Warning: This fanfic will contain blood, violence, some gore, and language in later chapters, but not so much lemon-related aside from descriptions of clothing. Also, special thanks to TheLost for pointing out an error in one of my lines. I went to check and, sure enough, Fizz does have support from Bilgewater. It's been fixed now, but the review was removed. Very sorry.
The Institution of War and its plaything, the League of Legends, was becoming more or an annoyance than originally thought. The summoners, as they called themselves, were among the largest thorns he had earn had the displeasure of bearing. Were it not for the nexuses, which they seemed to care little for, his time, as invaluable as it was, would not be wasted wearing the metaphorical chains of slavery to such petty mages. The fools had no idea the pyramids of power they held. Worse than they, however, were the two cities who also held access to the nexuses.
Yet, here he was, the mage who had risked his life and that of his people, to purse the greatest calling of his fellow magi: Research. He remembered all to well how it happened. Through his research, his mortal body had been racked and nearly broken. Power was what he had sought, and power was what he had earned with the price of his body. Near what normally would have been his end, he had found a way to give up what was left of his frail, weak, and otherwise useless body for one that would grant him nearly unlimited power, the body to contain such power, and, with it, immortality.
He had found a ritual to transcend his body and mind to one of pure arcane magic. Without hesitation, he began to follow it.
Chaos was what the ritual ultimately required. It was a price he paid without a second thought.
The earth shook with fear as the skies roared with fury. Bolts of both lightning and magic, mixing together into a yet more destructive form, whipped the land, scarring it for centuries to come. Whatever the lightning struck was vaporized in a violent crash, only a burn upon the crusty dirt or cracked stone remained. Anything near it, what was not killed instantly, was horribly burned or caught fire. Too close, and things became glass.
An outline of red was all that marked the grave of an animal or person.
Ripples and surges of power, from where the lightning hit water, sent devastating tidal waves crashing into whatever was in their path. Trees, growing along small lakes, were up-rooted by merciless waves from five to ten, something more, deeper waters. Whatever lived under the water was cooked instantly by the shear heat of power.
From the mage's point, all was going well.
His flesh was painfully burned from his muscles. His muscles were peeled, ripped, from his bones in a bloody mess, each and every drop of his life blood evaporating as soon as it touched the crackling air. His bones were broken into pieces, crushed into dust, and swept up into the whirlpool of arcane. His organs, what remained of his body, were ripped apart, the contents spilling out.
He was only fuel for the ritual. In exchange for his body, his mind would live on in another. In exchange for what he wrought, he would live etenerally to continue his research.
It was as if the world was ending.
Finally, as quickly as it had come, the violence, the lightning, the earthquakes, stopped. All around, there were bodies of men, women, children, and animals. Dead, wounded, dying, and blackened stains where life once stood were among the destroyed or crumbling buildings. What structures were spared did not provide true safety for the ones within. Even they were at least hurt, some killed by the shock waves alone.
At the center of it all, stood the one who had caused it all. From the time it started, in mortal, human flesh of a dying body. From the time the chaos had started, his being pulled apart as an offering to the magic ritual. From the deadly silence that followed, his life forever changed with the new body he had bought for himself with years of study and research, unbelievable pain to himself and those around him, and a determination no man had ever held.
Xerath, the mage, stood. His body, looking much like living, blue and white lightning, hovered in place, the point of where his feet should be inches from the stone ground. Amazingly, his violet robes were undamaged, aside from the years of use before.
There he stood, looking over his new body with glowing white eyes and blue pupils. His hands looked more like claws, four points crackled with power whenever he flexed them, the space between cooking the air itself. What was his new legs was separated by a very small slit, yet his feet were points, both hovering off the ground. His whole body, his new, immortal body, crackled with power.
It was unlike anything he had ever imaged.
He had, at long last, become one with his life's passion: magic. He was not a being of magic, with flesh and blood and life. He was, down to his very essence, pure magic given a mind of its own. At his finger tips, he held nearly unlimited power.
However, his victory was short-lived. Days later, he was taught a lesson by his previous teachers: You reap what you sow.
His careless disregard for his actions had caused his fellow mages to see him as a threat. Together, and after a great struggle, they defeated him. He was entombed within a prison that had returned to haunt him. Within his stone tomb, he realized his robe, the threads fused with the magic that was now his life, was imbued with the stone of his sarcophagus. He was trapped, unable to break the enchantments placed to keep him in.
As time went on, days turning to weeks, and, eventually centuries, time had proved to be his ally. The enchantments had weakened, his body and time breaking it down little by little. When he finally picked away at the wall, seeing a stream of light, he unleashed himself at that one spot.
An explosion was the result. Through shear force, his power avalanche across the invisible confines of his prison, he tore apart most of what held him back. Most, was not good enough. The core, a layer of defense beyond the enchantments and his robe, a second layer in case he did escape, bound the outer layer of his sarcophagus to his magical body.
Unlike before, he was bound to this new prison, but he was free to move. He was also free to use his magic, a portion of it anyway, to what he could use. Try as he might, there was no way for him to pick this lock. At least, not without another source of powerful magic to bind it to.
The nexus, an object of pure magical power, akin and much like his body, could be substituted for his magic. If only he could get a few, he could trick the core and bind it to a nexus, freeing himself completely. However, the summonors, the keepers of the nexuses, would not allow him to use them.
If need be, he would wait. Time was, after all, his ally. Those who had imprisoned him were long dead, their descendents driven from the land and not even the same people he once knew. Immortality was still his, yet there was still so much for him to learn and power yet untapped within him.
"My, my. Aren't you a magnificent being." A voice came, waking him from his private thoughts.
Power surged through him, waking him from his slightly dormant state that had become his sleeping, and his eyes meant a new face.
It was a woman, yet no normal woman. Her long, silver hair stretched down to her waist, yet some of it floated in the air. Her attire, black and purple, was of Ionian design. A helmet, almost a crown, rested on her head. Two eyes, purple and full of power, peeked out from that crown, meeting his own white and blue eyes, showed off intelligence and lust he had seen only in his own reflection. She wore a smile with dark red lipstick on her lips, the top front of her pure white teeth, like small fangs, visible. His eyes traveled downward, taking in her full attire, before going back up to her face. Her feet were no the ground.
"I take you are the Magus Ascendant, Xerath." She said, her voice was young, in her early twenties by his estimate, sent a shiver up his spine. Fully awake, he could sense the power that emanated from her body. "My name is Syndra. I am also known as the Dark Sovereign." She introduced herself.
To be so close to him, without fear of what he was and to speak like a student to her teacher, this woman, Syndra, had gained his interest. What surprised him more was where the two of them were.
Xerath had entered the Institution's restricted areas, where they held objects of powerful. Since the events of the Crystal Scar, his services had been requested to examine items, either for his expertise or that he could touch otherwise deadly objects. Through these services, he had gained an amount of trust among the summoners, allowing him privileges others were not allowed. She was clearly new, another champion but still new.
"I am. Might I inquire your reason for being here?" He asked. He was unconcerned with how she got in, even he had to use several tricks to get in at this time. Clearly, she either strong enough or smart enough to get in.
Syndra, as she said her name was, looked him up and down before she began circling him. As she did, his head turned to follow her, much like an owl's, but, unlike an owl's, his neck could turn indefinitely. She was unfazed by this though, as she continued her silent examination of him.
When she had floated and seen his entire body, and now floated in front of him once more, her smile had widened. "I came here because I sensed something of unbelievable power. I never would have guessed it would be you." She answered. Slowly, her eyes came up to his. "You are far more intriguing than I would have ever thought." She added.
There was a click. Both their heads turning to the sound.
Xerath, moving forward, placed his hand on her shoulder, urging her to follow him. She did not question his actions, but went with him willingly. They went around a corner, hiding from view. "Stay quiet." He warned, his voice crackling with the threat. She nodded, the smile still on her face. She did not show any fear. He was beginning to like this woman.
The sound turned into voices. "Do the sight wards normally expire this early? I thought they should have lasted longer." A man, old by the sound of it, said. Thumps followed by footsteps, echoed from the hall and into the room.
"I do not know. The summoners are always making improvements to their security. Sadly, sometimes there are errors. Once, all the wards exploded, leaving ash, soot, and small holes in the walls. It was a busy week for us." Came another, younger voice.
Peeking out, he saw it was two of the guards, more no doubt arriving by the minute. The older one held in his left hand a cane, the younger one held a flashlight. Xerath did not need lights, a simple change in his magic could make him as bright as the sun, but, right now, he was a dull glow.
He looked back to the Syndra woman, she was watching him with interest. He silently gestured for her to turn around. When she did, he pushed her forward. Both could float, so there was no need to worry of them making noise, save for the crackles of his body.
A light move over the corner they just were, then along the wall. "Like always, it's clear. I'm going to hit the lights." The younger one said. There was a reply from the older one, then both their footsteps sounding.
Xerath and Syndra hid behind the corner, now making their way to the door. Casting his hand out toward the younger one, he tripped the guard with chain of arcane magic. Before he began to fall, he withdrew the chain, then raced toward the guard as he fell. Syndra, silently, was shocked by his speed, able to clear the several yard distance before she could turn her head. Grabbing the man, Xerath's hand over the guard's mouth to keep him quiet, he cast stood the guard up, a glazed look in the man's eyes as the mage returned to Syndra.
She was about to speak, but he put a finger over her opened mouth. Without her doing, her mouth closed, a tingling sensation on her lips. It felt like she bit down on an electric cord, she even felt something like waves traveling from the tops of her teeth to the bottoms, down her throat. It felt thrilling, but, at the same time, frightening. Even when he removed his finger, the effects lingered for several seconds.
He urged her forward again, and she complied once the effect ended.
Along the way out, there were no more guards. Xerath had taken the lead and found it odd. There should be more. There should have been more than two in that other room. Where were the other guards?
It was not until they were close to the public areas that he saw why. Outside, there was a giant, floating step-pyramid of Ionian design. The guards, most of them anyway, were keeping the public, staff, and League champions away. He looked to Syndra, his eyes wide with disbelief. She smiled at the look before going toward the guards.
"That's my home. I did not know where to leave it, so I just left it there." She called out.
Every eye turned to her. By the angle, no one would have seen her leaving the restricted area, never him. By the look, they would have only been passing it.
One of the guards were about to speak to her when a summoner came forward. "There you are... Syndra, was it?" The summoner asked. She nodded. "Come. We are ready to give you audience. This will decide if you will be a champion of the League of not. Are you prepared?" The summoner asked, unmoved by the large, floating building several meters from and above the public.
"I am prepared. Lead the way." She requested.
Xerath "stood" there, surprised. She was not a champion? Only now, was she being considered for the position? And that pyramid was her home? This woman, who had found him in the most restricted area of the Institution and said she had come just because of his presence, could make something so big float? She was merely a child, yet her abilities were this advanced. The Magus Ascendent, in all his years, both as mortal studying and immortal learning to use his new body from his prison, was in awe at the woman he had just meant.
He began moving again, an inner smile in his mind. For once, he was interested in hearing a judgement. Normally, even though champions could attend and cast their vote, he never did. Champions of Demacia, Noxus, Bilgewater, Piltover, and other cities or states supported their own, of course. Ones who did not belong to one, such as Jax, among others, had no powers to support them. This one, Syndra, he would hear her judgement and pass his own. One thing was clear: he would not deny her entry. If anything, he would say nothing.