[Fanfiction] Fracture - Chapter 19

PROLOGUE: http://boards.na.leagueoflegends.com/en/c/fancreations/fZAXxjHA-fanfiction-fracture PREVIOUS CHAPTER: http://boards.na.leagueoflegends.com/en/c/fancreations/tmumU3tx-fanfiction-fracture-chapter-18

Fanfiction.net link: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10770866/1/Fracture

Genres: Suspense/Drama/Mystery/a lot of others Characters: Leona, Caitlyn, Nasus, Kassadin, too many to list

Summary: The machine that sustains the lethal matches of the League fails. Events spiral outwards. (Character death.)

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NIGHTFALL

They had parted like a sea for him.

"Why?"

He had felt the tear widening – had left the sewer in pursuit of this very man that stood before him – but that he should let him walk right up to him was... baffling.

Malzahar, with his mask and eyes aflame, betrayed nothing. Kog'Maw sat at his feet, happily lapping up sand while his fellows, lumbering monstrosities, leveled him with hungry stares. Somewhere in the distant reaches of the bay, he could hear the sounds of bloody battle.

"One last chance," said the Prophet, wagging a finger at him. "One last chance to join us. You have been my greatest obstacle for years. I can respect that power – and the Void can as well."

He trailed off the ground, circling him slowly like a hawk.

"All you have to do is say yes."

He lashed out, nether blade forming instantaneously in his hands as the Prophet lurched backwards to avoid him. There was a rumbling amongst the Voidborn – but none moved.

"You have your self-sworn duty," he answered, lunging again for the exposed torso "and so have I!"

"Think about what you stand to lose, Void Walker," remarked Malzahar, sidestepping him with ease. "The power... the knowledge..."

The Prophet hopped backwards from a force pulse. He might have been masked, but Kassadin could feel the smirk on the wretch's face. His jaw clenched tight - there was a drawing on his insides as a null sphere left his hand, a sensation of exodus as the void energy channeled without.

Malzahar could not avoid this one.

He stumbled backwards, hand clapping to his side. Strange eyes glanced at him.

"...Your daughter," he coughed.

No.

He could taunt and mock and toy with him as much as he liked – but he had no right to mention her.

A shift in time, self, space. He tackled him to the ground, one arm pinned, nether blade at his throat.

"Do not speak of her," he hissed, voice low and harsh by the filtration of his mask.

The Prophet only laughed loudly, deeply – infuriatingly – staring up at him with those infuriating eyes that saw nothing and everything all at once.

"If you close that tear, you may never see her again," he rasped, gaze unflinching even as he pressed the blade in enough to draw blood. "Will you lose that chance?"

"Papa."

Someone had called him that, once upon a time. A dim recollection from long ago that made his heart clench and old wounds ache. A faded, cherished memory.

The chance to see his daughter again...

To hear her laugh, and cry, and smile at him –

It had been so long. So very long.

To see his daughter again would mean everything to him – but –

"I will not," he whispered hoarsely, "risk Valoran... on a chance."

Malzahar gazed up at him, eyes unreadable.

"I see," he said, drawing close, until his masked lips were at his helmet's ear. Blood trickled down his neck. "That's a shame."

The sound of pressure being released.

The Prophet shoved him off roughly, and he stumbled backwards, hands reaching for the gas canisters at his back.

"You - !" he breathed out shakily.

No.

The bitterness on his tongue was dissipating – and suddenly, he felt light.

Malzahar sheathed his blade, watching as he attempted, trembling, to stay on his feet.

"I know your weakness – what the Void has done to you. It has told me everything, and it could have told you. But you have chosen your fate, and so it shall be."

"You knew my answer, always," he spat back, between deep breaths. Clean air felt foreign, and thin. "A show... a slow death... for your minions..."

The Prophet only chuckled, crossing his arms.

"They are not my minions... No more than I am their leader. Merely a catalyst... and a mouthpiece."

"For who?" Kassadin gasped. He was starting to lose feeling in his fingertips – starting to feel the deadening of his feet. It had begun.

He held his hands before him, watching as the very flesh seemed to slacken and tear. Numbness at his fingertips, and then burning, a slow-roasting pain crawling up his skin. A grunt died in his throat, breathing turned shallow. If he could just - if he could just slow it down...!

The Riftwalker fell to his knees.

He could see Malzahar before him, a murky figure on the red horizon, watching with bright eyes. They spoke of an eternity -

• but not his.

.

.

.

"Come on… Come on…!"

He could feel her breath on his ears - the desperation it carried on hot air. One arm slung over the Battle Mistress's shoulder, Nasus trudged heavily along, barely keeping hold of his halberd. His side ached terribly. It seared, in a maddening sort of way that made him want to tear it open himself.

"Almost there," she whispered urgently, still pulling him along. "Just hang on a little longer."

Behind him, the Curator could hear his brother, following along. Renekton carried Katarina, still comatose after battling Thresh; after his own encounter and wounding by the Chain Warden, it was as if his rage had been gutted. He had trailed after them like a silent beast, the Serpent's Embrace traveling in his wake.

Nasus tried to focus on keeping his breathing even, tried to concentrate on the pain. His agony meant he was still alive, would continue to be - in the aftermath of Xerath's arcane barrage, he had lost all feeling in his limbs. For the moment he had fallen, the librarian had feared the worst.

In spite of his efforts, it was difficult. The air was stale, musty; it settled on his tongue until his mouth felt dry, and his vision oscillated between light and dark. Spots roamed across it like ink splotches blooming on parchment. Unwittingly he had concentrated on the Battle Mistress's smell to tether him to reality - the earthy quality to it that smelled like sweat and sand and sun. Was that the smell of Sivir, or Shurima? He wasn't sure. Consciousness took focus to maintain.

In the distance, Nasus thought he saw moonlight.

He must have faded out somewhere in between, because in the next second of his cognizance, he could taste the desert in twilight. Its night air was cool, brisk - most of all fresh, in spite of its lingering tang of dirt and dust. He took a shuddering breath, trying to internalize it. Within him, the burning was beginning to fade.

Faintly, he could hear the sounds of collapse; a body hitting the ground.

"Nasus!"

When he felt coarse sand he realized - it was him.

"You need to get up," the Battle Mistress said. He could feel her shaking his arm. "Nasus!"

"One moment," he answered, words carried on a heavy breath. Vaguely he could feel her persistent tug - the Curator rolled over with difficulty, until he was lying on his back.

"We have to keep moving, we have to get you to a medic," she insisted. He could see her hovering over him. Her expression was strange. "Nasus, please."

Past her was the Shuriman sky, cloudless. The moon shone brightly like a luminescent pearl - beautiful. The desert breeze, the hot smell of the sand dunes...

For the first time in a long, long time, Nasus felt he had come home.

Something stirred within - a familiar memory from long ago. Things that he had loved and forgotten all the same.

"Does it not wear on you, reading the hearts and minds of mortals day in and out?"

"Hah! You needn't worry about me. The evils of men are nothing. What's important is that you are safe."

"It is the library we must protect. I am not comparable to the knowledge of the world."

"You are my brother. Nothing is comparable to you."

He was so tired.

"Hey!" She shook him again. "Siphon a little off of me, siphon all of it, I don't care, just don't black out on me!"

"No..." He inhaled deeply, taking in the air of Shurima. "You must… recover…"

"You're not doing this to me..!"

From where he lay, he had a clear view of the stars, of the great open world beyond - and Sivir. He reached out, grasped her trembling hand, and she threaded her fingers tightly through his.

One last touch, one last look - of the sky and the person he had grown so fond of.

"Nasus, don't," she whispered, voice wavering.

"Enough," he murmured. "Please."

Something dribbled on his cheek - on the edges of his consciousness he wondered vaguely if it was beginning to rain.

"Let me sleep."

The Curator of the Sands closed his eyes and dreamed.

.

.

.

Destruction.

Where was Cho'Gath? The building was coming down on them. Glass, rubble everywhere. Amidst the rumbling, she thought she heard a shock blast in the distance. Was Jayce distracting him?

A hard shove.

He was pinned beneath the column - waist-down crushed. It was made of stone.

"Viktor!" she cried, flying to him. He beckoned for her to come close, tearing off his mask.

She stumbled down the stairs, nearly tripping on her own feet. Thundering up above, ceiling tiles coming down - thank god, thank god he had designed the room sturdy.

"Listen very carefully," he gasped, and he yanked her to him, so that his lips were to her one working ear. "Take this."

He pressed the crystal into her hand.

There. Caitlyn saw the core and dashed straight for it, ripping the panel off its hinges.

Where? Where had it connected?

"Wire it to the core... Power up the system," he hissed, words coming out in a rush.

She dove in, pulling at the tangled mess of cords. It should have had a slot, or some kind of holder. Where was it?

The sheriff jammed the arcane crystal into place, snatching her hand hand back as the Respawn Room whirred to life. There was a crackling amongst the cables and she prayed that did the trick.

Caitlyn staggered to the main console, watching as the screen lit up. Initializing, it said. The sheriff braced herself against the machine, breathing heavily. Faster, faster - she needed it operational now.

The login showed up.

"Select 'Administrator.' The password is..."

It let her in, and immediately she pulled up the command console, fingers flying across the keyboard in a flurry. There was another rumble - one of the ceiling lights shattered, and she cursed, backspacing and entering her words again.

"Pull up - the console. Search 'Void.' "

A list came up - letters and designations that meant nothing to her at first glance. She scrolled down, scanning them rapidly through blurring vision. Her head was pounding, her heart was in her ears. Where was it?

"Find C798A... select it. Another prompt will show. The command is-"

There! The sheriff double-clicked, waiting for the menu to appear. The window pulled up, and she stumbled on the keys, re-typing it twice. Her knees felt weak - her ear pulsated painfully.

A second's delay for the characters to catch up. On the far side, the ceiling caved in.

"-terminate."

Caitlyn pressed ENTER.

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Next Chapter: http://boards.na.leagueoflegends.com/en/c/fancreations/TlBnRsuV-fanfiction-fracture-chapter-20