The Darkin Chronicles [Fanmade Story] - Prologue
Hey guys!
So, I’ve decided to try something new on the forums. The history behind the Darkin’s existence was introduced very vaguely into Summoner’s Rift. At the same time, the general concept of the Darkin has a lot of potential. In my opinion, this opened up an opportunity for me to create a fanmade story on the lives of the Darkin, and I’m willing to give this a try. Opinions are more than welcome, however, all that I ask is that you show some maturity while giving said opinions. Remember that I am attempting this for your entertainment. With that said, I hope that you guys enjoy!
EXCLUDING AATROX AND RUNETERRA, ALL CHARACTERS, LOCATIONS, AND EVENTS ARE COMPLETELY FANMADE AND HOLD NO RELATION TO THE ACTUAL LORES PROVIDED BY RIOT GAMES.
Aatrox knelt on a barren mountainside, watching and waiting patiently, yet anxiously, as the burning sun fell over the red horizon. If the warrior remembered correctly, this would be his thousandth dusk on the battlefield, and he knew well that fate would once again give him the fill he desperately desired. Aatrox grinned at the thought, for it had been ages since he had submerged his blade into the flesh of a worthy foe. The last time he engaged in a formidable battle was nearly a hundred years ago, and ironically was with another fellow Darkin. It was almost as if he would never find pleasure in his fights again, and that tormented him more than any mortal wound. However, to his relief, Aatrox knew that these upcoming armies were very daunting subjects, and not meant to be taken lightly. Unlike the other forces he’s interacted with, these soldiers were not ones who revolved around brute strength and distasteful vulgarities. They were inquisitors, warmages who have mastered the arts of counterspelling enemy attacks, and then using those negated powers against their opponents. Aatrox had never seen such a method of fighting, and the concept behind it intrigued him greatly.
Knowing his own curious nature regarding war and all that associated with it, he probably would end up spending the majority of his time observing the battle rather than partaking in it. Yes, worthy foes indeed.
Suddenly, the sound of a horn rang through the night skies. The noise was deep, dark, and brutal, like the roar of a titan. Its call caused the earth to shiver, clouds to turn to dust, and air to thicken. Aatrox focused on the dead field of rock and sand ahead as the two armies confronted one another. His tattered wings fluttered while his blade began to flare in excitement. Every part of Aatrox’s body begged him to push forward into the battle, but the Darkin remained frozen in the darkness.
The two sides, thousands in numbers, held a short and quiet conversation. Aatrox was too far away to hear anything, nor make out their words by concentrating on their lips. Nonetheless, the anticlimactic discussion soon concluded. In a flash of bright light, a deafening boom shook the battlefield, and all hell was let loose. Aatrox leaped from the mountainside, placing himself directly out of the fight’s reach. There was a massive smoke screen clouding his vision, so he wasn’t able to make out much of what was going on. From the Darkin’s perspective, all that he could see were shadows dancing among the night’s terror, along with random arrays of blood shooting out in all directions. Occasionally, a bloodied hand crept its way out of the smoke, but was dragged back in as quickly as it escaped. Screams of pain and anguish made Aatrox edge closer and closer until he completely gave in to his senses and dived straight into the middle of the conflict. With swift, precise movements, Aatrox sliced through his enemies one by one, his subjects unaware of his presence. It took around thirty bodies to fall limp before both armies had realized that another party was involving themselves with their quarrel. They kept their eye out for the intruder, while focusing on their primary opponents as well.
Minutes into the war, and the legendary warrior was beginning to have trouble fighting against the inquisitors. The warmages were anticipating Aatrox’s attacks and countering them as if it were second nature. Only a small amount of his swings and thrusts were powerful enough to push through their defenses, and even when they did, the damage was reduced critically by the antithetical energies. To make matters worse, the inquisitors were starting to topple him. Normally, sheer numbers didn’t matter to Aatrox, for his blade had the range to wipe out hundreds at once. But, their magic was strong, stronger than what he had ever imagined. Regardless, he knew that he wasn’t going to let himself be beaten by the likes of the lesser. Aatrox soared into the skies, his wings releasing a violent gust of wind that blew away a handful of people. Raising his blade to the heavens, Aatrox surged all of the blood from his enemies into his weapon, pulling in everyone with the suction force of a black hole. Even with their exemplary abilities, none of them were able to resist the Darkin’s true powers. One by one, the forces fell victim to Aatrox’s massacre as his radiant blade ran through them like a hot knife through butter. For a short amount of time, the war was turning towards his favor as he was sculpting the warzone into a beautiful masterpiece of death and decay. Then, the inquisitors responded by anteing their strength and pressing their aggression against Aatrox to make him fall back. The constant counterspelling and oppression caused the Darkin’s power to experience an uncontrollable flux, and soon enough, Aatrox drowned in the hexes of the warmages.
The legendary warrior cursed in hatred and disbelief. He had now understood what they were talking about before the battle initiated. They detected his presence long before they even met at the barrens! It was a scheme to lure him in before the warmages would come together and take him down as a single unit. They outsmarted Aatrox, and that infuriated him. He leaned on the hilt of his sword, coughing and grunting as blood waterfalled from his torso, arms, and face. Out of the large crowd, two warmages stepped out of the bundles, both of them wearing armor that differed from the others. The one on the left wore a white hood over his head that shadowed his face, and an elegant silver necklace tainted with the Darkin’s blood. The other had an exposed chest covered in scars, pitch black eyes, a hole where his heart is supposed to be, and horns that curled past his mauled ears. They both raised a hand and revealed torn halves of a dismembered wing that once belonged to Aatrox, then proceeded to raise the other in a threatening manner. Aatrox raised his head and spat blood on their faces.
The inquisitors laughed and said in unison, “Our lord sends his highest respects. Even in death, you keep your poise and pride as a warrior. That’s honorable.”
“You’re digging your own graves if you think that this will be enough to stop me,” Aatrox said menacingly.
“Well, if that’s the case, we’ll be sure to meet again in the future, won’t we? As they say, ‘Destiny is our greatest friend and foe’,” they replied.
Before Aatrox could react, another bright flash of white light sparked from their palms and dominated the area. The blast emitted a high-pitched scream and blinded all who bore witness to it. There was a sharp snap, then all was calm once more. Nothing remained of Aatrox, and the spot where he stood had disintegrated into nonexistence.