[FANFICTION TEASER] Heart of Darkness
This is a teaser for a new fanfic I'm thinking to write, starring one of my Champion Concepts as the protagonist. I haven't gotten all of a solid plot planned out yet, but I have some ideas.
For now, though, enjoy this scene, which I hope someday Riot will make into a Champion release teaser. (Hey, a guy can hope, can't he?)
For info about this Champion, go here: http://community.na.leagueoflegends.com/en/c/fancreations/5HqHhqB4-champion-concept-nephree-the-dark-crusader
This will contain fairly strong violence and coarse language.
Prologue – Prayer
A flash of lightning heralded the appearance of a heavy storm in eastern Demacia. Rain and wind swept down upon a thick forest, the rustling of the trees and splattering of water drowning out all other sound.
It was a fortunate advantage for Razik and his men. Their target would never hear them coming. The Noxian assassins had orders straight from the Grand General to eliminate a high-profile Demacian commander who sought to reach the Institute of War. They were to ensure this knight’s pilgrimage was cut short.
Though the darkness and rain obscured their vision, the occasional flash of lightning was enough illumination for them to see their destination: a broken down chapel in the middle of the forest. A horse stood tied up near the entrance to the building, sheltered by a small roof from the pouring rain, but still miserable.
Slowly, Razik and his band crept through the shadows, barely making a sound through the brush. He could soon make out a faint flicker of candlelight inside the chapel. There was no doubt now; their prey was inside.
Wordlessly, the assassin made hand signals to his men. They all nodded as they spread out, darting from shadow to shadow as they ascended the crumbling walls of the chapel. Razik himself chose to enter through the front door, which stood wide open. Like the water that slid down the walls of the chapel, Razik slid through the entrance soundlessly.
Painted glass windows stood cracked and broken along the walls of the chapel, letting in only brief instances of light whenever lightning struck. The aisles were filled with broken seats, crumbled stone and wood, yet there was still a clear path to the dais in the center.
Kneeling at that dais, her hands together in prayer, was Razik’s target.
Were it not for the winged tabard she wore on her left shoulder, which bore the emblem of Demacia’s flag, one would never have thought this dark knight to be Demacian. Her armor was deep ebony instead of the usual Demacian white-and-blue, accented by blood red runes etched unnaturally along the interlocking plates. Her golden blonde hair, something that truly indicated her Demacian heritage, was braided in a tight bun, yet many loose strands fell over her shoulders. Her skin was pale as snow, and though she appeared thin as a waif, Razik knew she was not to be underestimated.
Yet it was not the woman herself that worried the assassin. No, it was the blade before her—which she held by the pommel before the dais—that had Razik on edge. The fabled Ebonmere, a blade forged by the Darkins, but made for man. The cursed sword was a weapon of great and terrible power, and was primarily what he had been sent to retrieve. Yet to claim the sword, the knight before him had to die.
Thunder crashed through the chapel as Razik crept through the shadows toward his mark.
--
Praying, it seemed, wasn’t paying off. No Divine apparition or sign from the gods had come to her that night, aside perhaps from that damned storm outside. Nephree wasn’t looking forward to another cold sleep.
Not a lot of things had gone well for her since she had set off for the Institute of War, but that wasn’t to say she had expected things to be much better. Though Prince Jarvan IV had insisted Nephree take an escort with her, the knight had declined such an offer, not wanting to threaten others before she had sought the help of the Summoners. She had not admitted it to him, but she wanted to be alone at the time. And so she was, except for her horse, Pellinore.
It soon occurred to Nephree that she had no idea why she was praying to the Divines for guidance. Considering all she had done, despite being under the Ebonmere’s sway, the Divines had in all likelihood turned their backs on her. No amount of prayer would atone for her sins. All she could do was hope to be forgiven in time.
The storm outside continued to crack and hammer away at the chapel, which stood strong despite being abandoned. No one had used the place in years, but it was as good a place as any to get out of the rain. The broken windows depicting the Divines presented a sorry sight for the knight, who had always been considered faithful to the gods.
At least, until she had taken hold of that accursed sword…
A creak of wood singled itself out from the racket of the storm outside. Nephree was alerted immediately as she heard a second similar noise. She was not alone.
Her senses heightened and focused by experience, Nephree’s attention turned to every tiny sound and motion out of the corner of her eye. The creaking of rotting wood told her of where her unknown company was, and soon she had a good guess of their number. Probably five or six of them, but maybe more. The fact that she hadn’t noticed them until now meant they were professionals, not some common thugs who just stumbled in unannounced.
Her hands grasped the handle of Ebonmere as she stood and said, in a tone she knew would be heard, “I know you’re there. Show yourselves.”
At her declaration of awareness, one assassin revealed himself as he leapt from the shadows and lunged at the knight. Nephree’s response was swift and measured as the Ebonmere met the oncoming attack, and the assassin toppled to the ground, his momentum carrying him to the opposite wall in a bloody heap.
Nephree calmly resumed a defensive stance as the seven remaining assassins emerged from the shadows, their cover blown. The knight’s crimson eyes darted from man to man, sizing up the situation. They were well-armed, and clearly professionals judging by their garbs. Each bore a weapon of Noxian design, something which didn’t surprise Nephree. Noxus had always wanted her dead, even before she claimed the Ebonmere.
Craven fools… They think the shadows will enable their so-called ‘mercy’…
Nephree winced slightly at the dark voice that echoed through her mind. She quickly wished she hadn’t, for two of the assassins made their move upon seeing her flinch. Knives hurtled through the air toward her, to which she quickly cut them down in mid-flight. The two men unsheathed their daggers as they darted toward her, both slashing at her in unison. The Ebonmere met both blades, parrying their strike.
As Nephree glared at her assailants, she saw them thrust their hands at her, each bearing a small blade below their wrist. Instinctively Nephree raised a gauntleted hand to block the attack, but she could only intercept one blade, and barely deflected the other into her left shoulder.
Nephree grunted in pain as the blade cut into her. These men were good.
And what was worse, they were laughing at her. Silently, darkly, but it was unmistakably laughter.
Crush them… Kill them… Kill them all…!
Nephree’s eyes shut as the dark voices in her head swirled with the laughs of her assailants. It was a maddening sound, one she tried to fight, but it only worsened with each second that passed.
Make them pay… Make them suffer…
As one of the assassins drew back his wrist blade for the kill, Nephree surged forward as dark violet flames began to surround her body. The daggers of the Noxians shattered as Ebonmere cleaved through them, and carved through their wielders just as easily. Both corpses fell to the ground and burned, disintegrating in moments.
Blood… Death… Justice…
The other assassins watched in horror as dark energy surged around Nephree’s body, and her eyes began to glow with an eerie crimson light. Dark magic pulsed visibly through her veins. When she spoke, her voice seemed joined by a demonic presence.
“Noxian curs… You believe your murders make you heroes?! You will perish in hellfire for your transgressions!”
With that, Nephree swung the Ebonmere forward, unleashing a black bolt of energy at the nearest assassin. The man cried out as he was simply obliterated by the attack, crumbling to dust as Nephree charged forward and ran a second man through with her blade. Two of the remaining men hastily raised their wrists and fired crossbow bolts from their bracers at her, but she effortlessly swatted them aside and charged again. Three quick and powerful slashes eviscerated a third victim, and when his comrade tried to strike Nephree from behind, she quickly spun around and removed his head from his body.
Within an instant, only Razik remained. Disbelief was written across his face at the slaughter of his men, all experienced assassins. He stepped back in horror as Nephree advanced on him, but within seconds his foot tripped over the debris of the chapel, sending him to the ground on his back. Before he could move, the Ebonmere was pointed at his throat.
Razik’s eyes widened as Nephree readied herself for the killing blow. But as she raised her sword, she suddenly stopped as she gasped for breath, her eyes wide as the red light began to flicker from them.
Destroy him… Consume him…
Nephree stumbled back as she held a hand to her head, fighting to regain control. She had already won; there was no need to continue killing. Yet the blade continued to thirst.
Kill him… KILL HIM!!!
“N-No! H-He is beaten! E-Enough!”
As Razik watched in bewilderment, Nephree cried out as she pried the Ebonmere from her grip and threw it to the ground, as though it had been attached to her. Gasping for air, Nephree staggered as she clutched her head, trying to calm herself.
He saw his opportunity. Razik quickly rose to his feet, and reached for his blade.
It was the last thing he would ever do.
Startled, Nephree turned back to the assassin as she heard him gag in agony, and then fell forward. A crossbow bolt had pierced through the back of his neck.
“Not a good idea to drop your sword like that, Neph,” said a familiar tomboyish voice, followed by a similarly familiar squawk. “Even if it is cursed.”
Nephree did not stop trying to catch her breath as Quinn emerged from the shadows, soaked head to toe, her bolt pistol in hand. Valor glided down from the rafters and landed on a broken bench before ruffling his feathers, trying to dry himself.
“Quinn? What are you–”
“Jarvan thought something like this might happen. He sent me to look after you. Discretely, that is.”
“I thought I told him I didn’t want any–”
“It was my idea, Neph,” Quinn interrupted. “And it’s a good thing I came too. These guys were following you for days and you were none the wiser.”
Nephree grumbled at Quinn’s point. It wasn’t that she was mad at her, but having just regained control of her thoughts left her on edge.
“Th-Thanks…”
“Don’t mention it. Now come on, let’s have a look at that wound. You never know if those blades might be poisoned.”
Still holding her head in her hand, Nephree sat down on a nearby bench, not in the mood to argue with her ranger friend.
I hope you enjoyed this. I'll try to answer any questions you might have.