Shadows of Equestria

Chapters

Chapter One: It Begins
Chapter Two: The Settling Sands
Chapter Three: Quick to the Draw, Quick to a Life

Chapter One: It Begins

In the dark of night, hurried footsteps and shallow breaths ruled the air, emanating from a single man, crazed and confused. The man was running. Running from a monster.

Cling, clang.

His pace was fierce and his breath drew sharp gasps of air, his feet leading him through the forest to the dusty little village he called home. He needed to get there. Needed to be safe. He couldn't die here. Not like this.

The air was cold and the ground was hard. Simply walking on it made him freeze, and his dampened feet throbbed in the cold. But he still had to run. Couldn't die. Not like this. Not now.

Cling, clang.

What had gone so wrong? What could have possibly happened? The memory of the past flashed through his mind, the events moving by as fast as he was. Still behind him. That infernal noise, always behind him.

Cling, clang.

He had been out hunting in a party of ten, desperate for food after the long and harsh winter. The animals had scattered into unreachable holes and the vegetation had frozen into decay. The village of Kalamanda was left to survive on what few caravans made it through the raging war outside its borders, between the city-states of Demacia and Noxus. Tools had fallen into disrepair, leaving them to farm with what little they had and their bare hands. The situation was grave in Kalamanda, and his party was one of many sent out to change the fortune of their dying village after the spring had finally come. But even the desperation and hope of fighting men couldn't withstand the terror of what greeted them in the forests.

It had begun with a sound. A small, clamoring sound. Almost enough to make the men think they were going mad. The gentle chime of chains knocking against each other. They forged onward, not dissuaded from their task. But it just kept getting louder.

Cling, clang.

It had been an hour since they had left their village. They had caught a squirrel. It wasn't nearly enough to reach their quota, but implication of catching even one animal was a great morale boost indeed.

The man who had caught it felt so, anyways, and said with an adjustment of his undergarments, "Ey, lads, I'ma go take a wizz in the bushes over there. Hold up for a sec." And so he left, and so they waited. And waited. And waited. Until the dusk rapidly approached and there was no sign of him.

One of the men spoke up. "Well, where the 'ell is 'e?"

Another responded. "I have no idea. If he's deserted and taken off with the squirrel, we'll make sure he never sets foot in Kalamanda again. But if something's happened to him..." His face contorted in deep thought.

Another man spoke up too. "Go look for 'im. You know where we're going. Search a good while and come to the clearing about two miles away. We'll meet ya' there."

The hunter nodded in affirmation and took off towards the direction their wayward hunter had wandered off to. The rest of the group wandered deeper into the forest, looking for any meals to snatch up on their way to the clearing. The chains came back.

Cling, clang.

The night rapidly approached, and the party was tired. With all of their bags weighted down with as much meat as they could possibly fit, they weren't even concerned about looking for any other animals. Every individual was only concerned with getting to the clearing to retrieve the two other hunters. There was no energy in any of their bodies to pay attention to anything else. So when the finally arrived at the clearing, it shouldn't have been a surprise that only five of their number remained.

"Where the hell did they go?!" shouted one of the men.

"I don't know," responded another, "but where's the other two? They was supposed to meet us here, even if there was only going to be the one. Where're they?"

"I've got a very bad feeling about this..."

A dull scraping came from the trees in front of them, punctuated by those damnable chains. The five stopped in silence, the sounds getting louder as they drew closer. And closer. And closer. Until they...

... stopped.

The group let out a huge breath in relief.

"I don't know what the hell that was," one of them started, "but we'd better leave before a bear or something gets u-!" He was cut short by a rusty hook shooting from the tree cover and pulling him back with it, out of sight. The last indication of him came mere seconds later, in the shocked horror of the moment. The agonized shriek of a tortured man, cut abruptly short as soon as it had begun.

The time for calm was long over. "Let's get the fuck out of here!" a hunter panicked, pointing down the way they came. And as he started to run, the hook flared out and severed his head with one simple swipe of its razor-sharp edge. The others took his warning and ran. Ran as fast as their legs would take them.

Through the forest and towards Kalamanda they ran, paying no heed to their fellows or their fates. Screams pierced the night. They ran and ran, running until they dropped, until there was only one left. Screams no longer came from behind. Slaughter could no longer be heard and imagined. It was only him. And he kept running, his sanity fractured and close to breaking. He had seen his comrades murdered in front of his eyes, and he was about to be next. So when all was at its worst, when he was at his breaking point, the chains came to his ears once more.

Cling, clang.

How he wished for them to stop. For just a moment. Just a second. But they wouldn't. And they just kept getting louder.

Then, as if it were a gift from the gods themselves, the lights of Kalamanda shone above the horizon. He was almost there. His body screamed, his lungs were depleted, but he had to try.

"Help!" he cried, hoping someone would hear him. "Help! Someone! Please!"

He ran faster, his legs close to giving out. His heart shot up. He could almost taste the ale of the Hardy Hammer Inn, when the sound stopped abruptly. He heaved in relief, and the taste came back. But the taste was different this time. Almost... coppery.

He was then pulled back by an incomprehensibly strong force, anchored by a gaping wound through his chest. When he reached his destination, he slammed into a tree, falling and painting the ground with his life fluids. He collapsed into a sunken heap of meat on the ground. No... He was so close...

With a Herculean effort, he crawled forward towards the light in his eyes, almost unbearably bright. Whether the light was from Kalamanda, he would have to find out. He felt something large and metal wrench itself from his body, only to be replaced by a cold, hard boot in his back. He struggled and moved for what seemed like hours, until, finally, his adrenaline burned and sputtered and left him without energy. It was done. He was finished.

After the boot was satisfied that the man would offer no more resistance, a hand dragged him gently and set him against the tree, almost caringly. The hand brushed his hair out of his drooping face, and forced his eyelids open to look at what had trapped him.

A skull, long and voracious, stared back, its mouth curled into a cruel smile. In a green, ethereal hand it held a lantern, illuminating the rest of its body. A long trenchcoat covered most of its features, with green smoke drifting from the collar like a raging inferno. The man knew what it was. Any youthful miscreant knew the god-awful nursery rhyme. He had only one thing to ask.

"Why?"

It said in a smooth, practiced voice, "Because you are valuable to me."

When the man's eyes shone with confusion, it continued. "What you are intrigues me. Who you are. Why you are. So, this is what I do." The thing suddenly grabbed the man's head, shoving its face towards him. "Do you know who I am, hunter?"

With a rasp, the hunter spoke. "The... Chain... Warden..." The creature looked satisfied.

"Just Thresh, between friends. After all, we're going to become very close, you and I. Bound in chains." It chuckled at its own joke.

Resignation turned to hatred, and the man summoned enough effort to spit blood on the thing's coat. To his dissatisfaction, the ghoulish reaper chuckled again. "That wasn't smart. After all, it's your eternity. Best to make a good impression." The creature picked up the hook that it had set down, linked with the rattling chain that began somewhere in the thing's coat.

With an effort that cost him his life, he feebly asked, "Where?" Thresh looked him straight in his slowly closing eyes and smiled a torturer's smile.

"To the Shadow Isles. Your soul is now mine." The man faded away from life, vaguely feeling himself lift up into the air before all went black and he was no more.

"Sweet dreams."

Jax. The Grandmaster-at-Arms.

Jax the Hero. Jax the Unknown. Jax the Champion. Jax the Liar. Jax the blablablabla. He'd had enough of titles for one life. Enough of the public's scrutinizing eye. Enough of war. Enough of death. He supposed that was why he was here, though. He could bear the fighting, as long as it rid himself of the latter, and the former, for that matter.

"Hey, Gragas! Another one! Hold up on the damn ice, though. It's like you want your drinks to be diluted trash."

"What was that, ya' three-fingered freak? I couldn't hear ya' from down there. Yer too light-weight."

"Yeah, yeah, you drunk pig. You're big enough to eat the keg. Now, hurry it up with the drinks. Some of us actually have other things to do that don't involve getting piss-drunk."

"Hah! Like you do more than that!"

"Hrm," Jax grunted, then sighed. He waited for his drink, downed it in one gulp, and let the fiery liquid rush down his throat. Then, with a single, swift movement, the purple-veiled champion slid off his chair and exited the bar.

Outside, the grand halls of the Institute of War awaited. Summoners and secretaries alike roamed about the busy walkways of the League headquarters, chattering and trading information amongst themselves. They all had somewhere to be. And so did Jax. The Grandmaster made to part the sea of bureaucrats.

In any other environment, the crowds would've parted like minnows to a shark for Jax, with fearful respect for his sheer size and intimidating appearance. Here, where champions came to-and-fro from all stretches of the world and beyond, the crowds parted in a different sort of respect for Jax. The sort of respect that came from knowing the man who singlehandedly took the League of Legends by storm, racking up a set of consecutive, fair wins that no other champion, Voidspawn or like, had or could ever match. The sort of respect that came from knowing that the man who could just as easily fight with no mercy, fought with a self-imposed handicap. The sort of respect that came with an air of reverence.

The sort of respect that Jax wished would just go away.

He hadn't made it halfway across the room from the champion-owned and operated bar-lounge when a youthful summoner, engrossed in a stack of papers, plowed head-first into Jax and fell to the floor in surprise. His purple hood fell back to reveal that the mage was indeed young, with hair barely beginning to even grace his chin. Jax sighed for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. He reached out a hand to help the summoner up.

"Here, kid. Watch where you're going."

The mage, without looking up, took his hand and papers and accepted Jax's aid. "Thank you, sir. Sorry, I was just studying for an upcoming Summoning. I wasn't really paying atte-!" When his eyes traveled up to see who had helped him, the summoner's heart jumped into his throat. "Y-you're..."

"Yeah, yeah. No autographs, kid."

"B-b-but..."

"Yeah, I know, disappointing. Now, run along. You have a match to get to, and so do I. We both have a timetable to keep." Jax brushed the summoner's shoulder off with dust and continued on his way, leaving the awestruck summoner stuttering behind him.

Everywhere he went, it seemed, the heavily trafficked halls of the Institute of War proved easy to walk, and he reached his summoning room at last. Without bated breath, he stepped through the marble portal to see four of his peers lazing about, waiting for their match to begin.

The first was Katarina. The "Sinister Blade". Sinister his ass. She was an assassin. He would've been hard-pressed to find an assassin who wasn't sinister in some way. Plus, he heard that she was going soft. No recent hits. No military campaigns for Noxus. Disappearing from the available roster for days on end. Along with that one Demacian, coincidentally. If that what people viewed as sinister, he wondered what he would've been viewed as back in the day.

The second was a Miss Sarah Fortune. Jax didn't buy the hogwash about her uniting the whole of Bilgewater. Yeah, great. Use lying, cheating and murder to unite a bunch of liars, cheaters and murderers. A fair cause. He scoffed. Another self-righteous white knight with their head in the clouds. Or in the ocean, rather.

The third, the Steam Golem of Zaun: the esteemed Blitzcrank. What could he say about the robot? Caught the short end of natural rights, when it came into sentience. When Zaun was involved, Jax had no doubts as to why. Thing was harmless enough, unless in a match with it. Then, it could secure your death or life, depending on whose side you were on. Jax hoped he could get more of the latter, this time. Sometimes, he thought it might have been best to let that crazy cyborg-man finish up the golem's programming.

And the last: the ever-placid Nasus. Curator of The League's Library. In all his days, Jax had never seen the jackal lose his cool. But he seemed close to it, right about then. Jax was no expert on aliens, but he could still tell if one was nervous, apparently. And Nasus was certainly that. Jax walked towards him first.

He laid a hand on his armored shoulder, making the massive champion jump. Must've been bad, whatever it was. "You alright?"

Nasus, upon seeing who it was, sighed and nodded. He said in a booming, smooth voice, "Ah, Jax. My apologies. I've been... distracted, as of late."

"By what?"

With any other person, the immortal might have passed on the explanation. But experience had taught Nasus well that Jax was more than a mere musclehead. Time and time again, the champion was astounded by the endless pool of knowledge Jax displayed when on the subject of magic, and he never ceased to disappoint. He knew far more than he let on. Regardless, Nasus elaborated. "It is... a ritual. A cure. A cure for madness."

"For madness? Your brother?"

Nasus nodded. "Indeed. My brother suffers the cruelest fate my foolishness could ever bestow, and I am... eager to right it. The rage Renekton harbors will never be dismissed, so long as the jaws of time have even the slightest morsel of evil within the cracks of its teeth. I hope to cure him with the powerful magic of the summoners so that he can rejoin my side once more as the being he once was."

"The summoners are a carefully selected group of highly trained and talented mages. Why are you nervous?"

"This ritual. The reliability of it is... tenuous. At best. This is an unrefined field of magic, and it has the potential to either cure my brother completely, or..." Jax's posture told the soul-eater to continue. Nasus swallowed the knot in his throat as he said the next words. "Destroy his mind irrevocably. I would be forced to kill him, out of mercy, and I will be left alone. Alone with the sands, as the last of my kind on this world." His eyes hardened. "Do you see, Grandmaster? This is the event that will define the rest of my life and I am powerless to intervene. I am trusting my brother's life to fate, when I am the one who left him in its hands so long ago. What else can I do but worry?"

Jax stood in silence for but a second, but his mind wandered through ages of the past, streaming past with visions of glory, loss, love, death, and every human emotion ever comprehended. In an instant, Jax knew all there was to say, yet there was only one thing to say.

"'Trust in your peers as you would trust in yourself.' Isn't that what you told me, a while back?" Nasus' eyes lit up ever so slightly.

"I wouldn't have guessed you would've remembered. You were so busy in being the whole team-"

"-that I forgot that I even had a team." Jax finished. "Yeah. I did. You'd be surprised at what I remember. The point is, you need to trust those around you. When you can't do things alone, you trust them and give them what you can, and they'll get you through. You've done far enough for the summoners with your brother. Now, it's time for you to do the same for us. Can you do that?"

Nasus' mouth curled into a smile. He stood from his sitting position, towering over Jax, and shook his hand. "Yes. I believe I can."

"That's what I thought, you big lug. Now, get on the platform. We have to get the sunmoners in our heads, first."

Renewed with energy, the two champions walked to the rest of the group, standing atop the intricate, stone summoner platform, with its duplicate located somewhere in their arena of choice.

"Done with your pep talk?" Katarina asked impatiently.

"Yeah, cut the snark, girlie," Jax replied, patiently awaiting his mental invasion. "I doubt your summoner wants to hear any of that."

"Who's to say he would? And besides, it's rather difficult not to be when you're bleeding from a dozen different wounds and the summoner refuses to return to the platform, on account of some inane task or another."

"Who's to say blood will only be coming from wounds, in your case?" Jax and Sarah snickered.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"THAT WAS A MENSTRUATION JEST, MEANT TO ALLUDE TO THE HORMONAL ASPECTS OF THE FEMALE MENSTRUAL CYCLE, SUCH AS A BITTER OR IRRITATED MOOD. THIS HAS BEEN DEEMED TO BE APPROPRIATELY HUMOROUS TO ALL BUT THE RECIEVING PARTY. HA HA HA HA."

"Thank you, Blitzcrank," the assassin said through gritted teeth, her face's expression betraying her words' meaning.

"CASE-IN-POINT," the robot intoned. Katarina made a rebuttal, but Jax hadn't caught it. He had already sat down and blocked out the outside to make way for his summoner.

And... there it was. The telltale feeling of having another conscious mind in yours. The pre-fight synchronization. And Jax did not like who was there.

"Hey, is this working? Is this Jax?" a voice spoke from his head, unmistakably from the summoner who Jax ran into not five minutes prior.

"Yeah, hello. What are you doing, kid?" he transmitted back.

"Summoning! I'm your summoner for today. The others said you were great with... inexperienced summoners, so I signed myself on for your next scheduled match, and here we are! I'm rather keen on seeing those forests get turned over to Ionia anyways." Jax hadn't even read what case his team was representing. "It was just a coincidence that we bumped into each other. Sorry about that. I was really distracted, because I think I've found something that could give us the edge in the match!"

"Yeah, kid? What is it?" Jax asked, not holding his breath. Always the newbies. Ever since that one kid...

"Look. I trust you're familiar with the time it takes to synchronize with a champion? And with the bit of magic we ourselves can lend to the fight?" The summoner gave Jax no time to respond. "Well, using a new summoning technique that I've created, I can lend a bit of my magic to dramatically decrease the amount of time it takes for me to interface with you, giving us the tactical and reactionary advantage over our opponents!" Jax wasn't very impressed.

"Did this yourself, huh?"

"Yep! Me and me alone!"

"And this is your... what? Tenth? Twelfth match?"

"My second! My first was with Graves, and he wasn't too happy with how I was performing, so I went to work on this for my second match!"

"So, this is your first time using this technique?"

"Er... yes!"

"A completely new summoning method, one that could potentially upset the balance of the entire League, and you're trying it out your second match, with me."

"Uh... yeah, that's pretty much spot-on."

"You're sure this will work?"

"Oh, yeah! It's been months since my last match with Graves! I worked out every single variable, with every single available quantum transmat equation I could find! It's flawless."

"'Available'?"

"Well, there were a few books..."

"Gods preserve me."

"Nonono! It's fine, it'll all be fine! L-look! The match is starting! Clear your head, and get lots of air. This'll only take a second."

Jax took his advice and sat still on the hard floor, waiting.

"Thirty seconds until summoning!" a regal, female voice sounded through the room.

Breathe in, breathe out. Relax. Nasus came to mind.

"Twenty seconds until summoning!"

Can't go wrong, won't go wrong. Practiced and refined. Those summoners with Renekton.

"Ten seconds until summoning!"

Second match. With him.

"Five!"

"Four!"

"Three!"

"Two!"

"One!"

Why did it always have to be him?

Jax felt himself whip through space itself, tearing through the gaps between dimensions and back into his own. All was normal, until he felt a tiny snake of energy carefully edge its way towards him, causing minor ripples that had the potential to become big problems. Slowly but steadily, the snake came towards him, getting closer and closer, until...

Bang! Three blobs of energy smashed into Jax at the same time, sending the snake flying and the space around them rippling in disturbance. The four sources of energy went careening away from Valoran, away from Runeterra, and, eventually, away from their solar system. Being drawn into another tide of energy that seemed to be sucking energy in. Bringing something back.

The four crashed with a sickening warp.

"Always there, brother! Pain everlasting! Purification through fire! A reckoning with steel!"

"The time has come, brother. Time for me to get you back. And time for you to be freed."

"It will never stop! The corruption of man will never stop its cancerous growth! A tumor on the purity of life! I will cut it out! Every single cell! Limb from limb!"

"I know you would, Renekton."

Nasus walked out of his brother's magical cell, shutting the enchanted door behind him and sighing deeply. Even after all this time, the pain in his heart never ceased. When all the failures in his life came to life in front of his eyes, it was all he could do to stop himself from breaking down.

He turned to the summoner watching his daily ritual of meeting with his brother, who turned to him in turn.

"Have the preparations been made?"

"Indeed they have. My summoners have been readying for weeks on end. We only await your command."

"Good. Then do it. I want to watch."

The summoner frowned slightly. "There isn't anything to watch. There's one burst of energy, then he falls asleep, then we await the results. It will take at least a few hours for the end result to become clear, and you have a match in a few minutes."

Nasus stared at the human with contempt. "It can wait. I want to watch this procedure. He is my brother, and he deserves my presence."

"And he got it. You were there when he was awake, and you'll be here when he wakes up. Let us do our duty, and you do yours. Get your mind off this whole thing. It'll take no longer than an hour, and you'll still have plenty of that fun waiting time to look forward to."

Nasus nearly exploded in silent fury at the man's audacity. "I have waited for a decade for my brother, and I would wait a thousand more to see him well. I. Will. Wait."

"You jeopardize this ritual by your being here! Can't you see it? Your brother writhes in rage at the very thought of you! We need him as docile as possible, and we only allowed your visit because of your damned insistence! You have contributed far more than we could've done alone for your brother, now let us see this through. You must go."

Nasus' anger could have destroyed the Institute of War with a single word, but he refused to let it out. The fury of a soul-eater was dangerous, indeed, and the immortal had spent much time refining his abilities. And, thankfully, his patience. "I... suppose if there is nothing more I can do. You've kept a close watch on him for all the time he's been here, and I know that I can expect no less from you. Very well, I will attend this match. I will return shortly after to my brother's side, and then, I will not leave until he is relieved of his burden." Nasus walked away from the large holding area of the Institute, dragging the great doors closed behind him. Alone, he whispered to the one person who could hear him. "One way or another." Faintly, he could hear Renekton roar from behind him.

After he had left, the summoner turned to his colleagues and silently signaled for them to get into position. It would take a few minutes for Renekton to calm down, then they would start. They had taken great precautions in enchanting the cell to hold the great butcher, including the foresight in allowing it to be easily receptive to their magic. Such reception they would use to channel their magic into Renekton's body, hopefully reversing a lifetime's worth of corruption and anger. The chronomage himself had worked with the summoners and Nasus, working to create the spell that would, in theory, revert a mind back to a past state while still retaining any cerebral growth the subject might have obtained. They had tested incredibly early versions of the spell on criminals, with mixed results, but many advances had been made since then, and they were as ready for Renekton as they would ever be. What could go wrong, the optimistics of them asked.

They channeled as one, each summoner feeling the energy build up around them as they worked in tandem. It was as if an enormous pressure had formed in the room, and everyone could feel its crushing influence. Then, in the span of a millisecond, they collapsed it all on Renekton.

The soul-eater roared and thrashed in fury, feeling the assault on his mind and working desperately to fight it. A soul-eater's mind was more than a match for any feeble human's mind; his creators had made sure of that. But the combined power of the summoners was enough to keep Renekton down, and continue to funnel their energies into Renekton's body.

The spell continued for several minutes, never waning, until the lead summoner noticed a slight anomaly in the magical apparatus all the summoners operated on. Whether it was summoning, or spells integrated with the structure like this one, all magic was confined to the same web of energy that made it possible for synchronized casting. The various summoners pondered this momentarily, and their concern grew greater as it snaked irritatingly close to their string of energy. Closer and closer it went, until they eventually realized...

"It's going to interfere with the spell matrix!" a summoner exclaimed in realization. Panic grew throughout the group, and before they could stop channeling, the energy intertwined with their retreating magics and reacted spectacularly. It was as if several tendrils of webs had caught fire and burned like a sun before going out in a second. When the light had dissipated, the summoners had only themselves and an empty cell to greet them.

"Renekton is gone!" One of the summoners exclaimed, and the rest looked up in horror to confirm the statement. Inside the chamber, rune-protected and magically sealed to the point of obsession, Renekton was nowhere to be seen. All that remained was a dull, smoking set of chains and a blackened circle on the floor.

The entire room erupted with sound. What happened? What would the Institute do? What would happen to them? What had breached their defenses?

And all the lead summoner could think of, through all the confusion, was, "What would Nasus think?"

High in the skies above Demacia, stone wings with the techmaturgic prowess of a thousand years' research running through its veins beat through the air like a dragon -- slow, yet purposeful. The wings belonged to a creature the size of a large wyvern, though it was no ordinary creature. It was the creation of who was once the most skilled artificer in all of Demacia: the craftsman Durand.

He was once the most in-demand artisan in his field, moving from city-state to city-state to grant those with Demacia's favor with great, lumbering guardians of stone and metal. They never tired. Never rested. And those who attacked the settlements were met with a swift, cold death. Such was the efficiency of Durand, whose creations could topple a Noxian squadron single-handedly.

Unfortunately, these automatons suffered a problem. They were never truly sentient. They could never and would never bend their will to the Demacian command, making them unsuited for anything other than their programmed purpose: to defend Demacia and all its colonies. Durand was always trying to improve upon his work, one golem at a time. And, each time, the creations became more and more ingenious, capable of guarding their quarries in more clever and cunning ways. But still, they lacked thought. True, rational thought. But the artificer kept trying, such as he was, as an artist, of sorts. Using a testing canvas before he moved on to true pieces. Then, he perished. Assassinated by the enemies of his home country. Through the creature's defense, just atop a nondescript cliff overlooking Demacia, the path home clearly visible.

The automaton could clearly remember his master's words: "Look, there, Galio. Home. Finally. How I've missed it. And don't lie. You know I hate it when you do. I know you've missed it too." And those were the last words he had spoken, before the blade of a Noxian pierced his throat.

And here he had come again, to the site of his master's death. Galio, the blank canvas. Durand's magnum opus. His greatest creation... and his greatest failure.

Galio flapped his wings harder and harder to slow his descent before stopping beside an old, rickety bridge that crossed a gap in the cliff edge. Funny, the gargoyle mused. That bridge was in good condition last I had seen it. Truth be told, he hadn't a clue how long time had passed since Durand had died. Such was how engrossed he was in his own misery.

And there, he saw it. Right beside the large, stone marker that he had called his perch for so many years. A small, gray stone tablet, and a bed of dirt beside it. He had always deserved better, his master. But since the earth had long since claimed Durand, and his bones were likely as frail as the particles of dirt atop them, Galio had always felt it best to leave him where he lay. He couldn't bear to open new wounds.

The Grave of Durand, Master Artificer. That was what the gravestone read, carved an inch deep. Galio had done it all himself. After he had driven the assassins away, he dug the grave, carved the stone -- all of it. He did it himself, and buried what he didn't use with his master. And then he hadn't been back since. He didn't know why. Perhaps, with the newly forged truce between Noxus and Demacia, Galio had found himself irritatingly low on diplomatic matters to settle in the Rift. So, of all times, he felt that now was as good a time as any to visit, as it were. Visit the monument to his shame.

Galio bowed his head in respect under the shade of the trees, his chiseled chin almost scraping against the dirt in deference. Whatever Durand had done to give him emotions, he had done a damned good job on "sorrow". Slowly but surely, the gargoyle reached for the headstone and pulled it from its ditch, only to find what he was looking for: a large, brown satchel, filled with an artificer's tools of the trade. Enchanting stones, hammers, chisels, portable spell matrices; it was everything an artificer needed to make their own living creation. What interested him was Durand's secret box. A small thing -- he could crush it in his palm -- and Durand would never let anyone see inside it. His last secret. And it would die with him; Galio would see to that. At the bottom of the bag, the gargoyle scooped up the box and clutched it tightly in his palm. If he died, they would have to get a mining crew to get the box out of his claws. Then, closing the bag and rolling the stone back into place, Galio gave a longing look towards his master's final resting place and lumbered over to the stone pedestal and took his place there, just as he had long ago.

He stood there for a long time, gazing into the sunset and contemplating the present, when eventually, he said, "'A guardian is always prepared.' You told me that. Long ago. And I betrayed even that oath. I wasn't fast enough. Wasn't strong enough. I could argue your workmanship or your skill in your craft, but we both know that would be just scapegoating. You gave me life for a reason: to be better than the rest. And I failed to be that, despite everything. So I've come to make amends. And to say goodbye.

"I failed to protect you in life, so I will protect you in death. Your secrets shall die with me, and not even the forces of the Void itself will keep me from my duty. You may not have peace for as long as your disappointment lives, but I will at least give you this. Goodbye, Durand. Master." And, with that, Galio took flight, and began to make his way back to the Institute.

Halfway there, Galio felt a strange stirring in the claw that housed the box. "Strange" turned to full-on "nerve-wracking" and the box began to glow and vibrate with urgency as they neared the Institute. Galio was enough an expert in his role to know what it was doing; it was detecting magic. An absurd amount, judging by the rattling it was making. But Galio refused to let go, keeping his promise to his architect. Though the rattling shook his stone claw and the light that it made pierced his vision, the sentinel's grip kept firm.

When it began to glow so brightly it blinded him, Galio let his infallible memory lead the way. When it began to shake so violently he felt pebbles chipping from his body, Galio steeled his resolve. When its energies began to melt through the stone and metal plating of his body, he summoned his magical capabilities to keep it contained. Closer and closer he came to the Institute of War, until, like an immovable object to an unstoppable force, when the box began dragging him through galaxies and across dimensions, Galio did naught but hold on and let it go where it pleased.

Because a guardian was always prepared for his charge. Even if it meant paying with his life.

The sun rose in the east, as it always did. The morning roosters crowed to the fields, and the workers poured themselves coffee and ate their morning breakfast.

But in the throne room of Canterlot, capital of Equestria, the day had begun many hours prior.

Princess Celestia, regal in her majesty and as radiant as the sun, had gone through so many piles of paperwork that she could swear her horn was getting tired. And she still had a few to go.

As the diarch of the day, she naturally got the short end of the workload stick in comparison to her sister's. Which meant she got an infinite number of proposals in her court while she multitasked on the proposals in paper. So it was for this reason, after dealing with dozens of politicians and bureaucrats already, she got her hopes up for a guard who burst through the door, hurried and panting. Her hopes came crashing down soon after.

"News from Northern Equestria! Uh... your highness." The guard was sweating beneath his golden armor. The news had to be important.

"Yes?" she inquired calmly.

"I am simply to tell you that it has returned."

She gasped out of shock. Of all times, now? She turned quickly to another guard.

"Find Princess Cadence and Shining Armor."

The guard nodded resolutely. "Yes, your highness."

Celestia took up a letter and began to write. My dearest Twilight...

"Your highness, a moment?" An old, wise voice came from her side. It was her advisor. The unicorn Noteworthy. He had served through thick and thin, so she regarded him with much respect and deference towards some parts of his judgement.

"Yes, Noteworthy? What is it?"

"Do you feel it, Princess? The air is... different, somehow."

Celestia regarded her environment for a moment. "Yes, I do. But wouldn't you agree that is because of our recent... developement?"

"Yes, perhaps. But this doesn't feel... Equestrian. It is strange."

"Noted, my dear advisor, but I hardly think we can afford to allocate further resources to this other presence, provided it is tangible. We have our hooves full with this predicament as it is."

"Very well. As you were, princess." And he returned to his stack of papers.

Celestia returned to her letter, but it halfway through it when she felt a nagging in the back of her mind. Like Noteworthy was onto something. Like maybe this strange feeling actually had merit.

Like there was something else in Equestria.

Author's Note

Constructive criticism appreciated and encouraged. It's certainly been a while, so mind the rust.

Chapter Two: The Settling Sands

"Breathe in and out, acolyte. You need all the air you can get."

"Damn, the raw power you're drawing is insane! No wonder you got in."

"Watch your energy fluctuations, acolyte! Do you want to blow up the entirety of the Augorium?"

"The accursed devil's cutting through our forces like paper! Do something, Vanguard!"

"Reginald!"

Jax woke abruptly with a pounding headache, his techmaturgical mask planted firmly in the ground. The wrinkles in his clothes drooped onto a muddy ground, with vibrant, green vegetation all around him. His heart was pounding a hole through his chest. Oxygen came in and out of his nose like the gusts of a great wind. Slowly and cautiously, he stood up.

Everything seemed to be in order. Arms in place, knees in check, head on the right side; the kid had gotten that right, at least. But where was he? What time was it? He looked to the canopy for his surroundings, but found that the fauna blocked all but a few choice rays of light through, leaving him in the intimidating dusk of the forests without a will, nor a way.

The forests chirped with life around him as the animals of the ecosystem chattered away, discussing their new arrival. The predators glared at the newcomer with hungry eyes and intelligent hesitation, just waiting for the right moment to test their mettle. The lower mammals took little notice, either completely oblivious or indifferent altogether. The lowest of life-forms scurried away and fled at the mere sight of the purple interloper, fearing for their short and pitiful lives. Even the plants around him seemed to have some sort of opinion already.

Brushing himself off with dirt and insects, he plucked up his fallen lamppost and strung it across his back. He checked his concealed leather pack for supplies. He still seemed to have one health potion left. He couldn't remember when he had bought it. Must've been weeks ago. Closing the pack, he then reached for a canteen at his belt and took a good, long whiff of it. The smell was bitter and pungent, with just a hint of rye grain remaining. Great. Just what he needed out in the middle of nowhere. Not water, but a canteen filled with expired, Graggy-brand whiskey. With a bit more vehemence than usual, he massaged his head and cursed his alcoholic habits.

"Sod it all," he moaned into the deep, dark, empty forest.

"What was that, Grandmaster?" the forest inquired back.

The warrior jumped in place an spun around quickly, only to see a pair of glowing red eyes atop a tree staring back at him, curiously.

"Who are you? Show yourself!" Jax demanded. His heart was pounding again. He quickly and subtly moved a hand to his lamp.

"As you wish," the voice replied, and out came a stone gargoyle of dark blue and yellow, with an underbite that would make Sejuani's boar look like a scholar. No one could presume to know the mind of Durand, but Jax was certainly not one given to underestimating anyone. The gargoyle was no Piltover scientist, but he could wager that he was certainly no mindless construct. He could practically see the magic teeming from the gargoyle's hextech skin. The massive creature flapped its mighty wings in descent before coming to a rest at Jax's feet.

"Galio, at your service."

"Yeah, I know who you are. I've seen you around."

"And I, you. You've made quite a name for yourself around the Institute, Grandmaster-at-Arms." Galio flashed a knowing grin at the unamused mercenary.

"Just Jax, for now, thanks. How did you get here?" The gargoyle simply raised and opened his hand in response, revealing a small, black box, not three inches around.

"Durand's. A small trinket from his past. Given his line of work, I'd be given to assume he found its contents in some magical ruin somewhere. I had journeyed back to Durand to reclaim it when it became... restless near the Institute."

"So you think it brought us wherever we are?"

"I don't think so. I know so. What I don't know is why it reacted so harshly."

After thinking for a second, Jax responded, "I really wouldn't know."

"Hrm..."

"Hey, how'd you find me, by the way? This place looks like a labyrinth."

Galio pointed to a spot near Jax. "I landed there when we were transported. You were next to me, out cold."

"Really? No offense, but it seems a bit far-fetched."

The gargoyle raised an eyebrow. "Is it really? Perhaps a bit unlikely, but given that I've seen to your well-being for the past few days, I believe that your judgements are misplaced."

Now it was Jax's turn to raise an eyebrow. "A few days? How long?"

"Two to three days. Maximum." At Jax's nearly voiced apprehension, "I have never slept a day in my existence. Is it really such a leap that I can withstand guarding you for a mere two days?"

Jax pondered that for just a moment. "Two to three days, huh? Well, I... guess I appreciate that. I suppose I can expect no less from the Demacian standard, huh?"

"Demacian standard? Oh, no. Think of it simply as a comrade's duty." The gargoyle gave an earnest smile. Jax frowned in silence before quickly shaking it off and giving an aloof grunt of acknowledgement. "Which drives me to ask as well: what brought you here?"

The warrior sighed as his mind turned to the day's events. "Some new kid full of ambition and hot air. Wanted to revolutionize the League with a brand new summoning technique and ends up ejecting himself from my mind and me from the Institute. After this, who knows what the kid's future'll be." Jax cradled his head in exhaustion with a hint of guilt as Galio thought intently.

"No... no, that's not it..." he muttered.

"What?" Jax asked.

"Oh, yes. Your summoner. Very apologetic about his failure, but it wasn't expressly his fault. It may have disjointed you from the main summoning grid, but that wouldn't have summoned you in a completely different area. At worst, it would have disconnected his consciousness from yours, as you said. No, my being is half magic. I would know if that were the case. But this," he held up the box, "was reacting to something far more powerful than a botched summoning."

"That's rather distressing." Jax almost sighed again. He was going to run out of oxygen at this rate. And alcohol, if he kept getting news like that.

"Yes, I know. But we won't get anything done standing here." He took to the air as a means of letting Jax know his intentions.

Jax examined his surroundings again before focusing his and Galio's attention up towards the sky. "See anything interesting up there? Maybe some sort of marker about where we are?"

Galio gave another grin. "I've not a clue where we are, but, as for something interesting, I located a river not far from here."

"And what do you suggest?"

"The mightiest of civilizations began from humble roots, and the earliest nomadic tribes of Valoran were known to settle around advantageous geographical landmarks. The Noxians, the discreet plains. The Demacians, the flowing ocean. The Ionians, the hidden, foggy mountain peaks."

"So you want us to follow the river downstream?"

"Precisely, yes."

"Then just say that. I'll pass on the geography lessons."

"As you wish, Grandmaster."

"Don't do that."

"Very well, Armsmaster."

Jax swallowed a knot, bit his tongue and gestured for Galio to follow. For a restless automaton, "not far from here" could mean any number of things. So he prepared for the long haul. Who knew what they would find on the way there. He took a swig from his canteen, blanched, and dumped its contents on the forest floor.

"Hey, think the river water's clean?"

"And another damned snake!" Jax cursed as he stepped over another slithering serpent. "If I see another of those accursed things, I'll have it for dinner!"

The forest seemed to be mocking them, now. Since they had left the clearing that they had arrived in, the forest seemed to have picked up on every little quirk that annoyed him and proceeded to make his life a living hell.

"It's bullshit, by- agh!" Jax made an angered, strangled noise in his throat as another hidden tree branch blindsided him. Galio graciously pulled it out of Jax's way. The tree frequency had become far too high to continue flight, so he settled for traveling from branch to branch like a heavier, more artificial bird.

"I'm no expert on organic needs and tendencies, but I'd recommend you contain your temper before you run out of energy for traveling."

"I have oodles of energy. I'm tempted to show the forest just how much." Jax growled through his teeth. The forest had grown silent.

"Jax..." Galio warned. The grasshoppers had stopped chirping.

"No! I mean it! I am just about ready to unleash hell on these damn trees, these damn snakes, this damn mud that keeps getting in my boots..." Leaves had suddenly stopped rustling.

"Silence yourself, fool!" Galio urgently demanded.

"I can hear everything in this forest, and everything is making a damned joke of my misery! I've just about had it!"

"Then you didn't hear the roaring getting closer as we walked?" The gargoyle chastised. Jax shut his mouth.

The sound of metal and bone against tree became prevalent in the air, as well as the crazed roars of a monster unlike any the forest had ever seen. Jax had no idea how he'd missed it. It was a cacophony of rage and anger, making the environment itself tremble in fear as the sounds grew more and more furious. Jax drew his companion's attention and beckoned him to his side.

"The hell is that?"

"No idea," Galio whispered back. "We should look for it. It might be near the river, and if it is, it would be fruitful to formulate a plan first."

"Are you completely insane? Who knows what that thing is? It could be a dragon with its unnatural hearing," Jax replied fervently, before stopping for a moment and flicking himself in the head. "How silly of me to ask. We weren't inducted into the League for nothing. What's the plan for approach?"

"I will scout from the sky. You continue on foot, and avoid making a sound. Proceed with caution." Galio silently scaled the trees to the open sky, and flew closer to the source of the chaos.

Jax creeped closer, sticking to the much-abhorred shrubbery even has it scrubbed against his skin like a thousand paper cuts. And that was through his robes. Closer and closer he came, the sounds growing louder and louder, before he realized that he wasn't the only one moving forward. He dived out of his previous path stealthily, preferring a more secluded and out-of-the-way vantage point. Eventually, he came to the source.

A large, reptilian creature snarled and roared into the darkness, carving a path of destruction through the forest with a curved blade that did not originate from Runeterra. His maw dripped with blood and his skin was dirtied and devastated. Even without looking at the creature, Jax knew from the trail of dead creatures and animals who this was.

The dull flapping of wings came to Jax's ears, and Galio was by his side.

"The forest looks as if it's suffered a wound, from the sky," he whispered to the lamppost-wielding warrior.

"I know," Jax replied quietly. "I think I know what the source of your magic disruption was."

"Really? And that is?"

Jax pointed to the alligator-like creature. "Renekton. You know of him?" Galio nodded. "The genius summoners found a cure for whatever happened to him. They did a spell for it, and they must have screwed it up somehow. Pretty typical, honestly." Jax was assured of the problem's roots being solved already. Galio wasn't quite as sure.

"The box reacts," he held up a slightly glowing black box, "but it's not as intense. This wasn't the source. Something else happened."

"How can you know?"

Galio pointed through the darkness. "Because I can set it off. See?" He channeled a bit of magic, but it increased the glowing only slightly. Then, he abruptly stopped. "But that isn't the current problem."

"Then... what is?"

"The fact that you still aren't paying attention." The carnage had grown silent.

"I can smell you!" A roar of fury and joyful malice came from the clearing, followed by frenzied steps and the sound of metal against wood.

Galio reacted. "We're leaving. Now." He grabbed Jax by the armpits and took off straight through the trees, bursting into the sky in a flurry of leaves and splinters. Jax let out a cry of surprise, then warning as a reptilian claw shot out from the foliage and took hold of Galio in mid-flight. He buckled immediately.

"Argh! Off of me, creature!" Galio shouted in anger. He sent a blast of energy through to his leg, only to have Renekton cackle in amusement and transition to his wing.

"Carnage!" the soul-eater bellowed, and drove them to the ground. He swung with his visceral blade, missing Jax by inches due to the rocking and shaking of their pilot. They were going down fast. He could see the river. Unsheathing his weapon, he made a decision.

"Let me go!" Jax ordered. Galio didn't argue. Galio let his legs droop, and Jax, in one swift movement, grabbed his lamppost and drove the pole across their passenger's open maw.

Renekton roared in shocked anger and let go of Galio's wing instinctually. The two of them fell from the sky at an unreal pace. Steeling himself, Jax took hold of both sides of his weapon on both sides of Renekton's head. He hooked the flailing monster's legs with his own, drove his weight into the soul-eater's back, and rode the crashing plane straight into riverboat rafting. The two collapsed into the water with a brutal splash, forcing Jax to release his hold of Renekton and ride the current.

The rocks and water bashed and battered at him, testing every inch of his constitution and vitality. Then, with the hand of an angry god, he was picked up like a kitten and thrown against a tree in a riverside forest clearing, nearly causing the thing to unroot. He nearly coughed up a lung into his mask. Renekton roared behind him. Alligator was fast out of the water. Who would have guessed?

He reached into his pack as quickly as possible and downed the potion inside like a starved hobo, casting aside his mask in little time. The forest was a lot darker without Runeterra's finest hextech techmaturgy to help him see. He hefted his lamppost up in preparation.

"Fight me again, mercenary! See what happens!" Renekton grinned terribly and lifted his own weapon in anticipation. Jax only grunted in response before charging into the fray.

Renekton came at him with a flurry of swings. Easy enough to dodge. Every fight in the Fields of Justice had gone this way, but this time was different. His usual dodge into counterattack was interrupted by a prepared whip of the tail, sending Jax straight into the path of a blade that was only blocked by years of experience and a sharp reaction time. The hardened, metal pole didn't hurt, either. This was wrong. Renekton never anticipated. He only acted. He was more... cunning, somehow.

Having seen Jax block the blow, Renekton snarled and planted a kick in his side, sending the champion reeling. He immediately followed up with a relentless torrent of swipes, putting the now-unmasked warrior on the defensive. Then, correctly anticipating his opponent's next attack, Jax parried a downwards strike and drove his shoulder into the Butcher's chest, driving the two of them deep into the forest...

... and straight off a hill. The duelists tumbled and fought the whole way, neither close enough to use their weapons. Renekton clawed and bit at the veteran, but found him irritatingly wiry and mobile. Jax knew his body well, and he knew exactly how to maneuver it. As soon as the ground became flat, Jax righted himself and landed a crucial elbow to the back of Renekton's head, eliciting a pained growl from the latter and allowing him to get a grip on Jax's robes. He dislodged the purple-clad annoyance from his back once again and threw him aside, which, to his endless rage, was landed successfully by the mercenary.

The soul-eater's world was not all mindless rage, however, and he soon found a plan forming in his head. The ledge behind his opponent looked oddly appealing...

Jax took the initiative. He leaped at his enraged opponent, bashing Renekton's skull in mid-flight and landing into a stunning blow with the base of his staff in quick succession. Jax's foot barely found purchase as his maneuver had took him straight to the edge of the pit. His mind screamed at him to find better footing immediately.

Renekton took his chance. He charged at the Grandmaster-at-Arms, blade raised and ready, and, as predicted, the veteran warrior skillfully sidestepped and landed a swift blow to the Butcher's back. Down he went off the steep ledge, but not without easily hooking Jax's clothing and positioning him below the soul-eater's own body.

Of course, that's how it should have gone. What neither Renekton nor his victim could have counted on was the impossibly dextrous hook flaring out from the trees above and ensnaring Jax, leaving Renekton falling alone into a pit of thickly grown, sickly blue flowers. His roars of anguish only ceased when he reached the bottom.

Silence now ruled.

Several minutes later, Jax still hung, tethered by a rusted, metal chain connected somewhere in the trees. He had no clue what had saved him, but he had a feeling. And judging by the penetrating silence, it had most definitely saved him. What he couldn't comprehend was why. Galio, maybe? But him? Jax didn't know what was going on.

Carefully, Jax unhooked himself and began his ascent, confident of the chain's strength.

As long as something didn't pull it out from under him.

He climbed the chain as quickly as possible.

At the top, he found it connected to the large branch of a tree, precariously overlooking the enormous pit. It was perfect vantage point of all their locations of fighting, from the top of the hill to the edge of the pit. The sun shone through a small opening between the treetops. On the side of the tree, however, was the thing that interested him most. It was a crudely carved arrow pointing westward, judging by the sun, with the word, "town" underneath. Soon after, the flapping of wings came to Jax's ears, and Galio was behind him. The sentinel had Jax's mask in his claw.

"I believe this is yours."

"Thanks." Jax secured it in place, and the forest was once again simple to navigate. Well, not exactly simple, but it was brighter.

"I was worried that you wouldn't make it out of that one, Armsmaster. I tried to help, but you fought and moved far too quickly for me to find you."

"Yeah." Jax could still feel his spine snapping on the tree. "Hey, you see this?"

"Indeed I do." Galio looked at it contemplatively.

"What do you think we should do about it?" Jax asked.

Galio thought for only a moment before replying, "I think we should follow it."

Jax had a feeling that they should've, but he couldn't help but feel like he was being led into something. "Are you positive? You see that?" He pointed at the chain. "You know who this is. Still think we should trust the message in the middle of a deep, dark forest? Who knows what it could mean?"

"We were going to follow the river anyways. It's all we have. And it's more than he will have." Galio pointed downwards.

Jax hesitated, but yielded. "Then I suppose we should go. We only have a few hours of daylight."

"Shall we fly, then?"

Jax grimaced. "Yeah, no." He hated flying. Hated those Zaunite blimps. Hated falling. Just hated getting off the ground.

Galio shrugged and just started flying. "Very well. I will lead. Civilization awaits." Jax dropped down the tree with a grunt and started walking after him.

Night had fallen in the forest. Wolves of wood and creatures from hell howled and screamed into the dark air, echoing through the trees. And in the battleground on which two giants had clashed, one stirred from his slumber at the bottom of an overgrown pit.

Not only did he stir from physical unconsciousness, but he found his existence filled with pain and regret. The rage of a thousand men exploded in his mind, simultaneously filled with terror as his blade found their throats. He felt the memories of a millennia of existence surge into him, flooding his brain with data. The smell of the desert, the gentle silence of the library, the justice of his post; they were all things he once held dear. But vengeance had found his mind and ripped it asunder. But apart, it was no more.

The pieces of a broken soul were now mended. Dilated, reptilian pupils widened and evened out, filled with confusion and intelligence. His breath became labored and erratic as the energies of a soul-eater came rushing back as he absorbed the life from the flowers around him.

Renekton was awake.

Author's Note

I realize that this be may be construed as a long wait by some for a measly 3000-word or so chapter, and I apologize. But with school and League and such, I really only find the inspiration on weekends. So there. I don't update because I am lazy.

Chapter Three: Quick to the Draw, Quick to a Life

"Do you see it, brother? The grand undertaking of our kind, and we are its chosen guardians."

"No entry for the wicked."

"Stand back, brother! You know not what has taken you!"

"Everything will burn! Every last living being on this planet will be gutted! I will see this Library razed to the ground! And you, brother! I will keep your head as a trophy!"

Renekton's claw lurched over the ledge of the enormous pit, pulling his massive form over and onto the muddy ground of the forest floor. He stabbed his weapon into the ground and dragged himself forward, coming to a stop as he fell forward in exhaustion, flipping over to gaze into the night sky.

Through the small opening in the trees, the twinkling stars of this world looked like shining diamonds in the sky, perfect and beautiful in all their serenity. He had never taken the time to look upon the stars in Runeterra, and he feared he never would, but just looking into the void left him with memories long past. Of him and his brother on the greatest balcony in all his world, simply talking and discussing those ever-present stars. Once, he could have named them all. Now, the only memories he had were ones he did not wish to keep.

The thoughts in his mind tossed and turned like the thrashing of a trapped animal. The years of his life passed in an instant, leaving him short of breath and lacking with concentration as the forest around him moved on for what seemed like hours. The image of Nasus was one to remain constant, though. Almost like it was mocking him for his failures. Mocking him for a singular, stark truth. He had ruined it all. He had lost control and laid waste to his world. Damn it all, he was a monster.

He knew where he was. Not the specifics, but he knew enough. He was on a different world. He had experienced that feeling before. But the circumstances in which he came to be transported were... fuzzy, to say the least. The last several decades for him had been fuzzy. And it was only now did he see the world with true color.

While most would describe the forest as dreary and unwelcoming, Renekton found it fascinating and wonderful. The pure vibrancy and liveliness of his surroundings astonished him, now that he simply had the sense of mind to look. Everything was new, and he absorbed it all in a second.

Then, a peculiar scent wafted to his nostrils. A familiar scent. Dust and sweat and old, powerful magic. A few hours old. Jax and Galio, if his flagging memory served. That feeling of rage bubbled up in his stomach, but the soul-eater forced it down with a vengeance. He felt only remorse for his actions and what he had become, and he sought only to rectify his mistakes. He made his decision in an instant. He would follow the pair. And he would... apologize, perhaps? No, not quite. A century of suppressed rage and torment and carnage was not something to be undervalued with a simple apology. His heart ached with indecision. He would have plenty of time to think about it on the way there. He was already hours behind.

He turned in the direction the two had wandered off to before stopping and turning to look back at the pit for a moment. Overgrown. Probably the formation of wayward space debris. But how did he come to be there? He remembered the fight very vaguely. He remembered Jax and himself falling in, but then he was alone. Something had grabbed Jax. He looked around with all manner of confusion, but nothing was there. He found nothing hanging above the pit as Jax had.

It was as silent as the grave.

Hours had passed, yet Renekton still traveled restlessly. The pair had made an absurd amount of distance -- in no small part due to their combined pool of stamina. Renekton was no slouch, however, and he managed an even greater pace, with no signs of slowing. Their path had taken them alongside the river he had the pleasure of swimming in, and so it was a simple matter to both follow their scent and the tracks they made in the moist ground. Or, rather, Jax's tracks. The mercernary was certainly not one given to subtlety, but that didn't mean the soul-eater hasn't noticed the marks made by the gargoyle on the trees, clutching a branch like a common house parrot.

Renekton remembered a peer of his quite similar to that. As the keeper of the capital bell-tower, the avian soul-eater was responsible for keeping it fresh and well-kept, driving away miscreants and other, more troublesome birds from atop his perch on the tower. "They're like small children," he had told him. "You must drive them off once or twice, then eat a few to make sure they get the message." Rest assured, no miscreants or birds deemed to cause harm to the bell-tower after that.

Renekton kept well to the side of the path, his green skin blending flawlessly with the fauna of his surroundings as he kept low to the ground on all fours. He took special care to maintain his pace yet still remain undetectable, for the sole purpose of him finding his quarries. It was a tenuous situation. What if Jax was to attack first? He would certainly have to defend himself, but he wasn't sure if his conscience could take another ill-conceived fight. How would he explain himself? How could he explain himself? Nasus would've known. His brother was always the more cool and collected of the two of them, and his way around social conventions was only matched by the way Renekton knew his way around a battle. No doubt, though, Nasus had learned how to deal with him since since he had turned... feral. He had doubts that he could best his brother if they were to come to blows. Or anyone, for that matter. He had become predictable in his anger. Predictability in war was often punished by loss. It was time to adapt.

Hence why he played the cloak-and-dagger. No sense in bombastically parading through the jungle when one could prowl and plan instead. He found no issue with it so far, as a small plant futilely tried to bite him through his tough, reptilian hide. A strange ecosystem, to be certain, but nothing he couldn't handle with ease. He crushed it with a single foot. He heard it squeal satisfyingly, with the sizzling of plant blood following. Until it squealed again.

And again.

That was annoying. He crushed it again, only to hear the squeal again. As he drew his eye closer, it became evident that the plant was not making the noise -- how silly of him -- but the terrified shrieks came from further inside the forest. In the opposite direction from his path. It sounded like a person.

On one hand, he could lose his trail completely and lose his chances of finding where his redemption had wandered off to. On another, that same redemption was screaming in his ear, obviously in distress. One, he could lose for a long time. The other, he could lose for forever. He could wait a long time. He could also wait forever. But it couldn't. He made his way towards the screams.

Barreling through the forest with speeds that rivaled that of the armor-dillo of Runeterra, he trampled through what must have been a mile of untraveled forestry in no time at all, finding a grotesque amalgamation of several different animals chasing after a small, purple dragon. Youthful. However, not so youthful as to not have the basic motor functions of a living being, as he was running as fast as his little legs could take him. Not as fast as the creature though. It was gaining ground fast. But so was Renekton.

The soul-eater burst from the brush like a whirling tornado of metal, taking his blade from his back sheathe and swinging it at the creature in a wide arc, giving it no time to react. Now was the time to adapt his strategies.

He had aimed for the wing, and it was the wing he got, rendering the lion-dragon-scorpion creature unable to retreat for the time being. He had dealt with wild animals before, sicced on the Library in ill-received refusal. So in came the frenzied swipe of the paws, and snap went the bones of its foreleg. He had caught the limb mid-air and snapped it with the blunt side of his weapon cleanly, leaving yet another limb crippled. With another limb donated to keeping the other from suffering more harm, the venomous tail of the creature came jutting down like a lightning bolt, too quick to catch.

Renekton dodged and whirled around his wounded enemy, drawing great wounds around it as he moved, while suffering none of his own. All the while, the great predator roared in pain, having finally met its greater. In desperation, the creature tried to cut its losses and scurry off into the forest somewhere, but this just have Renekton the opening he needed to grab its tail and sever it from its body, spraying green venom everywhere on the ground. The predator was dying. It knew that. Renekton knew that. And in mercy, ruthlessness, or something more, Renekton dealt the killing blow and drove the tail through the creatures skull, silencing its whines of torment forever.

Efficient, short, and brutally accurate. Just how Renekton liked it. Before, he might have sprayed the limbs and organs around a bit. Make a bit of a show. But this? In his right state of mind, this was more than enough. This was simply natural selection. And it served its purpose magnificently. Don't attack the Darwinist of the forest. He did not relish it. Not anymore. But its effect was satisfying.

Carefully, he turned to the reason he took the time to go off his main path and through kilometers of unrecognizable forest terrain to get to. The dragon was cowering high up in a thin tree, his eyes closed and his arms covering his face. All-in-all, rather pathetic if one knew what he would grow up to be in a few centuries.

"Down from there, young one," Renekton tried, finding himself surprised by the deep, gravelly tone of his calm voice. "It is dead."

"W-who are you?" the dragon asked in surprise, uncovering himself and gazing at the wreckage of a creature that was once a manticore.

"I am Renekton. And you?"

"Spike. Spike the dragon!" Spike puffed up his chest as if to make himself seem bigger.

"Nice to meet you, Spike. A strange name for a dragon, to be sure. More suited to a dog, perhaps."

"Hey! That's my name, and I'm sticking to it! I don't need any criticism from you!" He looked down at the ground for a second. "It is a dog's name, though," he mumbled.

"I apologize," Renekton said gracefully. Maybe he wasn't so bad at this. "Now, do come down from there. I'd hate to have to crank my neck up to talk with you."

"Nuh-uh! I'm staying right here! I saw what you did to that manticore, and I don't know what you'll do with me if you get me!" Or, maybe not.

"Spike, I'm not going to hurt you."

"Yeah, right! I don't even know what you are! I'm pretty sure alligators can't talk!"

Renekton tossed around the idea of telling him the name of his kind, but that certainly wouldn't help matters. "That's not important."

"Of course it is! Names are everything! You're practically a stranger!"

"A stranger who saved your life," he pointed out.

"A stranger who could end it just as easily, too! So I'll just stay up here for a while. Maybe dig myself a little hole in the tree before I head back home." He began to scratch absentmindedly at the bark.

"Home?" Renekton puzzled. "You have a home? Where is it? Don't dragons your age travel with packs?"

"Why would I tell you where my home is? So you can kill them like you killed the manticore?"

Renekton tired of the verbal back-and-forth. "Spike..."

"What?"

"Watch your fingers." And with that, Renekton launched his blade into the base of the branch that Spike had wandered off to, leaving the latter falling straight into the former's open claw. Renekton walked over smugly to retrieve his weapon, then looked at the helpless dragon.

"That was unfair," Spike complained.

"You wouldn't listen," Renekton countered, frowning at the adolescent. He cringed back.

"Please don't hurt me," he squeaked out.

"You still aren't listening," Renekton said placidly, before setting Spike on his shoulder and walking along the path he could see Spike had taken. The small dragon heaved a sigh of relief, grasping a hold of Renekton's neck-piece and sighing in fatigue.

"How did you get out here, Spike?" Renekton asked, still walking. The dragon hadn't objected, so he could only assume he was going the right way.

"I... lost a book," he confessed, blushing.

"You lost a book?" the soul-eater questioned flatly.

"My... um... sister owns the library in town. Total bookworm. These books are her world. So when I lost one, I couldn't just face her and tell her I lost it. I had to find it myself. Well, I didn't really lose it, per se..."

"Go on."

"My friends did. I lent it to them and they lost it somewhere out here, trying for something crazy for their special talents. I couldn't bring them here. They couldn't handle it. I can. I'm a dragon. I just got a bit... lost."

"Yet if you came out all this way, and you couldn't get back, it would seem that your friends were more qualified to search than you were."

"I know..." The spines at the sides of Spike's head drooped in sadness. "I'm the worst dragon ever..."

"I haven't seen too many dragons," Renekton said neutrally, in an attempt to comfort his charge, "but I'm sure your analysis is false, given the amount of dragons that I'm sure exist here."

"At least they grew up with dragons," he muttered.

"What was that?"

"Nothing." He clearly wanted to speak no more on the subject, so Renekton let it go, despite that fact that it was probably not healthy to be having an existential crisis at his age. It was out of his league.

Around a half an hour of silence and trailblazing passed before Spike spoke again. "Hey, how did you get this deep into the Everfree?"

Everfree, hrm? The place certainly felt free. That was a good name.

"I am... unsure. I'm suffering from slight amnesia, as I'm sure you will forgive. I simply know that it had to do with a lot of magic. I can tell you that much. I was trying to find two colleagues of mine when I heard you crying in distress, so I found you. I'll have to renew my search after I get you home."

Spike snorted. "A thirteen-foot tall alligator with a huge sword thing and can talk? I thought magic was kinda implied. And I wasn't crying."

"Mmhmm."

"And your... colleagues. Are they like you? Why were you looking for them?"

Renekton almost laughed. "They are certainly unique, I'll give you that. As for being like me, I'm afraid not. And I was looking for them because I have wronged them. I have wronged many people, and it is time for me to apologize. Some of those people, I cannot apologize to, but these two, I can. I have to start somewhere," he shrugged. As an afterthought, he asked, "Does any sort of river or stream run through your town?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Does it come from the forest?"

"That's the one."

The soul-eater smiled. "Then perhaps my trail is not lost after all. Is your town near?"

"Yeah, there's a little trail coming up that leads to a friend of mine's cottage. That's close to the town. It would still be a few hours, at how fast we're going."

"Then let's see if we can speed up a bit." Renekton dropped to all fours and plopped Spike fully on his back, instructing him to take position around his neck as he broke off full tilt towards the trail.

It was the perfect plan. He had needed a way to break the ice between him and his fellow champions, so what better way to do so than to use the friendly natives? Surely, with the knowledge of a library, they had some form of celebration to welcome the incoming travelers into their town, and, therefore, loosen the hostilities. He just had to get there first.

No problem.

The mangled corpse of the manticore lay on the forest floor, without a single fly or parasite having taken notice. The open wounds hadn't even begun to smell, and the ground was still wet with blood. Nearby, in the shadows of a tree, a ghostly, demonic figure appeared, clad in matte-black trappings and with a larger, more threatening version of what the Ionians called a kusarigama. A glowing lantern illuminated the dusk of the night, as well as the tiny green sprite floating above the corpse.

Thresh did not make a habit of collecting the souls of primitive creatures. But at least it gave the others company. Into the lantern it went, sucked up into a vortex it would never escape from. Not as his jailer lived.

Or died, in his case. Unlived? Came back to life and died again? There were frustratingly few adjectives to describe his state of being, and, as a well-learned man, Thresh was frustrated to no end by it. He would personally find that particular soul and torment him endlessly.

As for his current project, everything was proceeding as planned. A bit of a disruption here, an upset animal there, a message in another place, and his allies were on their merry way to a peaceful, and, as he had observed, strange village. They were his allies, even if they didn't know it yet. He may have been a clinical sociopath, but he wasn't stupid. Reaper or not, he didn't have a clue where he was, and he would need all the help he could get. But he needed more information, first. And he needed to fulfill his daily quota of souls.

So, turning from the harvested corpse, he began to walk into the shadows to transport again when he heard a chilling voice call out from a few yards away, "Hey, buddy. That's mine."

It was a pony. As expected. He had long since determined the dominant species of this world, but this one was different. He wore a black cloak, with an open hood, yet inside the hood was a black void that seemed impenetrable by any onlookers. Simply looking at him made Thresh feel unease, and his voice made the air feel cold. He was flabbergasted.

"I'm gonna need that soul. It's my job."

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me."

Author's Note

And sometimes I'm so bored I whip up something in a few hours. Tell me if it's just the same or if I should take another week off to refresh my writing muscles. I'll be here.