The Fall: 6. The Glorious Execution, pt. 1

The Glorious Execution, pt. 1

A bright light was shining down the corridor; they were arriving. Malcolm could hear the crowd cheer the executioner; those kind of behaviours had always made him sick. That senseless violence that distinguished the Noxian arena from the rest, the audience's extreme sadism and the stink of death that reminded him of the battlefield. 'But no battles were fought in the arena...' thought Malcolm. 'It's all about the bloodshed, no reason to back it up.'.

Suddenly, a big man's silhouette appeared in the tunnel's entry. When their paths crossed, he noticed that Darius was as nervous as Malcolm had never seen him. He stopped a second, and so did Darius.

-I want you to come to the catacomb's cells right after leaving Xin Zhao at the arena, Malcolm. -comanded the Hand of Noxus. -No delay will be tolerated, I'll meet you down there.

-So it will be. -answered General Malcolm.

With Nellestar silently complaining about his situation, both Darius and Malcolm followed their ways. With every step the heat of the arena and the smell of rotting flesh became stronger, 'Only beasts would not reject such a monstruous show.' thought the General.

A few seconds later, Malcolm and Nellestar were walking back to the catacomb's cells. He had never been fond of the Noxian love for bleeding flesh, and he would avoid it as much as he could.

-Swift, Nellestar! -commanded Malcolm.-Darius is waiting in the catacombs, walk faster if you want to keep your remaining teeth!

...

He woke up when his head hit the floor. There he was; the place that had made him become what he had once been would be the one to kill him. He could hear the crowd cheer at the begginning. They were all having fun, just like he remembered. Noxians loved every drop of blood that was shed without a reason. He just couldn't understand why he wasn't dead yet. But then he heard that annoying voice.

-Here you have it! -shouted the executioner.-The fiercest warrior ever known, a soldier from head to toe, once a hero and the most loyal guard you might have ever seen. -he smiled looking at Xin Zhao.-But this thing I see here is not what they promised us!

The kick caught him by surprise. Then his nose started bleeding and his whole world became red.

-Are you the man they told me to kill? -shouted Draven while spinning an axe on his right hand.- I'm not in charge of killing animals. Sheep, cows, bulls or pigs; there is no place for filth like you here, whatever you are.

Another kick turned him and left him facing the sun. He was no animal. He was nothing to be laughed at. He was Xin Zhao, the Seneschal of Demacia, the steward of the last member of the Lightshield Dinasty. He was the Viscero.

He was going to get up and stop that nonsense by beating that shitty executor that Noxians adored, but then a boot smashed the left side of his face. An axe landed right before his eyes, that were now facing the ground. That brought him back to reality. That reminded him what he was. 'Nothing but history.' thought the las remain of the Viscero.

...

A chilling cold got into his bones while he went deeper and deeper into the catacombs. Empty cells surrounded him; that was the Arena's famine caused by the lack of war. Darius was curious about how would the upcoming events unfold; he didn't really know what had happenned in that room, but after Darkwill's sorcery, the Demacian king didn't look the same. Even LeBlanc was clearly afraid of what had been done, and that was proof enough that it was serious business.

No matter what the future might bring, he would be the one to carry Noxus to victory. The Fleshing needed new blood, his brother wanted new toys and the young warriors were looking forward to show their skills on the battlefield.

A sheer cold stopped his thinking. The cling-clang of chains echoed through the corridors. He kept on walking, step by step, always slower than before, until he traced a glow that lightly illuminated a passageway. He covered the distance in three big steps, and only then he wished he had never gone down the catacombs.

Thresh was bigger than he remembered; his undead eyes glowed in the dark, and a spectral aura surrounded his whole body. He could hear him laugh, but he knew he didn't have to listen. He didn't have to think. He didn't have to feel. In a situation like this, a leader must act.

He could hear the cling-clang of the chaing. He could hear the madman's laugh. But the only thing he felt was the blood rushing through his veins. This was what he had been born for; fighting enemies feared by most. The chains swirled through the room, souls blocked every hit of his that might have reached the chain warden. He didn't think he could win a fight like this; luckily, his thought were not part of him now. He was no more than a living weapon; aim, hit, aim, hit. Let the armor block whatever that might reach me.

But that situation didn't last long. He saw a chain fly overhead; blood reached his back, and then he heard a scream. When he turned he saw Malcolm and the soldier he was in charge of in the middle of the corridor; Nellestar was the one screaming. He was crying and bleeding, his dry blood being mixed with the recent one that a chain locked in his chest was bringing out.

They had to stop him here. Malcolm and Darius were the ones that should lock Thresh in the catacombs, even at the cost of their lives. They couldn't let that monster reach the surface again. The chaos that a creature of such a nature could cause was beyond their imagination. They were the ones that beared such a charge.

But no words came out of Darius' mouth. The last thing he saw was Thresh knocking him down while flying towards Nellestar; it all became dark afterwards.