[Fanfiction] Fracture - Chapter 17

PROLOGUE: http://boards.na.leagueoflegends.com/en/c/fancreations/fZAXxjHA-fanfiction-fracture PREVIOUS CHAPTER: http://boards.na.leagueoflegends.com/en/c/fancreations/nMqzdOu2-fanfiction-fracture-chapter-16

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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PERIPETEIA

Magic burned. This was what the back of her hand was telling her – the stone stung, but the magic burned.

Sivir shook her hand out slightly, trying to shrug off Thresh as she felt the hook press ever deeper into her neck. The Magus Ascendant still had his arm extended, though pushed to the side slightly after she'd batted it away, and it was slowly moving back towards her.

"Don't touch me," she snapped, holding her crossblade out in front of her. "I don't know what the hell you want, but you're not getting near me."

"Hold her still," said Xerath, paying no heed to her. The mercenary felt the specter's grip tighten.

"Dammit, Thresh, what have you got to gain out of this?" she asked, starting to struggle. The Chain Warden only chuckled lowly.

"Don't move too much," he whispered in her ear. "Or I'll slice your throat open."

Xerath grabbed her arm, reaching around her crossblade, and Sivir winced, feeling the tip of the hook draw a little blood. What the hell was going on? What were they going to do? She felt Thresh let go. The hook moved away, and then – there was a puff of smoke.

She was stumbling forward suddenly. The Battle Mistress turned around, catching a face full of red hair as Katarina leapt for Thresh, blades first.

"Sivir!"

Was that - ?

It was Nasus, stumbling in now. She ducked under a shocking orb, threading past the mage as she tried to put some distance between them. Why? How? There shouldn't have been anyway to get the jump on them like that, this chamber had only a narrow passage to the platform - she remembered from last time she was here.

"Battle Mistress!" yelled Xerath, whirling around to face her. "I will kill you if necessary!"

"I'd like to see you try!" she shot back, slinging out her crossblade. It glanced off the Magus Ascendant's side, and he faltered in the air. Sivir spun on her heel, catching it on the back swing as she finally fell into step with Nasus.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, leaning on his staff for support.

"I should be asking you that," she snorted, shooting a significant glance at his open wound. He had a hand pressed over it, but she could see the blood on his fingers.

"I will live. What is more pressing is – " He cut himself short as they both scattered to dodge an arcanopulse.

"This mess," she huffed, crouching low, "I know."

"Do not interfere, Curator," called Xerath, starting to move towards them. "This is is a matter between us and the Battle Mistress alone."

"What involves her involves me," he answered firmly, and he pulled himself in front of her, halberd held ready. What was this fool thinking? Who was the injured one here, exactly?

"Are you prepared to fight for her?" the mage asked, eyes glowing brightly. There was something ominous about his voice - something that set her on edge.

"We fight together," Nasus answered calmly.

"You're injured!" she snapped, brushing past to stand next to him. "Are you stupid?"

"You die together," said Xerath simply.

The air crackled.

"No sell," she growled, as the remnants of her spell shield dissipated around her. Nasus had dived to the side to avoid the eye of destruction.

"Do you think you can fight me? The armies of Shurima could not handle me!" he yelled, firing shot after shot after her.

Sivir breathed harshly through her nose, spinning quickly on her heel to dodge another. He was a sitting duck, just hovering there, but all this running - she couldn't aim like this. A brief flash of light - she threw herself to the ground as something crackled overhead. There was something hot at her back, as if lightning had struck just above. The Battle Mistress sucked in a sharp breath, pushing herself off the dirt.

Sharp pain.

It had just barely glanced off her heel, and she crumpled to the ground again, gritting her teeth. Sivir took shallow breaths, gritting her teeth. The pain - the pain would subside soon.

"Enough. Become dust!"

A sound like the hissing of swirling sands. She looked up, at Xerath wrapped in withering coils.

"Hah! Do you think time means anything to me?" he roared, and his movements were jerky as he struggled, the dark flames of spirit fire beneath him. "I am ageless!"

There was a bright light from above. The Battle Mistress scrambled off the ground, just barely missing another strike. Another flash of light.

She glanced to Xerath, rooted where he was, and then back at the incoming barrage. If she could just close the gap a little bit...

The mercenary dashed forward, throwing out her crossblade again. She could hear the electrified sounds of destruction behind her – the ground shook – but there wasn't any heat for what should've been hot on her heels. The blade hit Xerath dead center and he was knocked to the side. His pieces seemed to slacken – like the energy wasn't keeping it together quite right anymore – but he stood back up anyway, though grounded, eyes still ablaze.

"I didn't miss," was all he said.

She whirled around.

"Nasus!"

He knelt, form smoking, hand still clamped to his side. "I... will be fine..."

The Battle Mistress took a step towards him – the air crackled again.

"If you move, he dies," hissed the Magus Ascendant, rising from the ground.

"Xerath, you're a son of a b-!"

There was a sharp pain. Sivir stumbled to the ground, hand flying to the area between her neck and shoulder.

"This time, you'll cooperate," murmured Thresh, pulling tight. She gasped, digging her fingers into the hook to try and dig it out. There was something draining about it – her head was spinning, her vision was fading. She shut her eyes, teeth clenched tight as she collapsed to her hands and knees.

"Katarina? What...?"

"Easily dealt with," answered the Chain Warden, tone mockingly soothing as he jerked her back upwards. She could feel him come up behind her.

"You're a bastard," she managed through gritted teeth, cracking one eye open. A way's up, she could see Katarina on the ground, struggling for her blade. How? How had she been taken down by Thresh?

Xerath was before her now, kneeling in front.

"Proceed," he said.

The hook in her neck was yanked out and she stifled a cry. Already, the mercenary could feel the warm trickle of blood, the stinging of torn flesh, and it didn't do anything for her dizzying sight. The specter seized her left arm, raising it up as Xerath grabbed the lock on his chains and pulled it as far from him as it would go. She could feel the hook pressed to the inside of her wrist, and he slashed right through the leather wrappings around her glove. Sivir winced.

There was a dribble of blood. Despite her wavering vision, she watched, transfixed as it dripped off the lock, red filling yellow as the geometric swirl lit up. Xerath stood. The chains fell heavily to the ground.

"It is done." The pieces of his sarcophagus trembled – then burst outwards. "I am free!"

A sudden, nauseating wave of power hit her, and she shuddered. The air electrified, static with the release of pure energy.

So this was how it went, then.

Thresh released her, and she fell to the floor face-down, grasping at stone trying to get back up. She could barely lift her head, and the Battle Mistress grit her teeth, forehead into the ground as she struggled to get back to her feet.

"Behold, my power!" laughed the Magus Ascendant. "I am the will of man unbound by flesh!"

She heard the clanking sounds of metal dragging on the ground.

"Unbound indeed," said Thresh. "Now you're nothing but magic and soul."

Green light.

"Betrayal, is it?" He laughed even louder. "Those chains cannot hold me either, jailer."

There was no answer.

The sound of electricity in the air. The sound of stone against metal against stone.

Something was burning, hot against her back. Smoke filled her nose, ashes filled her mouth.

A little click, like the opening of a latch.

Above her, in front of her, it was like it was all around her – she could hear a gasping, moaning, rasping call that seemed to suck the air from her lungs. It sounded like death and tasted like despair, swirling about her like a vortex, and Sivir shut her eyes tight, hands clenched into fists as she willed it to pass.

"I think you'll find," whispered Thresh, his voice low and menacing, "that they are more than capable."

There was a loud, anguished cry.

Silence. Then the sound of soft laughter. She could breathe again.

"Are you alive, Battle Mistress?" murmured the Chain Warden. "I wouldn't mind taking your soul as well..."

"Don't touch me," she snapped, struggling to look up at the looming specter. He only smirked his eternal smirk at her and knelt, laying a potion at her hands. "What's that for?"

"The most delightful souls," he told her eagerly, "are the strongest. You have not reached the apex of your strength yet."

She managed to pop the cap on it and took a swig, tilting her head back at an awkward angle to the chug the thing down. Already, she could feel the energy coming back to her, and though the wound still stung like hell, it wasn't bleeding as much. Painfully, the mercenary managed to pull herself into a sitting position. She needed to get Katarina and Nasus medical attention, but she could barely muster the energy to stand. And then there was the matter of Thresh...

"You're mad," she muttered, clutching at the wound in the crook of her neck.

"Me, mad?" He laughed. "Aha, quite likely."

"All of this, for one soul?"

"He wasn't exaggerating the extent of his power, once unbound," answered Thresh simply, examining his lantern with an idle tilt of his head.

"And what did you do to Katarina? You always take the support role during matches," Sivir pointed out, words on a heavy exhale as she struggled to catch her breath.

"Once the Institute lets us off their leash, it's rather surprising what we can manage, isn't it?" he replied. His tone was soft, but menacing, and it only emphasized to her the fact that he hadn't really answered any of her questions. Thresh hummed to himself, giving his lantern a prod as it swung back and forth on its hinges.

"What will you do with Xerath?" she asked warily, glancing towards him.

"Take care of your friends, Battle Mistress. They need to be strong, for later," he said instead, turning to leave with sickle and lantern in hand.

"Wait!" she called out. "That's it, you're just going to...?"

The Chain Warden turned back to look at her, spectral fire glowing eerily in the darkness. He tucked his lantern into his coat – the light faded.

"Take care," he said again, voice barely above a whisper.

And suddenly, she was left in darkness.

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The map had led them to a cave.

It was an enormous one, to be sure – with a wide, gaping maw of an entrance, cut in a spiraling pattern that heralded its origin as a creation of man. This was something they had only been able to tell after most of the foliage had been cut away, of course, or else they might've passed it by none the wiser. Leona traced the curvature of the wall with a gloved hand. It was weathered nearly smooth by nature and time.

"I've the torch," said Pantheon, coming up beside her. "We shouldn't dawdle."

"Your machine will stand guard?" she called over her shoulder, looking at the towering robot looming over the entrance.

"It has its orders," replied the Machine Herald, voice tinny and distant as it rang out from the speakers on the monster's shoulders.

"Let's go," said the Tidecaller, swimming past.

She was anxious – at the very least, ill at ease – this much Leona could tell from the way she gripped her staff, with tight and tremulous hands. The poor child. The opening of a tear into the Void signified disaster for Runeterra, but for Nami, it may well have been the end of the world as she knew it. The Radiant Dawn could only hope that they wouldn't acquire the moonstone only to be too late.

Once inside the cavern, its broad mouth slimmed quickly into a narrow tunnel. It was wide enough that she and Pantheon could walk side-by-side with little issue, but the available space was robbed considerably by the statues that lined its length. They were tall, stone figures, with heads bowed low as if in reverence, clutching khopeshes not unfamiliar.

"These statues aren't meant to ward away visitors," she murmured to herself, gazing wonderingly up at them as the torch's flame lent a dull, red shine to gray stone.

"Neither are they meant to welcome them," added her childhood friend, without looking. Nami contributed no comments, walking ahead of them. "Rather..."

It was more as if they were... paying respects, so to speak. Honoring the one who walked this hall.

"It feels as though... there was only meant to be one person who should pass through here," she remarked softly.

She could see Pantheon glancing at her from the corner of her eye, but Leona kept her expression even. They both knew who she meant.

"There's light up ahead," noted the Tidecaller.

"Strange," she said. Even if it was midday, there shouldn't be any light in a cavern, however faint.

The dark tunnel, dimly lit by the fire of a single torch, emptied out into a rounded chamber. A single shaft of light poured from some distant opening in the ceiling, which was itself so distant that they could see nothing but the extensive blackness into which it faded.

"There it is," whispered Nami.

In the center of the room was the object of their search.

It shone brightly, scattering beams of sunlight throughout the room like some sort of focal point resting atop an altar of obsidian. Its radiance made it blinding – Leona had to shade her eyes in order to gaze upon it.

"You have the abyssal pearl?" she asked, looking to the Tidecaller.

The Marai nodded, twisting off the bottom of her staff. Out from it fell the pearl, ebon in color, and – after replacing its removed end – she laid the staff to ground and moved towards the moonstone. Nami stopped, suddenly.

"What is it?"

"It's... there's a reflecting pool," she said, glancing downwards. "Look."

The Radiant Dawn moved to stand beside her, Pantheon following suit. There was indeed a reflecting pool surrounding the altar, the water dark and mirror-like as it reflected back to them their respective visages. In it, they could see the moonstone.

"The way it looks with the moonstone and all," remarked Nami, "it's almost like..."

"The night sky," she finished for her. "With a full moon."

"So if I take it, and replace it with the abyssal pearl, then... does it become a new moon?"

The thought consumed them in silence for a moment. If the moonstone were always exchanged with an abyssal pearl, if the agreement were a centennial affair, then could it be...?

"It does," confirmed Leona, awed. "It becomes the next moonstone – an abyssal pearl after a hundred years' exposure to light."

"A kind of cycle, then," noted Pantheon, almost to himself.

"I'm the first Tidecaller to see what happens to the abyssal pearl after the exchange," murmured Nami, plucking the gleaming stone from its perch and replacing it with the dark pearl. The light dimmed considerably. "So this is how it goes..."

The Lunari's chosen must have used this chamber for some kind of communion with the moon. A reading in the reflection pool, perhaps. Some kind of ritual that was beyond them.

This was a place meant only for the Chosen of the Moon, after all.

"Diana must have been searching for this," whispered Leona, "for so long."

The scattered notes in her armor, the long nights she spent in the archives. Diana had found her calling in the heat of battle, after a long, desperate search to find proof that what she believed in was real. She must have wanted, so badly, to understand her role – and what came next.

Her chest ached strangely at that realization.

The Marai glanced at her, and in her eyes the Radiant Dawn could see the regret they shared. But even when Pantheon reached out and touched her shoulder, Leona kept her expression steely. She could not afford to be weak – not now.

"We have what we came for," she said, turning to leave. "Now let us put it to use."

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"When you said you had a place, I was hoping it would be... cleaner."

He shrugged, offering her a sheepish grin. "Sorry. Right now this is the safest place in Zaun, if you don't want those monsters finding us. Too bad you're not made of goo; the dirt wouldn't stick."

"It's not the dirt that's the problem," she replied, wrinkling her nose.

"Well I thought this place could use a little more gooping up," said Twitch nonchalantly, skittering back and forth. He sidled up to one of his various nail-clipping jars, stroking it affectionately. "Gives it a little... pizazz."

He was really glad he totally lacked olfactory senses, because otherwise Zac wasn't sure he could have roomed with the Plague Rat. During his stint as a vigilante in Zaun, he'd hung out in the sewers with Twitch and kept him company - trying to teach him the finer points of civilized living before they'd both moved on to the League.

He watched as Janna trailed over to where Kassadin was, propped up on an old couch that was only half-there and that Zac had to convince her wasn't crawling with parasites. A few on-hand potions, a little help from the sorceress to clear Zaun's putrid air, and the man was looking less pale. He'd been bleeding pretty heavily from a few places – the Secret Weapon was surprised to see that most of the wounds had closed already. Whatever he was getting pumped through that mask, it was definitely something useful.

The others that had come with them – Kassadin's followers and Viktor's acolytes – were milling about trying to deal with the smell. It was obvious how on edge they were; they reached for their weapons every time there was a faint rumble. He couldn't blame them. It was like all hell had broken loose up there. The only thing Zac hadn't expected was that there were no Demacian soldiers with them, seeing as Janna had supposedly come in with a platoon of them. Had she gotten side-tracked, or separated? Were they still fighting or had they gotten wiped?

He grimaced, not particularly enjoying that train of thought. Their only hope to keep Valoran clear of the Voidborn was to hold them at the beach. If they lost there, then...

"Stop moving my stench!" yelled the Plague Rat, waving his arms at Janna angrily.

"Then stay away from me! And my patient!" she snipped back, crossing her arms with a hmph. Twitch skittered backwards, away from them, gnashing his teeth.

"Sorry man," he said, moving to stand next to him. "They're not used to Zaun's sewers and its... fineries."

"Obviously," huffed the rat, fiddling with his broken goggles. "They should be thankful I'm even letting them in here! They're my guests. So ungrateful!"

"Our guests," muttered the Secret Weapon under his breath, glancing aside. Twitch's ears perked up.

"What was that?"

"No, uh, they appreciate it. Really," he said instead, voice what he hoped was soothing. He knew how peeved it made him when people ragged on their pad - it was the territorial aspect of his rat origins, Zac figured. "Everyone's just a little stressed with how things are right now. When this all blows over, I'll get you the biggest, stinkiest cheese wheel on the continent and we can pretend no one was ever here."

The Plague Rat's nose twitched this way and that, his ears straightening up. "...Promise?"

"Promise."

His friend giggled strangely at that, no doubt delighted. He didn't know where he'd get that cheese, but he was sure he'd manage it somehow. Just like they'd manage this.

"You shouldn't be getting up!"

He snapped his head around, to where Janna had been tending Kassadin. The Voidwalker was struggling to rise, half-supported and half-held back by the Storm's Fury.

"Can't you feel it?" he said, through what sounded like gritted teeth. "It's as if... the tear has widened."

"What do you mean?" she asked, concerned.

"I can't – I don't know how I can explain it. I need to leave. I need to leave right now."

"You're still wounded!"

"Maybe you should listen to her," broke in Zac, a little reluctantly. He seemed pretty riled up, whatever it was. "It's no good to run out and get yourself killed."

"No, he's right. Don't you hear it?" whispered Twitch, springing up between them. The Secret Weapon stumbled backwards a little, barely containing a surprised yelp. "Something's here... Something dangerous."

"Then we should move," chimed in the one female preserver. "Before it finds us. We are ill-equipped right now for an engagement."

Janna whirled around. "Kassadin!"

He was already going for the door, riftwalking out in a flash. She tried to follow him, but Zac pulled her back, gesturing for the others to stay as well. Kassadin was really serious about going, and going alone. Maybe they should respect that.

"Hang on. He has to know what he's doing, right? I think we should just let him be."

"He's going to get himself killed," one of the acolytes observed dispassionately. "We can't afford that."

"Doesn't mean we should run out after him blindly. We need to be careful too," he replied, grimacing. "Twitch said something was in the sewer, something really dangerous."

"That," came a purring whisper from the shadows, "would be me."

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"Have we made it?"

He wanted to laugh. It was such a foolish question to ask, and for a soldier, too. All too hopeful in the face of war.

The putrid stench of blood and death hung heavily in the air, settling like a film on his tongue until his mouth felt full of ash. A soft sea-breeze blew through the tense stillness, swelling with the tang of salt and the fullness of water. Monsters and men alike littered the bay, their mangled bodies a testament to the fierce battle that had occurred.

"I can't believe it..." gasped the same soldier, struggling to stand. "Captain, did we actually beat them back?"

"Be still." The Might of Demacia glanced side to side, grip kept tight on his sword. "Something is strange about this."

He strained his ears for sounds of life, of death, for something other than the groaning pants of his surviving soldiers as they stood exhausted around him and the persistent slosh of receding tides. There were footsteps fast approaching.

"Cho'Gath! He's missing!" cried Lux, running up to him. He turned to face her.

She must have gotten too close to one of those damned Voidborn, for her armor was scratched, her face splashed with their viscous blood. His younger sister stopped to breathe, hunching over slightly with her hands on her knees. She must have been utterly drained. Garen frowned, shifting to a one-handed grip and resting his sword on the ground.

"What do you mean by missing?" he asked, wiping the blood off her face with the end of his scarf. "Was he not slain? Did he flee?"

"We don't know," she answered, shaking her head. Lux pushed his hand aside, rubbing at her cheek with the back of her own. "We couldn't find a body. In the frenzy, I don't think anyone kept track of him."

"This is ominous," Garen murmured, surveying the devastated battlefield once again. "That something so monstrous as the Terror of the Void could simply disappear... I don't believe victory is yet – "

The air changed.

He stopped short, whirling around with his sword at ready. The Prophet of the Void stood before them – on the ground – clapping slowly.

"– ours," he finished, eyes narrowing. "You."

Behind him, he could hear Lux inhale sharply, and she peeked around his shoulder to see, staff held ready.

"Impressive that mere humans managed to survive," he said simply. He glanced downwards to observe the remains of a decimated Kha'Zix mech before him, shoving it aside with the toe of his boot. "Granted that you had much help."

"Get to your point," he snapped. "Quickly."

The Prophet let out a raspy laugh, leaping backwards into his usual hover. "I merely wanted to congratulate you. A small reward for surviving the first wave."

"Then there's more?" His teeth clenched tight. He could hear his jaw creak.

"Plenty more," replied the Prophet, watching them with bright eyes. "This is just the beginning, after all."

In merely his gaze, his madness was palpable, and it was then that the Might of Demacia knew. This fool would destroy them all.

"Garen!" his sister gasped. "The ocean!"

On the sea-bound horizon there emerged several large, lumbering figures, and he could feel his stomach coil tightly in preparation for what was to come – but even more alarming was the distant sound of rushing water. An endless splashing like the bottom of a waterfall. The shoreline was falling away rapidly, as if the ocean were draining, and it was then that he could see. Along a wide split – shaped like the slit of a cat's eye – fell water, as if into a bottomless crevasse.

And it was then that he understood.

"The tear," he murmured, taking a shaky step forward. In the distant reaches of his awareness, he heard Malzahar laugh. That fool, that bastard, that miserable wretch.

The tear wasn't only there to allow the Voidborn into their world.

It was there to consume it.

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Next Chapter: http://boards.na.leagueoflegends.com/en/c/fancreations/tmumU3tx-fanfiction-fracture-chapter-18