit you," Senna notes, drawing the Mist into herself, but Lucian sees her wince, and Thresh chuckles darkly.
"I had thought to be a salve compared to the rather obnoxious company I was forced to bring." Thresh remarks, shaking his head in mock shame, "My apologies, I will return to form."
His blade lashes out, aimed to sink into Senna's shoulder, and Lucian fires, knocking it aside, a star of light slamming into Thresh's chest, who snarls in pain and leaps towards them both.
"Get to the lift," Lucian states, glancing at Senna before rolling out of the way of Thresh's next swing.
"Not without you," Senna states, slamming her cannon against the specter's spine, sending him stumbling as the relic stone burns his tattered garments and spectral flesh.
Lucian focuses back on Thresh, firing shot after shot toward him, but the Warden just laughs as he parries most of them with his spinning blade.
He falters, though, as a shot grazes his lantern, and Lucian darts forward, rolling through the spinning blade and shooting one of Thresh's wiping tendrils clean off. The Warden went quiet then, except for a deep bestial snarl as he swung the lantern around like a club, forcing Senna and Lucian to dodge away, separating them.
"Are you not tired of this?" Thresh asks, and the humanoid visage flairs briefly as he turns from Lucian to stare at Senna.
Senna glances back at the others, dancing around each other, lunging towards Draven and the Vastaya when either gets close, while shields written of wind and moonlight rose to deflect Karthus's song-backed magics.
Let go.
The voice seeps into her once again.
Chilling, alluring, and enraging all at once.
Let. Go.
She grits her teeth as Thresh turns to her, seeing an opening, and she lets go as his blade flies.
"You think yourself a paragon once again?" Hecarim challenges as their blades clash, and the force of the clash sends waves rippling beneath their feet.
"I am, no thought necessary." Ledros returns, "Was your ambition worth the price? Are you still content to be the mad king's attack dog?"
Hecarim snarls and rears, planting two hooves in the center of Ledros's chest, knocking him back, and he feels himself almost slip beneath the surf.
Concentration was key.
Hecarim lances forward, and his shield catches and bashes it aside, his blade carving up the horseman's chest.
His opponent screams and darts away, clutching at the wound as it burns and bites and then snuffs out.
And Ledros knows then there is nothing to redeem in the former Knight Commander's blackened soul.
"We have done this dance many times." Ledros states, sliding back and bashing his sword against his shield as Hecarim snarls and paces, hunting for an opening, "And more times than I can count, I have bested you."
"And so many others I have paraded your spear corpse!" Hecarim fires back, and he lifts his halberd to the sky, Black Mist pouring into him, and he seems to expand, growing larger and, at the same moment, looking more monstrous and more human all at once.
"I was worn down and hopeless then." Ledros challenges, "Now, as never before, am I more akin to the man…"
He pauses as he raises his blade and spins its broken length, the Hallow-touched flames burning unhindered atop the waves, hunting and consuming any Black Mist that tries to reach for him.
"That broke this very sword across your back as I killed you," he finishes, and he charges his opponent once again, and when their blades meet the seas, they shake with false thunder.
Senna's eyes burn green as she screams, and a wall of Black Mist erupts outwards from her.
It buffets everyone around her, and Lucian feels his heart drop into the pit of his stomach.
"No." he gasps, and Thresh shoots him a glance.
The entity chuckles, shaking his head, "I had thought she had more fight in her than that."
Lucian almost takes the bait, preparing to lunge towards Thresh and blow the sneering smirk off his face point-blank, but then, within the curtain of Mist roiling around Senna, pinpricks of gold and silvery blue begin to shine.
Senna rises, spectral and beautiful, the normal green glow of her eyes replaced with a vibrant blue.
"What-" Lucian begins, but Senna's gentle smile silences him.
She casts her hand towards him, and he finds himself shrouded in the scintillating mist. As Thresh lashes towards him, his blow is deflected.
Lucian finds himself buoyed up toward Senna, and he can't help but stare at her, her blue eyes gleaming beacons amidst the darkness.
"Are you okay?" he demands finally.
"We have no time." Senna returns, glancing up the cliff, "And they know that."
"I-" he begins, but she immediately cuts him off.
"Diana, Yasuo, follow!" she orders and races towards the lift.
"What is this mockery?!" Karthus demands.
Draven and his followers try to interpose themselves between her and the lift, but she is too swift, sliding amongst them like a serpent, their blades, and fists not finding any purchase on her sparkling, spectral form.
The ground shatters and quakes at Karthus's direction, yet they remain unhindered.
Yet Lucian can sense a strain in her, a guttering of the light in her eyes as she pushes herself further and further.
"Senna." he states, "What are you doing?"
"They can't have her." she returns, not looking at him, "And we don't have time for anything but our goal. He is coming."
He knew immediately what she meant.
Viego.
So he turns, firing shot after shot from the protective shroud that cradled him, allowing his companions to reach them though Diana hangs back as the Ruined press in all around them.
Yasuo glances around as the shroud folds over top of him.
"This is… disconcerting," he mutters.
Senna ignores him, and the three begin to race up the cliff, her limbs digging into the thick rock while they float, suspended seemingly by her very presence.
"Has she always been able to-" Yasuo begins, but Lucian shoots him a look and then calls out.
"Diana!"
"A moment!" she returns, gazing around at the surrounding Ruined unimpressed.
"It was foolish to try and stop us," she states, staring at Thresh.
"I do not fear you, Godling," he returns, "Though the fact the King's own pet god has seemingly slipped his leash does leave us at a bit of a disadvantage."
"More than a bit," Diana states, parrying Draven's latest throw without even acknowledging him.
"It would be even more foolish to follow us," she warns, and for a moment, her whole body began to gleam with silver light.
Thresh stands unmoved, yet the others, the vastaya, the Gladiators, and Karthus, all lunge towards her, urged by the whispers domineering them.
She leaps to meet them, her blade carving downward, and with her swing, a radiant beam of silver light fires down, burning and scattering them.
She leaps back, nimbly leaping after Senna, her feet managing to somehow find the smallest of foot holds as she ascends after them.
Thresh watches, his eyes seeming to find Lucian and Lucian alone, and for a brief moment, his human visage emerges once more. He gives the man a sneering wink as if he is aware of something Lucian is not and vanishes into the Mist.
Senna deposits him and Yasuo at the top of the cliff and falls to her knees, her spectral form receding to reveal the human within. Lucian darts to her as Diana touches down gently beside them.
"Are you alright?" Lucian asks, cupping her chin.
"I-" Senna begins, looking at him tiredly.
A cough cuts them off, and the quartet looks up to see a host of pirates staring down at them from the balconies of an impressive mansion.
And at their head, red locks flaring in the wind, a necklace of bone prominent on her chest and pistols drawn is the person they had come hunting for, Sarah Fortune.
She casts a look over them, a wry smile on her face, though her eyes widen slightly as she recognizes Yasuo and Lucian.
"It's about time you got here," she remarks.
Hecarim surges away from Ledros, preparing for another titanic clash, allowing the Black Mist to seep deeper and deeper into his being.
He hates the man before him more than he hated anyone, bar perhaps a small collection.
And the fact that Ledros, lowborn & overconfident, still stands, a grin on his lips, makes that hatred burn all the deeper.
He will kill him.
End his existence permanently this very day.
Somehow.
Ledros braces himself, looking infuriatingly nonplused.
Hecarim snarls and charges.
And then reels as a hooked blade punches from his shoulder from behind.
He whirls and catches sight of a bald Buhru man dressed in leather and sharkskin, bursting from the sea like a shark.
The man looks down, and two glowing blue eyes burn into Hecarim, a hate almost as powerful as his buffering against him.
"You look familiar." the man growls, and with a tug, he sends himself careening towards Hecarim, another blade poised to strike.
And scene!
We return to continued conflict, worry, and confusion… eventually.
Apologies, but I recently started commission work, and the latest SCP K-Contest just started, so I am going to be mighty preoccupied for the near future. However, I wanted to get one more chapter out before going on such an extended break.
Hope you enjoyed the chapter.
As always, comments, questions, and critiques are appreciated. This is VerBeeker, signing off!