The Broken Numbers

The Broken Numbers

Bor had been meditating for hours. He didn’t really know how long he had been, but he knew that he was not done. He felt something in the air, something in the way the breezes danced, that somehow forced him to stay. It was as if something was out of place; something important yet unnoticed by most.

That was why he kept on with his meditation; he hoped for a clearer sign of what was wrong, something that evidenced the malfunction he was looking for. That was when Kiri rushed to his side.

-This is not good, kainira. –said Kiri, clearly nervous.- This poem’s metric is out of place, kainira.

-It is not, Kiri. –replied Bor without caring much about Kiri’s words.- You are reading Ionostus’ Eulogy to Mirkos, and you already know that Ionostus was one of the most metric-obsessed poets of his time. –Bor took a deep breath and started to get his mind back into meditation.- You must be measuring wrong.

-But I am not, kainira. –answered Kiri, annoyed by his brother’s words.- You know I’m the best at this things, I know how to it should be and this is not how, kainira.

-Stop saying kainira Kiri, it’s just a poem. –annoyingly answered Bor. Kiri always used that word when something made him uneasy, but he only did it so much when the issue was extremely disturbing.

-It’s not just a poem, kainira. –said Kiri, a little bit angry because of how his brother dismissed his words. - The whole book is wrong, kainira.

That was the straw that broke the camel. Tired of his little brother’s childishness, Bor stopped meditating and tried to get up. Surprisingly, he was unable to do so. He could even lift his legs from the ground; unable to move, he looked at his brother.

-Can’t you get up brother? Kainira… –said Kiri. He sat down onto the grass and got up instantly. - Are you really unable to get up?

-How did you do it? –asked Bor, now even more worried of his condition.

He tried to get up by pushing himself up with his arms, by gaining momentum and suddenly trying to jump and by many other logical ways he thought of. Meanwhile, his brother Kiri was constantly sitting and getting up with ease. Frustrated, Bor asked his little brother how he was doing it.

-I don’t really know. I just do it. –he answered.- I mean, it’s not the first time I get up, and I’ve always done it the same way. –he sat once again and instantly jumped on his feet.- See?

Only then he understood what was truly going on; the whole world had lost its mathematical basis. With no numbers to guide rational actions, chaos was to be expected. Yet the wind kept on blowing the same way than ever, and the grass still bent under the weight of his body; most actions were not rational, even though able to.

When not based in the number doctrine that Bor had imposed on himself, things were able to function as usual. He was still thinking about it when his brother’s words caught his attention.

-I told you that it wasn’t that difficult. –said Kiri with a mocking tone.

He was about to ask his brother what was he talking about, but, even though it was wide open, no words came out of his mouth; he had got up. How had he done it? He didn’t really care, and he didn’t think that he would be able to explain it anyways.

Bor asked his brother to handle him Ionostus’ Eulogy to Mirkos. Once Bor started to read the page that Kiri was talking about, Kiri started to tell him which verses were wrong. But there was no need for that; the mistakes were obvious, you didn’t even need to know about poetry to feel that the whole book sounded weird. When read aloud, the words seemed to step on each other; if each poem had been a castle, this would have been the biggest collapse ever witnessed.

After telling his little brother that he was right concerning the poems’ metric, he decided that they needed to get home and discover what was actually going on; only there he would be able to face the problem directly and solve it. Also, it was the closest place where they could cover from the storm that relentlessly advanced through the mountains towards them.

Minutes later, the brothers had already arrived home. In front of the house’s door, Bor became afraid of what would happen next; he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to open the door.

He failed with his first try, but that was something he expected. He was trying to open the door as he usually did, by grabbing the doorknob and pulling in a way that the strength he applied was optimal for the door’s rotation around the axis placed in the connection between the door and the house. If logic wasn’t working, he’d have to do it the opposite way.

But there were so many. He tried by pushing in the same direction that he had already pulled, by sliding his hand over the door as if he was pushing it downwards, by telling it to open and by punching it right in the middle. But nothing came out of that; not even his fist was hurt.

When he thought that there was no hope, his brother pushed him aside, opened the door by pulling the doorknob and told him to go in.

-You’ll get a cold if you keep on fooling around with the door, brother! –he said as if he had done nothing strange.

And he actually meant it; Bor knew that what Kiri had done was nothing out of place. No miracle, no magic, not a complicated trick; he had done what he had always done. He had gone towards the door, opened it and entered the hallway.

-I’ll make the dinner today, brother. –announced Kiri while taking off his wet jacket and hanging it near the fireplace.

-I’ll lay the table then, Kiri. –replied Bor, doubting if he’d be able to.

-Sure, Bor! –answered his brother, way calmer than how he had been outside.

That was strange. Kiri was not saying kainira anymore; did that mean that he could get back into doing things on his way? Had everything been solved for no reason at all?

Instead of asking his little brother about it, Bor rushed his way into the kitchen and grabbed the yellow tablecloth they had not used in the last nine hundred thirty seven years. Then he ran towards the dining area, shut his eyes closed and threw the tablecloth onto the huge wooden table that they used for dinner when it rained.

When he opened his eyes, he saw the yellow tablecloth stretched over the table, without a single wrinkle ruining its beautiful display of grace. Then, Bot tried to disturb that perfection; he grabbed a hanging corner of the tablecloth and pulled downwards a little bit and then backed away to look at the results of his actions.

Just like he expected, the tablecloth was still perfect. Nothing disturbed its relentless grace that broke through the logic of physics just for the sake of maintaining its perfection. Bor’s logic was unable to force a change in the great scheme of things because of how he was trying to simplify everything into a set of numbers that was obviously malfunctioning.

Bor had been laughing for quite a while when Kiri entered the dining-room.

-Where are the dishes? –asked Kiri.

And then Bor realized; since physics were flawed and numbers were broken, anything physically dependent could be done by sheer will. He thought about it for a short while and realized what was going to happen.

-They are already here, Kiri. –answered Bor.- By the way, you shouldn’t leave the brew still cooking, it’s already on point.

Bor looked at Kiri, expecting to see him surprised when he looked at the table and saw everything ready for dinner. But Kiri’s face showed nothing but guilt.

-Oh, I’m sorry, –said Kiri, looking at the table.- I thought that you were just hacking around.

Kiri went back to the kitchen and grabbed a wooden spoon. He carefully stirred the brew with it and brought a spoonful of it right into its mouth. Without a doubt, he spit it on the floor.

-This isn’t ready yet, Bor! –angrily claimed Kiri.- Don’t lie to me again, you know that these herbs are toxic when not cooked on point!

Surprised with his brother’s answer, Bor went into the kitchen, took the wooden spoon from Kiri’s hands and tried the brew. It was perfect! How could he say that it was not on point!

Only then he realized; it was both ways. In the reality perceived by Bor, the brew was already perfect for eating, while in the part of the world that Kiri cared about the brew still needed some time before being ready to eat.

It was after realizing that that Bor reached a stunning conclusion; he could not eat the brew. If he ate it now he’d have to eat it from the cooking pot, because Kiri was in charge of the kitchen that day; if he ate it later, it would be overcooked, and he didn’t want to face the constipation days that an overcooked heliotrope brew could cause.

-Ugh, you were right. –said Bor to younger brother, rushing towards the sink and gargling several times in a row.- I think I’ll have no dinner tonight, Kiri, I’ll just go to sleep.

Without giving him any time to reply, Bor made his way upstairs and got into his bedroom. He undressed himself and swiftly got into his stripped pajamas. Only then he realized that he had done all those things without thinking about them, in the very same way that Kiri had been acting the whole day. It was that impulsive behavior what was letting them get through the day, avoiding the nuisance that the numerical issue was.

And he kept on with it. He got into bed and slept comfortably all night. When he woke up the next morning, he had completely forgotten about the issue that had troubled him so much the day before. From then on, he never cared much about the little details of life. He knew he would  be fine as long as he knew how to live.

Lies

During dinner, Bor had noticed that Kiri was nervous. Like he always did when something made him uneasy, Kiri bit his nails whenever he had a chance and said kainira nearly after every sentence.

Usually he would have asked him what was going on, but he didn’t really want to right now. He knew the exact reason of why he was nervous, and the topic that his brother was obsessed with was one that he had never liked.

With a silence only interrupted when he decided to praise the food that Kiri had prepared for that night, he peacefully went through the dinner with no mention of the doubt that haunted his younger brother. They ate peacefully; they cleaned everything and calmly went to bed. Right when Bor was about to claim the outcome of the situation as a personal victory, the hasty dark-haired child that his brother was talked.

-But what if, Bor... –whispered the little boy.

-There's no "what if" for that, Kiri. –answered Bor, frustrated because of the defeat that the question meant for him.- That just can't happen.

-But why? Why not Bor? –replied Kiri louder, now talking as he usually did, wielding his high-pitched voice as a blade that slashed through his brother’s persistence.- I just want you to answer that question and then I’ll shut up. –he said while he moved his left hand over his mouth as if he was closing it manually.- What if I am the best liar in the world? What if I am so good at lying, what if I lie so convincingly, that even I believe my lies?!

While Kiri said those words he gradually raised his voice. Bor made him a sign to lower his voice and, embarrassed, Kiri closed his mouth, doing the very same movement with the hand he had done seconds ago.

-What if I'm not good, but horribly bad instead. –whispered Kiri, as if he was telling his brother a secret.- What if that's the truth, but I'm so good at lying that even I can't be sure about it.

-That's nonsense. –said  Bor, waving his hand while trying to stop the discussion.- Just let that be and go to sleep.

But Kiri wouldn't stop there.

-What if, since I realize that I was horrible, I wanted to hide it from everyone? –he  said, rising his voice once again while talking.- What if I am an abomination, such a horrible one, that I even scared the shit out of myself. And then that happened Bor!

-It doesn't work that way Kiri. Please, leave this as it is, we needn't make it more complicated.

-Why doesn't it Bor? I believe it does! -shouted Kiri, exhalted.- What if I lied to myself and convinced my very own abomination to hide beneath a lamb's skin. I may look like a lamb, even to myself, but maybe I am not. Maybe I'm so good at lying that I don't even remember being a...

-If that was really the case, Kiri. –interrupted Bor with a serious tone.- Then you would not be lying anymore. You would not be a beast anymore, because you would have buried it deep into your past. And now go to sleep.

Those words were enough to calm Kiri who, satisfied with his brother’s answers, went to bed. The little black-haired boy fell asleep immediately, but his brother did not. The moons came and went, but Bor didn’t sleep at all that night.

He was busy keeping his monsters confined.

05.23.20XX: Marius' Diary

The flow would not stop.

It blew it all, there was no foreseeable situation where such a force had been stopped; it trampled through what was left by the unstoppable time, rampaging through the remains of everything that had once been and planned to be. Not even the thought of the things that it touched dared survive; everything was blended into a a messy mass of everything, becoming one little part of a whole nothing.

What had once been streets were now beds of flowing waste that was given no time to rot; if someone had been able to pause time, to give the whole situation a break and take a huge deep breath, his innards would have been invaded by a cursed pestilence never felt before. Well, not exactly "never before".

Some months ago, there was a weird smell in the air. Most people didn't care much about it, because cities usually smell like horribly anyways. But those who were just passing by, the few that were used to varying odors and uncountable smells and aromas, were evidently struck by an obnoxious feeling of disgust that showed itself in various forms.

Rudeness, aggressiveness, hurries, sickness or even simply leaving the city; they weren't many people, but if you were a sharp-eyed observer like me and few others you simply noticed it. You could feel how things were different. And it all started with the damned fallen clouds.

At the beginning most people thought that they were nothing but mere fog, but after days and weeks without the slightest of changes appearing in the huge wall of clouds that surrounded the city, some people started to care about it. Science teams analyzed them from top to bottom, never reaching a conclusion worth making public; meteorologists talked about hundreds of different phenomena that could be taking place, but they were always radically different in some aspect to this huge wall of clouds. Some pessimistic madmen decided to walk the streets shouting and claiming that the world as we knew it was about to come to an end; even some local religious leaders blamed the infidels and the unholy for the cataclysmic events they were supposedly looking forward to. To hell with it, in the end, even politicians jumped onto the "no tomorrow" bandwagon for the sake of gaining some popularity.

Those who were not braindead, like me, left during the first days. We could feel that something was wrong. I went to a little house my parents had in a mountain nearby, and that was enough to scare me even more. Those huge clouds surrounded every single town and city on sight, and believe me I had a great view of the place from up there. Every single population was being walled by these enormous clouds that spiraled into the sky, and the government was freaking hiding it from everyone!

That is where the smell came from. I noticed it while crossing the clouds, which was a damned odyssey on its own. Those enormous clouds were also incredibly dense, and while driving through it you couldn't see more than 2 meters ahead of you. The traffic was light because most people avoided using the roads those days, but it was still slow and sluggish as it could have been the first day of summer holidays. And the smell. I will never forget that smell. It reminded you of something slowly rotting, but it was way worse.

As I was saying, there was no way of stopping the flow. It was so sudden... no one saw it coming, not even me. And I guess that the other guys from the Observer's Association didn't either. The cloud columns suddenly disappeared, melting into the huge walls of clouds that had now become a massive dome that now covered whole cities, towns and villages. And then the "rain" began. But it was no rain. Hell, those clouds disappeared, they fell down and hit the ground. They all did it at the same time; the sound of it was terrifying, and the earthquake they triggered, even though light, only aggravated the situation. This whole house was trembling, my children were hiding under the tables and I don't really remember where my wife and my parents were. I'll make sure to ask them one of these days. But one hit was not enough.

When I thought that it was all over, I decided to watch more carefully, and only then I realized. The water was not flowing out of the city. Once it reached the borders it simple evaporated and formed those huge clouds again. The domes were shaping up again and once they were as dense and grey as before, they collapsed once again. That went on for days. I still cannot believe that my house survived the earthquakes, but I do thank whichever god is up there for it.

I'll stop writing now, I'm needed in the kitchen. I just needed to get this off me, and I think I'll keep on doing it. I might get back into writing this later this week. I just hope that there is someone left for reading it after we're gone.

To whoever might be reading this in the years to come, best of luck

Marius

Fools, voters, clowns and advocates of the rightful

Go sell yourself, buy a gun and get laid. Let go a cry for freedom loud enough to silence those who try to talk around you. Dream a job worthy of your awesomeness, work tirelessly and get paid. Spit some salty words, criticize and praise, shout out loud how it's not ok to shrink those who fight; tell them that they were wrong all the time, even though you know that your side was never truly right.

There is no point in praising without fighting, on gunning and screaming, imposing your reasoning (or lack of it). There is no thought out idea, there is no reason to think differently; they are all wrong like you never were and always will be. Your words flow effortlessly because of their pure and sheer existence, theirs free fall from their filthy mouths because they never truly thought.

No need to respect those who never dared talk you out of those big ideas of yours; no need to accept that you may be wrong, or that simply both of you are right. Leave the complaisance for those who think not, fight for nothing and the sake of fighting for; that'll sure do good and fine, no point on thinking who's hurt and who'll miss the peace tonight.

Burn their headquarters, sink their flagships and blow up their foundations; say that they are messy, fucked up and twisted, like the lies you tell and were told when hurtful was the truth you faced. Is this really what you want? Is this really what you need?

For you sick bastards out there, there is a difference between being passionately vocal and being a hateful shit-spitting fool. Sometimes you are wrong, sometimes you are right; that sums up all of us. There are always good things and bad things, especially when talking about bullshit like politics; everyone closes their eyes, points out others' shit and claims some undeniably good qualities as their own. Why the fuck do you need to do it? Are your ideas so weak and fragile that they need to attack the rest of options laid out in front of you?

When the basis of a society is the one of "look for the guilty" instead of "work out a solution" and no one fucking realizes, something's gone wrong. When a whole year of political campaigns, elections and bullshit is constantly based on "this one did that other piece of shit" and "the man from here said that the one from there cooked a bad broth" and no one realizes and keeps on feeding this loop of political poverty, you should start to worry.

Wake up sheeple; you are all nothing but mere foolish bastards praying for someone to lie to you beautifully enough in order to feel less guilty when you vote for something that might or might not be wrong. Leave your stupid heart out, life gave us a brain to think, try using that instead of your mouth. Stop trying to convince people of your own delusional lies and accept that they'll live by their own, just like you do. When you're slapped back into reality stop trying to point out whose guilt it is and start working, looking forward to something you can be proud of. And when time calls you back to vote like the fool you are, when time calls us all to vote like the fools we all are, only then, you'll earn the small right of being a half-tolerable asshole that spits out shit. But until then, let us all live in peace and understand that if there's enough people looking forward to something is because it might be an obvious choice to quite a lot. Stop talking as if you were the superior peace of shit that know's what the real stink is; we're all wrong and that's what makes us all right.

This might not make sense, but sense also lacks in all your stupid "democratic" bullshit so I don't really see the point of trying to talk sense into you.

Note: This is not aimed to anyone or any idea in particular. If you're feeling insulted by it maybe you've been one of the bastards that has been trying to force your little thingy into someone without their consent. Politics, religion and opinions are like your penis; it's ok to be proud of it even though no one cares about yours, but forcing it into someone else does no good.

Stepping forward.

One, two, three four...

In the end, it's all about steps. Two forward, one sideways and the last one backwards. I may not know where I'm going, but at least I'll reach somewhere sometime, am I wrong? Keep on walking, go on, just one more time... as if there was the need of a target, of an objective.

Why the hell do we need an objective? Why do we need to write down a set of numbers and look at them as if they were a must? When something is nothing but our own concern, there is no point in setting up a due date for it. There's no need for it to happen today, tomorrow, this weekend or next Wednesday. Sometimes there isn't even the need for it to happen; still, the promise, the holding on to something, is nice. And maybe some day you'll forget about it.

But it is important that, even if there is no due date, even if there is no clear purpose, you try it. There's no point in leaving things undone, untested and unmet when you've had the chance of trying to make them work. Sometimes you'll fail miserably, others you'll just be dealing it at the wrong time, and others you'll suddenly and unexpectedly grow out of it in a good way, be it working out fine or simply disappearing as a need. The only thing that matters is that you know that you've made the effort, that it is not your fault that that something is amiss; why would you want to live with such a burden? do you really want to base your everyday life on regrets?

That is why I call out everyone that might be reading this and invite you to try. I want you to get hurt, to cry and trip up; I want you to smile joyously, to feel fearfully brave and to be proud of what's been done. Why the hell leave things undone? Why should you disappear and let the deep, dark and silent oblivion shrink you into nothingness? Grow some balls and live up to your own expectations; do not hold yourself with a "What if...", but use them as a trigger instead. It's never about "What if I fail?"; you should aways be looking forward at the "What if I succeed?".

There are few times when failure will be the cause of something with no remedy; most times it won't be no more than a lesson. The lack of failure, tied to the lack of actions and consequently linked to the lack of successful outcomes, is a harsher punishment than the failure itself. Failure brings shame, tears, sadness and wrong-being; just like the constant passive observation without action. That means that there is nothing to lose! In the worst case scenario, you'll be just slightly sadder for a while.

On the other hand, when you succeed... It may not be at the first try, may not be on something you expected to turn out good, it might even be a surprise to the world and you... but when you succeed, there is nothing that can stop the joy of having done something right. The pride you feel after giving your best, the sweaty forehead of the one person that has worked tirelessly for something, the joy of finishing a due task... No one will ever be able to take that away from you.

Now shut up, stop writing or reading, and go do something. Step forward.

Waging war

What if the most beautiful stories I had imagined were because of you? What if I had read them out silently while looking into you, the truest of graces being hidden in each hair of yours, the most unique allure blooming into every pore of yours?

There's so much to be said, yet there will never be enough words to do so. The ecstasic feeling that your charm spreads through the heart of each being that is lucky enough to witness your perfection, the never-fading joy of having shared a smile with you, of having been an accomplice of your rejoicing, is and will always be more than enough to make a one off experience out of a lifetime of dull routine.

The idea of having breathed the same air than you is enough to turn a bad day into a joyful one; the mere thought of knowing that you're somewhere out there, the pure and simple idea of you existing, is the reason behind the whole lot of hope that's rolling around this world.

The funny thing is that you don't realize it. How come you don't notice me falling apart everytime you laugh? How can you jump, smile and talk without noticing my heart obediently following the beat of your words? How do your lips dare draw such beautiful curves in the air, making the allmighty wind envious of their sheer perfection?

Your blindness kills me, drowning me in the thickest of darks. Your deafness chokes every single word of mine that tries to tell you what is really going on, leading them into a bottomless pit that they will never escape from. Your lack of tact is making me miss every caress I've ever longed for, forcing me into a waiting which I don't think I will ever be able to endure.

You look like the opposing pole I have always been looking for, a chronic battle for the throne of my heart, which I try to claim as mine as your words stomp through the gates of the fortress that used to be my chest. You are the reoccuring dream that somehow manages to come back when I think I'm done with it. I've been waging war for too long, and I've known it's lost since even longer; just as if I were magnetised to somebody that don't feel it.

Grand finale

Heartbroken, vanquished,
Torn to pieces, unmet,
Thrashed, severely scattered,
Mentally broken, cold sweat

What's the point of such a race,
when we can't keep up with the pace?
Where's the glory that was promised,
for the brave, just, bold and missed?

Unanswered inquiries,
Born doubtful, but feign
Hunting answers in our diaries,
Failing always, no gain

Stop messing with my dealings,
you feel close yet out of reach.
Please, come, tell me what you're thinkin',
Mend me and help me close this breach.

I am pursuing two words
I'd really like to hear you say.
To me in a corner, in an alley,
And then share the grand finale.

Impossible

¿Where's the "enough" when fighting for something impossible? ¿Is there a line someone drew somewhere which shouts out loud "Good job, you reached as far as you could, you can surrender now."? ¿Does leaving that half done marks us with a never ending shame born of our capitulation? Hell no.

Some things are simply bound not to happen. No matter how hard we try, there are certain paths that can never be followed until the end; sometimes the ship's course is fix and the only doubt left is if we'll sink with it or we'll just leave before that happens.

These unattainable objectives always originate from something we already knew difficult. Conquering a heart, finishing a song, finding the right rhyme, solving a problem, helping someone... Sometimes we just take too long to realize that something is as impossible as it looks; on other occasions it is plain obvious.

Still, most of the times we just ignore the obvious and keep on working towards that unreachable thing as if it was possible. We shut our eyes, disconnect from our hearing and leave reality behind just for the sake of denying the evidence; we don't want our whole work to vanish, we don't want it to be worthless. Still, sometimes we accept the impossible as such. We face it and accept what cannot be, assimilating that we will never achieve what we were aiming for.

And what's wrong with it? Surrendering doesn't make us weak, it's no reason to be ashamed of. Being unable to do something is normal, we all have our limits. But that doesn't mean that our countless hours of work invested in such an objective are worthless, that's no reason to dump it all and jump off the train.

The thing about an impossible is not reaching it; it's about the road we followed, about the steps we made. Although we can be saddened by the unattainable, sometimes the thrill of the hunt is what makes it all worth. Realizing that you're closing up the distance between you and your target, never forgetting that you'll never reach it. Every stone we step on, every breeze caressing our soul, every drop of sweat reaching the ground; that is what makes the impossible beautiful.

Leo entre goles obvios \ Loans entangle grizzly omens

Así que así era como se sentía uno al ser padre.

El dolor le retorcía el alma. Si hubiera ido con más cuidado, nada de esto hubiese pasado. Si le hubiese enseñado a hacer las cosas como era debido, se habría evitado un momento tan agónico. Pero no lo había hecho.

Percival había fallado como padre y ahora lo pagaba caro. Mañana tras mañana se despertaba y al poco de tomarse el café ¡ZAS! ese agudo dolor le atravesaba el cuerpo, casi tumbándolo. ¿Qué era lo que había hecho mal? ¿Por qué merecía él algo así?

Al final encontró la solución; desde que le escondía los Lego a su hijo Martín ya no se los encontraba esparcidos por el suelo cada mañana que iba a despertarlo, y, al no estar estos por ahí, Percival ya no los pisaba.

_______________________________________________________________________

So that was how being a father felt like.

The pain was gnawing his soul. If he had been more careful, none of this would have happened. If he had taught him how to correctly do things, he could have avoided such an agonizing experience. But he had not done it that way.

Percival had failed as a father and now he was paying the price. Every single morning of his life started the very same way; he woke up, started drinking coffee and then BANG! that sharp pain went through his whole body, nearly bringing him down. What had he done wrong? Did he really deserve such a pitiful existence?

But one day he casually found the solution; hiding his son's Lego bricks. Now Martin didn't know where they were, and since he couldn't find them he wouldn't play with them before going to bed. That meant that, when Percival went to his room to wake his son up, there were no Lego bricks for him to step upon.

Spitting out words

He got back into it; spitting words was what he loved the most of this life. Talking, even if what he said made no sense, was a way of freeing himself of the chains that some kind of stupid monster had laid upon him. Writing was how he got to stick down onto the ground the countless tentacles that the monster had; each letter was like a staple that immobilized a little piece of the beast's limbs.

That's why he did it. Yes, he also craved some kind of fame, as if what he was writing was worth something. He had those silly delusions of grandeur that helped him go one step further, the idea of being able to become huge, the wishful thinking of having his words appreciated; but that was just an added bonus.

Writing was like some kind of religion, it was his way of talking to whichever god he felt like talking to. He believed that the pure expression of writing the first thing that came to his mind was connecting him with it, that it was his way o showing him the way of being, existing, whatever. If something was right or wrong, the words would say it. The improvisation in itself was not an incoherent and continuous flux of ideas, but rather a constant message being delivered by a higher state of consciousness that saw it all clearer than him

It was also a way of emptying his mind; by writing down every single thought he came up with he got to leave them behind, to accept them as what they were and move on to the next stop. ¿Needing to work more? ¿Looking for your feeling to get right? Yes, they were problems, but not the ones that the text was about to solve. There were more important matters.

Yeah, maybe those issues seem bigger, but there's something way more important than what you'll do tomorrow, and it is what you'll do now. There is no tomorrow with no now, and there would have been no now without yesterday; that means that for getting to the solution of the issue you thought about a minute ago you just have to wait, to keep on living, to stay on the road sorting out every obstacle that comes up, and while you work at it the solution will come.

And it is not a passive view on problems; when that continuous flux of words says "working at shit" or "sorting out whatever" it means that there are everyday issues related to the future choices you'll be forced to make; how you face these issues on a dily basis will settle down the path you'll have to follow, so that once you're face to face with the problem you've been waiting for you don't have to think twice and simply act.

And as I said, the first step is to follow that voice into the instant future, that after those words are written becomes the now and when this sentence finishes it has already been. That instant future goes right through my bed, meaning that it's time to sleep.

The Fall: 44. Tempered Fates

Tempered Fates

-He will come, Sona. I have that certainty. -calmly said Taric while his eyes dove deep into the infinity that extended in front of them.

Sona didn't know how the tower worked; they were supposed to have left Runeterra once and for all, yet there laid it in its whole extension. Again and again, when it looked like land should end and the seas would drown it all, a different Runeterra started to lay upon them. "Time is strange. Everything related to time is." Taric had said years ago.

...

-And this tower is not an exception; look at the clocks.- he continued.-Look at the automated calendars.

But she didn't dare; there was something in the hundreds of thousands of clocks that covered the walls of the room that made her feel uneasy. The calendars, cylinders tall as the fiercest Noxian warrior and as thick as wide were a Xer'Sai's tunnels, were constantly spinning. But that was not the strangest thing; they all spinned, yet they did it at different speeds, just like the clocks ticked.

When she stopped to think about it the noise would become unbearable, but the truth was that when you were focused into the beautiful and unexplainable thing that laid upon her eyes you'd lose track of your current location; there were things that looked way more interesting than a constant ticking.

-Have you looked at the clocks? Have you noticed the calendars? -Taric asked, breaking the systematical ticking noise of the clocks. -They mark different dates and times.

Sona didn't understand why it mattered; anyone could use a calendar and modify its date. But she didn't dare express the tiniest bit of what she thought, because she knew that there had to be something more to it.

-They are all different, I know it. But... -Taric's right hand dived into the pocket of the jacket he had been given by the Yordles after their arrival and took something out of it.-The weird thing, Sona, is that my pocket watch, my grandfather's watch, matches all of them. It is always in time with the one clock I'm staring at.

...

-I told you he would come.-said Taric, with his finger pointing at the giant glass window that was in front of them.- There's his trail.

...

It was dark and silent.

He was not sure if that was the right way to describe it, because it wasn't just dark and silent. He could feel nothing. No grass being folded at the weight of his steps, no weapon at his hands. He didn't even really know if he had hands at all, and he couldn't even tell if he was walking or if he was simply thinking about walking.

It was truly dark, and the silence was the only companion that Malcolm had in that bottle.

...

Riven's slash hit nothing but the ground.

Hundred of little yellow beings, which shone as if they were made of gold, dashed away from her, scared by the hit. Darius didn't know what they were, but he somewhat liked the looks of those weird things. At least until they started to surround him; he would have fought against them, but he was powerless. Also, he didn't really care about himself anymore.

...

Shauna saw it all; how the wandering caretaker, character thought to belong to nothing but fairy tales, came down from the sky. With him descended thousands of little golden beings that, if she remembered correctly, her grandmother had called Meeps.

Shauna Vayne sat besides the stone Quinn was lying at.

-Can you see them? -she asked.

-I do.

-Do you think that they took care of Valor as much as they are taking caring of Shyvana now?

No answer came out of Vayne, because she had already fallen asleep to the hug of countless meeps; Quinn shortly followed her.

The Fall: 43. Concussive Blows

Concussive Blows

Sudenly, the ground started shaking. Still, only Malcolm was paying some attention to that detail. Aatrox's bloodlust was directing his eyes towards the ongoing battle, while Darkwill and LeBlanc were still talking.

- It's all over now, LeBlanc. -said Tahm Kench.- Or should I say... Anyssa?

She didn't dare answer. She was too weak, yet she hadn't been hurt.

No, that was not true. She had been hurt, but in such a fashion that she had never known before. She had lost something she had valued nearly as much as her own life. She had witnessed the one existence that she had considered truly beautiful vanish in front of her.

...

She was the one to blame. If she had done everything right he would surely be alive now. If she had not left so suddenly, if she had dedicated some words to him before departing, only then, maybe the things would have worked out differently. But she hadn't.

Without knowing it, without meaning it in any way, she had killed the one and only man she had loved. Tears were streaming down her face, her heart pounding as fast as it could, her cries being drowned by coughs and her life being drained by grief.

Lux's existence was slowly vanishing from Riven's body, disappearing, turned into nothing but a void in the Noxian woman's mind.

...

Riven pitied the girl, but she was somewhat happy of being back in control of herself. She was clumsy, nearly unable to walk. It was needless to say that she was unable of correctly wielding her blade.

After some seconds of staring at the Piltovian man's corpse, Riven realized that she pitied him. She had never known him, but she blamed the remains of Lux's mind in her body for the mixed feelings.

She tried to wake up, but she couldn't; she was exhausted.

She was about to faint, as close as a person can be to surrendering to sleep, when she heard his voice.

Revenge was the only thing that could get such a dead woman back on her feet.

...

-Now that I think of it, you're lacking some scars, don't you? -mockingly asked Darkwill.

-Get lost into the voids, Malcolm. -spitted Darius.

-You could lose a finger or two... -said Malcolm while holding Darius' right hand.

He couldn't move. It didn't matter how hard he tried; there was something holding him, something that he could not see. Something that, even if familiar, was unknown to him.

-You could take a hand too, Malcolm.-added a weird face that had suddenly emerged from Darius' cheek.-Or both, no matter what I'm quite sure that you would not have enough with it.

-You're right in that, Aalcox. -replied Darkwill.-An arm shall suffice for now.

Aalcox; after listening that name he lost all hope that was left. He tried to fight the darkin's powers with a rage that until that day had been unknown to Runeterra, but it wasn't enough.

He was about to give up when she saw a woman walking towards them. Her blade was getting bigger and bigger while she approached; he could feel the air current shaking the ground he was laying upon, making his cloak dance with the wind.

The look on the face Darius was seeing was not the one of the hybrid monster that Malcolm had created years ago; Riven was back.

And she was thirsty; only the sweetest of revenges would bring peace back to her heart.

...

Riven was tired, but it didn't matter. She had been waiting for years, looking, confined in a cell built into her own body, at how that demon strangled all her hopes while he used all the Noxian people Riven had once valued. He had got them all killed; the few that left his grasp alive had died in Zaun's Mental Institute years ago during the final battle with Piltover, when the whole city was razed by Piltovian soldiers and Zaun's madmen themselves.

She dashed once and noticed that Malcolm now knew she was there, but she didn't care; she rushed the distance that divided them and slashed with all her fury, attempting to cut him in two.

Dream Journal: 9. Double edged sword

It was weird. I had gone through sleep paralysis before, and quite a lot of times; it is common to experience it when you're starting to try to get back into lucid dreaming. But this time it was being different.

My right arm was the only thing I could move; my left arm was stuck under the blanket, paralyzed, unable to move. I couldn't even close my fist; it was as if my left arm was now nothing but a stone. This first fear struck right through my heart, accelerating it to levels unknown to me. And then it stopped completely.

I panicked; I desperately tried to feel my heartbeats with my right hand, trying to sense something by touching the part of my chest where the heart was supposed to be, rotating between that and the typical place of the neck they tell you to look at, but I could feel nothing. Was I having a heart attack?

That was the first thought that crossed my mind once I realized what was going on. I tried to get my hands onto my mobile phone with the intention of calling someone, be it the emergency number or my very own mother, but I couldn't, it was too far away and I couldn't wake up.

"Is this how I am going to die?" I asked to myself. "Alone in one of the darkest rooms that mankind can conceive? Would my last thoughts drown in the infinite silence that covered the night?"

No.

And then I wake up. Hours later, talking about this with X, a person that is quite close to me, a lot of information suddenly came up; a lot of horrible information.

I never got to know what would have been the consequences of such secrets coming to light, because that was when I actually woke up.

The Fall: 42. The Tear of the Goddess

The Tear of the Goddess

Quinn saw Syndra and pointed her out to Shauna. She had explained it all to her before heading towards the Ionian woman that had brought legions down with nothing but her bare hands and a power that escaped the limits of human condition. Yes, Syndra was powerful, but only when she knew what was coming up to her. The countless legions that had vanished had done a horrible mistake; facing her straight up. They would not do that mistake.

...

Quinn vaulted onto Syndra, who tried to maintain the equilibrium while holding the huge platforms that she was rising for Darkwill. "I need to hold on for a while..." thought Syndra. "He's so close to bringing him back. I'll be safe when he's back." thought before trying to hit Quinn with a sphere.

...

That was when she had to go in;Shauna Vayne tumbled at Syndra's side and shot a heavy silver bolt that pushed her towards the closest tree, stucking her into it. But the Ionian woman didn't stop; even though they were more unstable, the huge pieces of rock were still hanging up in the air.

...

She was cold. Really cold.

Syndra remembered Darkwill's words. "I feel your pain." he had said. Syndra had seen it in Darkwill's eyes; he had also lost a loved one. That one, the only one. He had also lost the one and only person that had understood what he was and accepted it. And, like Syndra, he would do whatever it took for having such a person back.

But she was cold. Her eyes were starting to surrender to the weight of her eye lids and the world was becoming darker. She wanted to hold on, to give Darkwill a chance of having Senna back. And then, when Zed was back, he would save her. He would bring her back from these cold shadows.

She only had to hold on, and wait for him.

...

-Stop it, Vayne! -shouted Quinn.

-Why? -asked Shauna, clearly nervous.- That man is still up there, Lux is about to blow this whole damned place up, and you want me to stop doing the one thing that can save us.

-There's no point on that... -said Quinn.- She's already dead.

...

LeBlanc was feeling horribly. Why had she done such a thing? Why had she wasted her life this way? She could have enjoyed a lifetime with Ezreal, the only man that had dared give his life for her, but no; she had to stop Darkwill. She had to get into whatever he was doing and stop it, because Darkwill could never do good.

But that wasn't the worst part of it; what terrified LeBlanc the most was another feeling that haunted her heart; doubt. What if Darkwill wasn't doing anything wrong? What if it was right to fight for those you loved, no matter what was at stake?

First, she cried. Only then she fell onto Tahm Kench's open mouth.

...

Darkwill fell onto the ground. He didn't know why everything had suddenly shaken so abruptly, and he wasn't given much time to think about it. The ground shook again, and with that he lost control of Lux's mind.

"It doesn't matter." he thought. In only a matter of seconds, Senna would be back, and nothing else would matter then.

...

Lux had no time to stop it.

When she regained consciousness the Final Spark had already been fired. Accompanied by Riven's Wind Slash, the projectile advanced like an unstoppable force towards the lantern that Thresh had given to Darkwill. She saw the woman that Darkwill had called LeBlanc in the projectile's path until the moment when she should have been hit.

Seconds after, she realized that the one that had been hit was Ezreal.

...

There are times when people are not given time to choose. Times when no one is given the chance to calmly face a situation and think what they can do to solve it.

It is during those times that the commonfolk step aside. "I can't save her." said a doctor, far away from the battle at the Plague Jungles, struggling to keep his best friend's daughter alive, trying to help her survive the hit of a stray Avarosan arrow. "I can't defend my homeland." thought an old, old man, far away in time and space, while trying to look for a way of saving Urtistan. "I can't conquer his heart." thought a maven, far away, in a beautiful watchtower that had been built ages ago in the very middle of Bandle City.

It is during these times that heroes appear. When no one dares to try, they show up. That is the only difference between the commonfolk and the few heroes that have stumbled upon our world. That they decided to show up. They decided to act. They decided to show that they did have the willpower to do something.

Two words are enough to turn a common person into a hero: I can.

The Fall: 41. The Final Spark

The Final Spark

-How does it feel bastard? -asked a familiar voice.

That voice turned Darius mad. That could not be him. He had died at Thresh's hands. His brother had died long ago, he could not be talking now.

-Answer, bastard. -he heard again while a fist hit his back.

Darius turned, trying to grasp the hand that had hit him, but when he turned he saw Malcolm, the Noxian man that was supposed to die at his hands. The Noxian hero that had been depicted as a villain for the sole purpose of calming the rage of the Noxian people. The fool that had let go of Thresh, the one to blame for Draven's death.

Without saying a word, Darius whirled his axe, trying to cut through Malcolm's chest. But he vanished, leaving only a light spplash of blood that tainted his armor with more blood.

-Why are you doing this? -asked Darius.

...

Darkwill was preparing Thresh's lantern while he used a part of his mind to control Lux, all while giving orders to the monstrous army he had gathered.

-Faster Syndra. -said Darkwill with the monotonous voice he had been using since he had taken control of Lux.- Lux will need another platform.

While their own piece of ground kept rising, LeBlanc saw how another chunk was being torn from the woods. That piece, smaller than the one she and Darkwill occupied, was rising faster, as if it tried to reach the height that theirs now was at. During the movement, a few rotten trees were falling back into the forest, silently splintering once they reached the ground.

-Why are you doing this Elliot? -asked LeBlanc.- Where's the point of leaving?

-You are asking the wrong questions. -answered Darkwill.- And using the wrong name.

-What is your plan then, Darkwill? -said LeBlanc in a mocking tone, specially exaggerating the Ziraeth's name. - Are you going to blind us all using this girls' lights and the lantern's glow?

-She'll be back, LeBlanc. -confessed Darkwill, clearly annoyed. Then his tone turned dead serious again.- But that's not something I should have told you.

...

Quinn was still crying when she realized what was happening; the ground was rising.

Syndra, the Ionian woman that had brought down countless legions on her own, was rising two huge rocks that seemed like part of the forest's soil; two huge empty craters nearby confirmed her hypothesis.

On top of one, Darkwill was doing something to the Noxian girl that had marched with Darius and Garen, leading the army while a blonde girl argued with him. The other piece was empty, slowly and relentlessly approaching the first one.

-Shauna! -shouted Quinn, with a heavy grief that made every word difficult for her.- Shauna!There's one more thing we have to do!

...

-You did enjoy spitting at me, didn't you? -said Malcolm while slashing Darius' face with his dagger. That would definitely leave a decent scar.- I should kill you and send you with that foolish brother of yours.

-Shut up! -shouted Darius, whirling his axe again.- Come here if you dare! A shame of a man is what you are! -another move of his axe that hit nothing but trees.-I'll tear you down to pieces!

-You won't, and I am not going to kill you anyways. -said Malcolm, appearing beside Darius and grabbing him by the shoulder.- I want you to suffer as long as you can.

Another dagger slashed through Darius, now through his shoulder and his right arm suddenly was still, hanging there, lifeless. Darius tried to him hit with his head, but there was no way he could hit Malcolm; he was too blinded by rage. And Malcolm did take profit of that.

-You will live a long life of shame and torment Darius. -said Malcolm.- You'll be blamed for what will happen today; the mass extermination of thousands of men. It was under your ruling that Noxus suffered, it was under your ruling the Noxus bent to Demacia's will and marched together as one, and its under your damned ruling that Noxus lost.

...

He had to hit the lantern right at the top for opening it. He had seen Thresh do it before, but the kind of energy needed was one that he could not have access to; at least until he knew of this girl.

The combination of the Demacian girl's light cannon and the Riven's wind slash converged into a kind of missile that could tear down the frontiers between worlds, just like Thresh did with his bare hands. It was overcomplicated, but it was worth the agony he was going through. Nothing was difficult enough if the result was having Senna back.

-You know you shouldn't do this, Elliot.-said LeBlanc.- She died, and she was a great person, but that's it. The dead should not come back, specially those that Thresh took.

-Shut up. -said Darkwill.

-No! No, I won't. -I know you're hurt, Elliot. I am going through what you went through right now!

It couldn't be possible; had LeBlanc truly fallen in love? If that was true, then this blonde appearance of her was her definitive existence. That meant that, like him, she was way weaker now. "But like me, she'll eventually grow stronger than ever..." thought Darkwill. There was nothing that taught as fast as pain and grief did, and when LeBlanc lost her loved one she would definitely be able to take control of the whole world. He had to stop it.

-You don't understand it, LeBlanc. -said Darkwill.- But you certainly would if I gave you the chance.

-Then give it to me.

-I just... can't.

Lux was already on the second platform that Syndra had brought; the final spark was ready. Darkwill tossed Thresh's lantern into the air and pushed LeBlanc off the platform; in matter of seconds, she would be dead.

The Fall: 40. A Call to Arms, pt1

A Call to Arms

She could notice the warm embrace of blood running through her face; Vayne was, after such a long time, struggling against an enemy. The plant-woman that called herself Zyra had proven to be a worthy opponent, but she needed to get to Darkwill. "Those are my orders at least." thought Vayne.

With no hesitation, she tumbled out of Zyra's vision range and hid for a little while. Vayne could hear her footsteps through the jungle; it didn't matter how weak the noise was, Vayne's hearing sense was always able to detect it.

Once she realized that the monster was in range of her crossbow, Shauna swapped her weapons.

-Impure fools. -said Vayne before shooting the first silver bolt.

...

She didn't see it coming. It stuck onto her shoulder, and the forest cried a little when Zyra's blood was spilt onto the ground.

While she was still trying to understand what was happening, a second bolt hit her, right in the middle of the chest, knocking her back and stucking her onto the closest tree.

Only then she noticed.

The Demacian night hunter was tumbling through the jungle, always hiding in the countless shadows that covered the place, plying with light and the lack of it for being nearly invisible. But she was the forest; a human wouldn't stop her.

When Zyra heard a third shot from Shauna's crossbow, her frail human body had already been abandoned.

...

He could still hear the echoes of the madman's laughter.

-Come back, you sick bastard! -roared Darius to the trees, without knowing where to look at.- Come and let me chop off your very existence in two!

Then, Darius' axe fell onto Lucian and Xin Zhao's body once again. With less difficulty than before, Darius unstuck the axe from the corpses and let it fall again onto them. Blood was everywhere, and the corpses, now unrecognizable, had been tore down to countless pieces.

-This is what will be left of you once I find you, you coward!

...

Luckily, she had not found a single Demacian soldier while fighting. "Not yet." thought Shyvana.

All the corpses that laid around her were clearly Noxian soldiers, and the few that fearfully tried to escape from her obviously were too. She could feel it in their weapons, whose edges were not designed to kill, but to hurt and cleave instead. Countless wounds would have covered her if not for the dragon that she had learnt to fully embrace after so long.

With a quick movement of her huge jaw Shyvana caught the last remaining Noxian fighting her. She could feel his fear and the pain that he was going through while tearing his flesh with her very own teeth. "My old friends would find it disgusting." she thought, while witnessing a shooting star."Is that the trailblazer that Taric talked about?" Shyvana asked herself.

But she was given no more time to think about it; a crossbow hit her on the right shoulder and pierced through the thick dragonskin, hurting her for the first time in a long time.

-Is it you, Quinn? -asked Shyvana to the Demacian soldier that was on top of her, pointing to Shyvana's head.- I'm so glad it's you, Quinn.

There are a lot of reasons that explain why this battle was not considered a victory for the Demacian historians and, even though a little one, this event is clearly one of them.

...

He had seen everything but Yasuo's slashes. How the Ionian outcast had walked towards the whole army and faced the king, how he had called for a duel and, finally, how he fell onto the ground. Ezreal couldn't let him die there.

In the blink of an eye, Ezreal teleported besides Yasuo, grabbed him and teleported back into Tahm Kench. The Demacian King was unable to understand what was going on or why his victim had disppeared, but he was too busy looking for his sister to care about such a triviality.

-You can help him, right? -asked Ezreal to Tahm Kench, clearly worried.

-You're asking the wrong questions, dear boy... -answered the River King with a smile that didn't give any hope to Ezreal.

-Why won't you help him? -said Ezreal, starting to realize with what kind of creature he had been dealing with.

-Again, that is not the question we are looking for. -answered Tahm Kench.

Ezreal wanted to reply, but Tahm Kench was nowhere to be seen.  

The Fall: 39. Thrashed and Scattered

Thrashed and Scattered

A duel? That Ionian warrior wanted to fight Lux? What had he thought she was? He was trying to fight with the Demacian king's sister, yet he acted as if it was a normal thing.

-For honor? -asked Garen, clearly outraged.

-I've lived my life in exile for a crime that she commited. I have no doubt of it. -answered the swordsman.

Garen didn't understand it, but it made no sense for him. Okay, maybe the Noxian woman whose body was now Lux's had done some horrible things in the past. But there's no reason for Lux to carry the blame or the shame of it. Garen looked at Lux, only to see a horrifying look in her face; she looked scared. The ionian swordsman scared her.

With a swift move, Garen slashed the Ionian swordsman called Yasuo. But there was nothing but wind around him when he first tried to cut through him.

He could feel the moving of a sweeping blade around him, yet he felt hits or heard any slash at all. He continued the long slash for bringing him the so deserved judgement, and only then he heard him fall.

-I die redeemed, you vicious king. -said the swordsman right before spitting a handful of blood onto his own chest.

Then Garen fell onto his knees, bleeding through his armor. "He was faster than I expected." thought Garen. If not for Lux's scream he may have not raised again for long.

-KILL THEM! -shouted Garen.- MARCH AND BRING JUSTICE TO VALORAN!

...

-Come here you demon! -shouted Lucian while shooting continuously.- You won't escape me this time!

They were getting deeper and deeper into the jungle. He saw creatures that looked even more dangerous than those that he had hunted with Senna. But there was no turning back now. He was so close to end her torment. He was so close to end Thresh's life.

-I will gun you down like the degenerate you are! -screamed Lucian again, while chasing the horrid creature that he had been looking for for years.

He suddenly realized that the ground looked darker than usual. The plants were looking greyish, and the soil reminded him more of Zaun's streets than a jungle. He could see how the Chain Warden was being surrounded by an infinity of small pieces of metal while moving faster with each step. But that would not hold Lucian back.

-I'll have her back monster! No matter how many tricks you throw at me! -roared Lucian, his heart torn apart by anger.- Turn back and fight!

Only then he realized what had happened. Thresh's laugh was not the only one floating in the air; a deeper, heavier sound was also drowning the rest of the jungle's noises. And then he felt the hit of the mace and fell to the ground.

A second hit instantly followed, hitting him way harder than the one before. "This is not Thresh." realized the Demacian gunslinger. He woke up in time to see who the monster that aided such a demon was, and luckily  reacted in time to avoid a third hit that would have devastated him. Instead of his body being torn, the jungle itself suffered the rage of the iron revenant. Hundreds of trees, already as grey as steel beams, were torn apart with that one hit.

-I'm Thresh's number one, you little boy.-said the metallic monster with a deep voice.- You're not annoying him anymore.

And then he disappeared into thin air.

-They will not annoy us anymore. -said Thresh. -It's just you and me now. You, me and the Noxian general that's charging towards here.

...

This was her first time fighting since she lost Valor. She was fighting side by side with those who had killed him. But she needed to leave those feelings aside; if Garen told them to march, they had to, and as used as she was to being the Vanguard, she marched onwards, running as fast as she could, like she hadn't done for quite a long time.

It took her long to realize that her enemies were not only the big creatures that hid into the Jungle; dark spheres suddenly formed into air, killing  warriors that didn't konw what they were facing. But Quinn remembered the battles at Ionia. Syndra was predictable, she was not a problem for her.

She advanced towards the man that her king had called Darkwill with quick feet, realizing when a sphere was being formed and dashing out of that place instantly. But she hadn't expected the meteors that fell from the sky. Suddenly, as if time and space had bent over in a place, a small, closed cell would be formed around a group of soldiers, who were later killed by falling meteorites.

But Quinn was not part of those groups of soldiers. She had always been part of the scouting squads, she had always been part of the vanguard that led the armies into the enemies. She knew how to adapt and face the unexpected.

...

-COME HERE BASTARD! -roared Darius.

His axe was cutting through the rotten trees that had now lost the metal they had contained a while ago. The falling wood was annoying but his bloody rage would not be stopped by such a foolish thing. He wanted to kill the monster that had killed his brother, he wanted to hunt down that creature and make it suffer as long as he could.

There was some Demacian man there too, but he didn't recall his face. Maybe he was not part of the army; when they arrived, a small group was already in the jungles' borders; maybe he was part of them. But Darius didn't really care.

He saw them run, the Demacian gunslinger constantly shooting at Thresh, who was occupying Xin Zhao's body. "That's why he was so interested in him, that's why he took him." realized Darius. But, again, that didn't matter to the hand of Noxus. He wanted nothing but blood. He wanted revenge.

He chased them, trying to apprehend them, but they always escaped his reach. That was until Thresh fucked up; maybe he wasn't used to Xin Zhao's body. Using his chain, he had tried to tie Lucian down, but he had ended up chaining them together. As they were unable to move, Darius slowed down his pace. He wanted to enjoy it.

...

The vanguard had already stopped some of the most annoying monsters that were defending the jungle; it was their time now to take down the beasts that had been eagerly waiting for them inside of it.

The creatures she was slowly killing were nothing but brutes. Beasts that charged at her only to hurt themselves when being stopped by a tree, animals with such a lack of brain that condemning them into a tree or wall looked like a joke. Vayne saw Shyvana fighting down a bunch of Noxian soldiers, tearing them apart with her bare hands. Not having to face an old friend made her somewhat happy, but the situation was still weird. She was finishing off an enormous haloceros when she realized that her feet were entangled into the ground.

-These jungles are not yours, human. -said a strange being, half plant, half woman.- The Plague jungles don't welcome those who have only looked upon us as a resource.

Without hesitation, Vayne shouted a heavy volt to her, knocing her backwards and wining enough time to get rid of the plants that tied her feet. This was not the enemy she expected. This was a challenge.

...

-Don't worry, brother.-said Lux, whose face had been cut in half.- It's allright. Everything's going to be okay.

But Garen knew it would not be okay. He had failed again. He had failed to protect his king. He had failed to protect his sister. He had failed to protect his people. Time and time again.

-I need her.- said a dark voice.

When Garen turned to see who had talked, he found no one around him. Not even Lux.

...

Darius started to raise his axe. The Noxian guillotine would chop in half their whole bodies together; why trying to aim, when it's easier to cut them both in half. He could see the fear in the Demacian gunslinger's face. He could feel the rage inside Thresh, it could be felt in his laugh, that drowned every other sound in the jungle.

He wanted that noise to stop, so once he reached them, his axe went down swiftly. The sound of cracking bones and painborn screams delighted him.

But Thresh's laugh had not stopped.

The Fall: 38. Pride, Honor and Treason

Pride, Honor and Treason

-Has something happened to us? -replied Darkwill.- I think that this is as it has always been. We constantly fighting each other, constantly taking care of the other.

-You've got to stop this nonsense, Darkwill. -said LeBlanc in a friendly tone.- This will get us nowhere, the lack of magic will kill Runeterra. They can't leave. You can't leave.

-We can. -answered Darkwill, realizing that she had never known why he was doing all of this.

If she kept calling him Elliot it was for a reason, and she was right. The man that now ruled over him was not Darkwill, the Ziraeth, but Elliot, the one man in love that would do anything to get his loved one back from the afterlife. And there he was, doing the impossible.

-And we will.

...

When the last trees of the Kumungu Jungle fell to the will of the Noxian might, the army discovered even bigger trees; the Plague jungles, home to the feared and unknown, laid in front of them. Untouched, unreached by so many men before, the jungles inspired more than fear on the soldiers. But that why generals are there.

-Can you see them, men of Valoran? -shouted Darius.- Those monsters that hide in the jungles are here to ruin our hearths. We have feared them, we had cried their victims and we have avoided them as long as we could; but this is not a day like that.

The immense army that was in front of him was dumbfounded, following his every word and feeling them in their hearts. Most Noxians had lost a relative or a friend in the incident of the arena, and the death of King Jarvan Lightshield the Fourth was still an open wound in the Demacian soldiers' hearts.

-Today we say no to their reign of fear! -continued Darius.- Today we deny them their existence the very same way that they've tried to do with us before. You, heroes of Valoran, are the men that will bring a new dawn to the continent. Blinded by pride and honor, we were nothing but mere traitors when we killed ourselves. Noxus, Demacia, Ionia... that was the mistake. We didn't recognize the real enemy. But now we've learnt, heroes.

The drums sounded stronger with every phrase while most men acclaimed the Noxian general. His words were bringing light to the hearts of men that had been struggling through the jungle for days without really knowing what they were facing. Only now they recognized their enemies; dragons, spirits and beasts that were now leaving their hideouts in the Plague Jungles.

-We shall fight today until the life of those beasts has come to an end. For our children, for our wives and friends. For those who are not here with us today and, why not, for ourselves. For Valoran!

...

The armies were screaming, with the soldier's weapons raised and drums roaring through what was left of the Kumungu Jungle. Their general, a Noxian, talked to what looked like the Demacian king and left towards the Jungle, running towards Lucian.

But there was nothing that Yasuo could have done; the Demacian gunslinkger was too far to hear him shout. Also, other things caught his attention way more than the Noxian general marching enraged.

A soldier able to manipulate the wind. When she raised her sword he felt it.

That must had been the one to kill his master. The one to blame for his whole life; his brother's death, the massacres that he had been forced into and the slashed through the throats of those who had one been his friends.

He had to get her.

...

-Where are those two men? The Noxian and the pale one? Where did they go?-angrily asked Garen.

-They marched with Darius, brother. - said Lux.-They are there, with the hooded man and the blonde woman.

She knew that it was still difficult for him to accept her. She had been missing for years, and now a completely different woman appeared and was called his sister. Yet it was the truth, and hiding that fact, like Malcolm had proposed, would have left her broken-hearted. She had to try to reach him.

-They shouldn't leave without permission.-complained the Demacian king. -They will pay for this lack of obedience once this war is over.

-They are just following their leader, just like these men are here waiting for your words. -said Lux.- Don't think of the two that stood loyal to their lords, think of the whole army that, even though years ago they were fighting against you, now accept Garen, the Demacian king as their leader. Think of the immense quantity of people who were their friends you might have killed. Yet they are here, eager to follow you into battle.

Her brother was nervous, but her words had calmed him down a little bit. She had always been there for relieving Garen's worries; how he had gone through the latest years of life without her, she knew not. But now she was there to calm his rage down. But peace was never long.

-I, Yasuo, the unforgiven, call for a duel with that Noxian swordsman. -said someone who looked like an ionian warrior.- For the honor of my name.

Lux could see how Garen was falling into rage again, and she wouldn't be able to stop him in time.