[SHORT STORY] Demons Within
This is a short story starring one of my Champion Concepts, Celes. It's probably nowhere near as thorough as Shadows and Fortune, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless.
For more context on Celes, you can check the above link to her Champion Concept page. I can always use more reviews. ;)
Captain Randor sighed as he wiped his brow with the back of his leather glove. The day so far had practically gone to Hell, the stench of blood and the cries of his men making it palpable how badly he had failed his mission.
The middle-aged Demacian officer took but an instant to glance at his wounded men. Just that morning, the twenty of them had been so confident, so assured the day would be a swift victory. It was a simple task: find a demon that had been terrorizing a local farm village and put it to the sword. Now six of his men would never fight again, and Randor suspected two would never make it back to Demacia alive. The corpses of four more of his men were now feeding the crows. They had sorely underestimated their foe, which still hid in the farm town below, its fields and crops soiled with the blood of his soldiers.
It wasn’t for lack of experience that the attack had failed. No, they had simply not expected the demon’s power. To turn the very villagers they had been sent to aid into its thralls? How could Randor order his men to slaughter innocent men and women who fought so fiercely against their will?
If only he could have reached the fiend behind this madness… But the demon had hidden itself, leaving its thralls to fight Randor and his soldiers, who found themselves unable to subdue the peasants without harming them. They had only been armed with pitchforks and kitchen knives, while his men had crossbows and gleaming blades. And yet, because of their hesitance, they had been forced to withdraw.
He could have easily crushed them had he given the order. But he had been sent to save lives, not start a massacre. They too were Demacians. He could not kill them, nor could he order his men to do so.
There had to be another way…
The slow, heavy patter of hooves and the whinny of a great steed broke Randor’s concentration, and turned his gaze to the rider who had just approached him. His eyes narrowed upon seeing who it was.
The woman who dismounted the great black steed was one Randor knew all too well. Her blonde hair, tied neatly in an intricate bun, made clear her status as a noble knight and a daughter of Demacia. But her plated armor, the deepest black metal and covered in cuts and dents, along with her pale complexion and haunting red eyes, made her look more like a specter from the Shadow Isles. Crimson runes trailed down her armor in patterns that almost looked as though they moved, making one wonder if they were indeed runes and not streams of blood. Offsetting the woman’s dark ensemble was a dirtied grey tabard on her left shoulder, one that bore Demacia’s coat of arms upon it, though the cloth had clearly seen better days. Strapped to her back was an enormous blade, almost as long as she was tall, that seemed to glow a faint red light within its black scabbard.
She took but a moment to see to her horse, and then turned to face the captain.
“Captain Randor,” the Crusader Celes said briskly. Her voice was willowy and faint, yet still it held great authority.
“Celes,” Randor said as he saluted her.
“I thought I told you to wait until I arrived.” Celes glanced down at Randor’s wounded men as she said this.
“We thought we could kill it on our own. How could we have known the fiend would have such a capability? Turning those people against us like that…”
“And you did nothing about them?”
“You would have me slaughter innocents?”
“No one said you had to kill them, Randor. But I expected better from you.”
Randor could only sigh in defeat. He had known Celes for a long time now, even before she had changed. Her eyes had been brown once, and she had been kind and caring to all. Now her heart seemed as black and cold as her armor, all on account of that damnable sword…
“I will handle it from here,” Celes said as she turned toward the village. “Set a perimeter around the town. No one leaves or enters until I return.”
“Wait, you’re going alone?”
“If I do not return within an hour, you are to assume I am dead. Should that happen, return to Demacia and report this matter to the king. Understood?”
“You can’t be serious!”
“Am I understood, Randor?” Celes demanded, her voice taking a far crueler tone.
For a moment, neither Celes nor Randor moved. Randor then sighed and said, “Yes, ma’am.”
“Thank you, Randor.” Celes’ voice returned to its willowy tone.
Without another word between them, the black-armored Crusader made her way toward the village below.
...
The main street of the village was empty, save for a few scattered baskets, crates, and small stains of blood upon the dirt road. Besides the creaking of window flaps in the breeze, no sounds of animals or people could be heard. Even the chirping of birds was absent, creating an eerie silence to the small hamlet.
Celes strode slowly and cautiously down the road, a black visor now covering her red eyes. Her senses searched for any movement or sound, any telltale signs of her foe. Her right hand, which grasped the great blade strapped on her back, twitched almost nervously.
The sound of a snapping twig filled her ears as she stepped across a dropped flower basket. And barely a second later was she whirling herself around as a middle-aged man rushed toward her with his pitchfork.
A loud crash shattered the silence as Celes’ blade slammed into the ground, having cleaved through both the man’s weapon and left arm. A follow-up punch from Celes sent the farmer to the ground, clutching the bleeding stump as he screamed, his jaw broken by her blow.
Ebonmere was a truly malicious weapon. It was large, sleek and sharp, forged from an unknown black metal that glowed crimson as it drank the blood of its most recent victim. The skull of some hellish creature made up its hilt, with a claw-like spike as its pommel. The eyes of the skull glowed as though alive. No other weapon in Runeterra was like this cursed sword.
Celes swung around as a Demacian woman charged her, screaming with a carving knife in hand. Celes deftly avoided the strike and swung Ebonmere, smashing the woman’s head with the blunt side of the blade. The woman fell to the floor, unmoving, but alive.
A third villager, this one a boy who couldn’t even have been sixteen, came at the dark knight with a sword, taken from one of Randor’s men. He made a clumsy overhead strike at Celes, one she met directly with Ebonmere. The Demacian steel shattered in an instant to the demonic blade, leaving its wielder in shock. Celes took advantage of the boy’s surprise, thrusting a kick into the boy’s knee with a sickening crack. The boy cried like a child as he grasped his broken leg and toppled over.
Within seconds, Celes scowled as the street became alive, the demon’s thralls swarming out of the nearby houses in their attempt to overwhelm her. But even with such numbers, they stood little chance against the Crusader.
The only difficulty, Celes mused, was making sure they all lived.
...
The town chapel had once been a bright and lively place. Its bloodstained walls and windows, however, spoke of its present desecration. A loud crunching noise could be heard as some foul being feasted upon one of the corpses that littered the floor.
The doors to the chapel swung open as Celes entered. Outside, the screams and moans of the townsfolk made clear her victory. Various limbs had been severed or broken, while others had been left unconscious, but they all yet lived.
Celes stalked forward slowly, her eyes fixed upon the beast in the back of the chapel. The stench of blood and the crunching sound assaulted her senses, but she pushed them aside as she stepped over the half-eaten corpse of one of the unluckier villagers.
“They sent a lone woman to face me?” said a guttural, growling voice. “I should feel insulted, and yet… you came so far all alone. Impressive…”
With another crunch, the demon tossed aside his current meal, sending half-eaten bones and guts across the chapel. The fiend then rose from the shadows, revealing his form. Its head was adorned with the curled horns of a mountain ram, yet its face looked more like that of a lion. Its massive humanoid frame towered over Celes, complete with a tail that looked more in place on a reptile, and hooves instead of feet. The monster’s red hide was slick with blood, as were its many razor sharp teeth and claws.
“It ends here, demon…” Celes said as she readied her blade.
The demon’s bellowing laughter echoed within the chapel. “You are brave, wench, but foolish. Now you will pay for your folly by serving me.”
With that, the demon’s red eyes began to glow neon, glaring directly at Celes. As it stared, she felt its power begin to tug at her mind, attempting to wrest control from her. Yet for Celes, this was but a trifling thing.
Seconds passed, but neither Celes nor the demon moved. The demon then stopped, realizing his power would not take hold of her.
“Hmm? Ah, you are one of those vaunted Crusaders, then. You are not the first to seek my death, and you shall not be the last.”
As the beast rose to its full height, Celes stepped toward it slowly, watching for any sudden movements.
“I will crush you, and flay the flesh from your bones as you scream for death!” said the demon, letting out a snarling laugh.
“We’ll see about that, demon!”
With those words, Celes rushed forward and swung Ebonmere, intending to split the demon from shoulder to tailbone. But instead of a clean cut, her blade stopped abruptly. Startled, Celes looked up to see the demon had caught her swing in its left hand. A small amount of blood dripped from a cut in the demon’s palm, but it otherwise was unharmed by her strike. Celes quickly tried to pull the Ebonmere free, but the demon’s hand held strong.
“So predictable,” said the demon, “and so arrogant, like the rest of your kind!”
With that, the demon’s right hand smashed into Celes, sending her and the Ebonmere careening into the front wall of the chapel. Blood spurted briefly from Celes’ mouth as she gasped in pain from the impact, the blow and crash having cracked several ribs.
The demon charged her before she could fully recover. In a desperate reflex, Celes threw herself to the side, avoiding the worst of the demon’s strike, but collided with the beast’s frame rather than its horns. The impact sent her into the street as the chapel wall was obliterated. Around Celes, the wounded villagers paid no heed to the demon’s arrival, still within its thrall.
Laughing, the demon said, “Humans, so fragile. You cannot prevail, Crusader.”
Trembling, Celes slowly rose to her feet, steadying herself with the Ebonmere. Her right side was bleeding profusely, and her visor had been knocked away, showing the fear and anger in her eyes.
She knew she had only one option.
Her left hand reached to the wound on her side, grasping it tightly with a pain-filled breath. Her blood pooled in her hand, which she moved to the skull adorning the Ebonmere. She placed her bloody palm upon the skull, and the runes upon the sword began to glow.
“By my blood, Ebonmere… AWAKEN!”
The sword crackled to life as hellish power surrounded its wielder, who howled in agony and fury. Her eyes, with normally red irises, now shone crimson and black. The blood upon the blade soaked into the weapon as the eyes in its skull began to pulse, as though the sword were alive.
It was a terrible, yet now familiar feeling for Celes. Her fear vanished, replaced by bloodlust. Any semblance of mercy or honor gave way to a desire to harm, kill, and destroy anything before her. Her body twitched almost nervously as she looked upon her foe, and she began to envision a thousand different means of ending the demon’s life.
But most of all, she could feel the power. When she had been given Ebonmere by the Darkin Aatrox, he promised it would make her a virtually unstoppable force and a terror to any who faced her. Indeed, the blade delivered on its expectations.
Celes looked back at the demon, whose face was now one of surprise, apprehension, and fear. He clearly recognized such power, and it frightened him.
Celes grinned viciously. “What’s the matter, demon? Are you suddenly afraid?”
“What sorcery is this?” asked the demon. “That blade… It cannot be!”
With a cry for blood, Celes rushed at the demon, meeting a strike from its massive fist with the Ebonmere, the sword cleaving the beast’s arm cleanly in half down its length. The demon shrieked in agony as Celes followed up by slashing through its right leg, and then running it through its chest with Ebonmere. Not even leaving the blade within her foe for a moment, Celes ripped the demonic sword out of the demon’s chest and spun around in a horizontal slash. The blow bisected the demon, sending blood and guts showering across the ground as the demon’s upper half crashed to the ground in front of the chapel.
In shock, the demon looked on as Celes slashed through its still-standing lower half with a vertical cut, splitting it down the middle so that it fell away and allowed her passage to her victim. She was soaked in the demon’s blood, and to the demon’s horror, she was smiling.
Celes began to chuckle as she licked her lips, sampling the taste of the demon’s blood.
“My, my, done already?” asked Celes. “You’re not nearly good enough! I thought you’d put up more of a fight!”
Gasping for air, the demon pleaded, “M-Mercy, please…! Y-You mustn’t…”
Celes brought one of her blood-stained metal boots down on the demon’s remaining arm at the shoulder, which unfortunately for the demon could still feel pain. The demon howled in agony, a cry that was cut short as the Ebonmere’s point was driven into the demon’s throat.
With another sadistic laugh, Celes asked, “How many have died begging the same of you, demon?!”
It would be the last thing the demon ever heard, right before Celes raised the Ebonmere and brought it crashing down on the demon’s skull.
...
Randor had expected Celes to cause more damage, but was glad he had been wrong. The villagers, now free from the demon’s spell, were tending to their wounded. Many were bandaging the stumps that had once been their arms or legs, a sight Randor hated to admit he had become accustomed to when dealing with Celes. At least she hadn’t killed any of them, though it couldn’t be said that all the villagers survived.
A sickening ‘squish’ beneath Randor’s boot caused him to look down at Celes’ handiwork. The demon behind all this chaos wasn’t even recognizable anymore, its body torn to pieces, its head in hundreds of indistinguishable bits. Though he held no pity for the demon, it unnerved Randor to see the extent of Celes’ brutality.
Randor found said Crusader kneeling within the ruined town chapel, her hands in prayer before the dais. She was covered in blood, both the demon’s and her own. She clearly hadn’t taken the time to tend to her wounds.
Stepping inside the chapel, Randor heard Celes’ muffled whispers as she prayed to the Lord. He already knew the verse she was reciting: a prayer of salvation and mercy.
However, he always wondered for whom it was meant…
I hope you've enjoyed this. I'll answer any questions you might have, as I'm sure there are plenty of story elements you are not going to understand immediately.