#shrineshadow

Send me a “ 🔥 “ for an unpopular opinion.

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‘is there anything else you’d like to tell me?’

In such recent years Saki had come to hate the impertinence of the American people. Impatience in conversation and being they rushed through every interaction like their lives depended on it. Being as old as he was he had long learned patience, and it was refreshing to meet another who treated life without such brevity.

He is, however, still a shadow. Clinging to the wall, remaining hidden away from the prying eyes of the larger world, and shadows are known for their secrets. Especially ones that span so great a stretch of human history as he had, as the head of the mighty Foot.

It was ridiculous, really, but even with his skull throbbing, Sokol couldn’t quite decide if the purple hair was real or fake. For a fleeting, concussed second, Sokol wondered if Bain had actually started letting cosplayers into the crew. Would she even need a mask then, if she already came with a costume?

But the sheer sting of the needle cut right through his absurd theories. Much to his horror, the pain was far too great for him to handle; an embarrassing truth, considering how deftly Yunara worked and the fact that he knew the tear was shallow, barely subcutaneous. Yet every microscopic tug of the thread felt like wire slicing through raw nerve. His eyes smarted, hot and heavy, and the Russian blinked furiously against the humiliating threat of tears.

"Hurts," Sokol croaked, and he'd instantly hated himself for it, loathing the way he must look right now: a sniveling, fragile boy who couldn't even handle a few routine stitches.

There had been a moment where she had thought she'd been a goner. While Zaahen had once told her of the voidborn, his words on them had been sparse; and she doubted even if he had spoken for hours, even days, she would've understood just how terrifying they were. However, then there had been a chorus of caine calls, and a pack quickly frenzying on the creature, ripping it to bloody shreds. Yunara managed to throw in one or two blows to help finish it off. As she heaved in air, and the hounds spoke, she looked over at them, and finally realized who had come to her rescue. Naafiri, the dagger wielding Darkin. One of the ones dealt with in Shimura. Her heart pumped even faster, the danger was not over.

"Who are you? Why did you help me?" Her voice was hesitant; she wanted to try to pretend she didn't know who or what Naafiri was. Wanted to avoid Naafiri being able to make connection between her and Zaahen.

Darkin hungered, just like any other creation. With their new body, Naafiri had tasted many different things in the short time they had carved out their feeding grounds, ever since the pack had devoured their dagger. However, even with all these new experiences, the Darkin hound detested the taste of Voidborn flesh.

Something about these creatures had always felt difficult to pin down. Whether it had been the indescribable terror they invoked, feelings which seared into their brains and made them question their reality, or the fact that their taste was strangely fake, yet not artificial. More like something which tried to evoke the shadow of a flavour, yet somehow could never get it right.

Even the consistency was wrong, slimy and gummy like chewing on some kind of hardened and at the same time spongy and rubbery skin. The flavour made the bodies want to wretch and throw up. Yet the pack had taught Naafiri to not be wasteful. If you made a kill, you picked the carcass clean, for you could never tell when you might have another success in a hunt.

The main body scraped its tongue over the roof of its mouth. Bubbling saliva crusted at the corners of Naafiri's chops. Still, that strange, alien flavour refused to leave their mouth. Eventually, the massive dune hound shook its head. The large blades, the remains of the weapon, rattled along the neck, shifting in size. A perfect adaptation to the main body.

The remaining pack mates had trained their eyes on the woman, whom they had coincidentally rescued. Experiencing the world like through a kaleidoscope had been disorienting at first, given that Naafiri was the entire pack; however, eventually, they had gotten better and better at piecing together details, even when the information seemed to come from half a dozen eyes.

The woman before her did not look Shuriman. Her eyes and nose held the wrong shape, her skin tone was fairer than what Naafiri would have been used to, and her wardrobe held none of the colours and fabrics the Darkin would have been familiar with, even in her old life. Those silken and satin robes of purple and rose were held in a strange, yet beautiful style. It made Naafiri think of the petals of flowers, which bloomed for a precious few days during Shurima's tragically short rainy season. Bronze orbs hovered around the woman. They hummed with magic.

The main body stepped closer. Lowering its head so they were eye to eye, the Darkin hound spoke with a raspy, echoing voice, which seemed to come out of a dozen throats: "You may call us Naafiri. We were not here because of you. We were here because of them." They pointed at the remains of the Voidling in the sands. "They dared to hunt in our domain. We took them out." Their nose twitched as Naafiri leaned closer, trying to get a read of the woman through her scent. "But we've never smelled one of your kind before. Who are you?"

@shrineshadow cont. from here.

It was a stray thought—perhaps one he should have left deep inside him. Time was growing uncomfortable and with it seemed a writhing withering sense of self. An offhanded comment—yet to his companion, he felt that it should be spoken. He was aware of the sacrifice that she made and what that may mean for them both. The time in the spirit world was intangible and indecipherable to him as they were locked away in infinite stasis.

The silence between them loomed like heavy fog on a chilly spring night. He was trying to pretend as if he hadn't spoken at all—what laughable excuse to ignore what was said. She deserved to hear it for she could not heard the praises that her people sang her. Just as he saved the Third Lands—their teamwork had saved her own. Meanwhile the spirits were eerily silent.

@shrineshadow - Continued ask

Jinx had always been better at stalking prey then Vi. Its not that Vi couldn't do it, but her instinct was to pounce, hit, and drag away. Both Tiger and Fox within her did not care for the slow stalk. Vi slowly moved on top of the building, her eyes narrowed upon the thief. Lowering down, her hands pressed against the ground, watching from above. Her silver blue eyes narrowed, and her left metal arm tensed.

In truth, Vi didn't care that the man stole; no doubt doing base instinct needs. She had stolen before, everyone in Zaun did. Opportunistic hunting for food, for money, for anything they could get their hands on.

However, the reason Vi chose him was quite literally the need to attack. Her eyes narrowed on him as she visualize her hands crushing his throat. Perhaps Warwick needed something to eat as well, the wolf had been quiet for some time. Her fangs bared as the itch intensified and it became harder to ignore. Moments like this, Vi knew she had to act. Better to do it in Zaun where the laws were not about killing but survival. If the Thief managed to survive to see another day then he would. But Vi's apex predator nature knew that was a slim chance. Her honed instincts and skills made it where she was the king of these streets. What did the books call the giant creature from prehistoric times? The Tyrant Lizard? She prized herself as the Hellhound, Kere, the death spirit. The tyrant who commanded fear and authority from her killer instincts and deathly punch.

Just as Vi found the perfect place to slam down her fist from above, something attacked first. Vi hissed in annoyed turning her eyes to the side to see some kind of heavy object flying forward as the thief ran. "Dammit!!!" Vi shouted as she jumped down and started to chase after the thief. Beside her came along a smaller woman, lithe and deep purple hair. Her sunkissed skintone and attire screamed Ionia though she looked ancient.

Weaving and twisted, one of her object flew forward, and caused Vi to skid to a stop so not to get hit in the process. The hunt ended and Vi threw her hands up, pacing back and forth.

Maybe she just fed this purple hair woman to Warwick instead!

"With your small bare feet and no tail?" Vi laughed and rolled her eyes. "You couldn't catch a mouse in Zaun much less a thief. Where you raised in Piltover?" Vi crouched down and pressed her hands against her head with a grumbling annoyance. Her metal hand pressed against the bridge of her nose, taking a few deep breathes.

What did Caitlyn say? Now she couldn't remember as she shook her head. Her sleek fox tail thrashed around a few times before standing back up. "Whatever… I'll find someone else," She said before turning to look at Yunara and raising a brow.

"Well. I was probably still inside of an incu-pod when my attending Assembly members cleared Earth orbit... then I was born shortly afterwards. It was more like the reverse: I took trips back to the 'old country' and the likes from Earth. Had my fair share of adventures growing up, before I became a superhero proper. Some afterwards. And I'm still at it, if with a few speedbumps."

A stranger in a strange land. Never quite fitting into one part or another.