#shadow-assault

Not often was he the one to be on the receiving end of sharp steel. Whoever managed to do so definitely were not the average target he’d assassinate. Though, he had an idea as to who the culprit could be. The assassin let out a small sigh, grabbing hold onto the wrist that was holding the dagger to his neck. “I would lower it if I were you.”

“And why would I do that?” Ao Bimei asked, although their tone remained teasing. “You look terribly pretty like that, you know.” 

“Oh, what’s another one?” 

The serpent slithered around the fresh corpse, as if judging the body like it was an art piece at a contest. “Father really did turn you into a right and proper killer, didn’t he?” She asked, looking up at him. There was almost a toying in her voice while the serpentine smile graced her features. Making her way to him, her hand gently held his jaw to steady his gaze with hers.

The air is heavily hazy and led by a red mist that is thrown up from the sheer of blood that was spilled, the scent of its metallic nature hits strong and in response, adrenaline coils within, prompt to be set free and ultimately command the body brimmed with ire. A legion of horribles, hundreds in number, half-naked or clad in costumes of lacerations, blood and organs, that are peering from the long fissures of flesh and skin, are sprawled across the floor. Corpses in the primordial seconds of decomposition, the grotesque scene of limbs rent apart and the pit soil soaking blood before it could spread caused grand instability        /         the half-beast still hears them screeching and yammering, clothed in smoke like vaporous beings in regions beyond right knowing where the eye wanders and the lip jerks and drools. Every muscle tenses as he shifts his gaze to the shadow behind the massacre, watching him holding a visage otherwise too neutral, too nonchalant and collected... And it pisses him off.          ❛         It saddens me, how you are having fun all by yourself.         ❜        His voice is remotely perceived as his own, but not entirely.          ❛         But it infuriates me even more how you had the fucking bravery to come here and annihilate what and who belongs to me.         ❜    

This machine sucks

“WHAT THE FU-”

“Oh my, oh my~ Little flower, is there something you’re not telling us here, hm~? Are there any other Noxians that piqued your interest~?”

“You finally given up on killing me? Wise choice.” 

Yasuo pats the bar stool next to him, immediately sensing the assassin’s energy in the room. He came to have a good drink and a relaxing night, not another day of dodging the assassin’s attempts on his life. Not that he ever truly got close to killing Yasuo, but it was annoying all the same every other night to put in the extra energy.

Yasuo offers the newcomer a drink, tilting his head as he offers. Would he accept? Was he even a drinker? Didn’t really matter much to Yasuo outside of mild curiosity. Yasuo would drink, probably more than he should anyway, but damned be anybody that tried to stop him.

‘The fixed passage of time cruelly,  constrains us as it plays with us. The lush verdant leaves of the sakura,  Speak only silence.’ 

Her voice resonated throughout the small theater, the song she sang was simple and set the scene for spring...and for assassination. Ample time was set aside for this play. Her previous assignment was to infiltrate the troupe, giving her enough cover to approach ‘her target’. It was quite simple, once they had heard her voice and shown proficiency at being on stage. 

It was not long later that she found herself singing for the citizens of Ionia. The theater wasn’t like the Demacian ones, nor were they large like Piltover’s opera houses...They were Ionian in nature, with large trees that supported the foundation of the building. The oriental designs decorated the interior, leading up to the wide open stage.

Playing the part of a shy, never discovered talent had made the troupe praise their luck. But tonight, it would all end. Once the song finished, the real show would begin. It was quite difficult to escape the prying eyes of the stagehands as Vinea set up her gallery of traps. But to see the beauty behind the intricate designs had made it worth while. 

The actors behind her began to wind up for the finishing scene. Her target lingered behind her before moving closer to the side wing. As she lifted her arms, voice climbing higher, she felt her pulse rise.

Noxus. It’s been years since the first campaign but she still remembered it. Still remembered stealing Bristle from one of their warships in a vie to gain the support of her tribe to take the title of Warmother. Still remembered the bloodshed at the hand of the Noxian war machine. They mainly threatened territory of the Freljörd that was disputed by her tribe and others, but their supplies were plentiful and enticing along the border that Sejuani had ordered raids into the empire and its territories.