#sun-scorned

“ R . . . R - R H A A S T . . . “

THE ALBINO WAS HANGING FROM THE CEILING, WRISTS BOUND ABOVE HIS HEAD WITH SHACKLES. All the strength that remained in his body went for his attempts to keep standing on the tips of his toes, lest his wrists and shoulders dislocate.

SO MANY TIMES HE ESCAPED THIS CELL. For months now, Zed would get recaptured for interrogation and then make an escape again in an attempt to flee Noxus through Valoran only to get lost. He was unfamiliar with the place, unfamiliar with the language, with the architecture, and with the people.

BUT HE HELD ON.

NOT A SINGLE ANSWER TO THE COUNCIL WAS GRANTED, no matter the question asked. No matter how obvious and H A R M L E S S giving them the answer would be. Zed refused to G I V E to the Noxians and so they T O O K away instead.

THE TIPS OF HIS FINGERS, BLOODY. His nails were cleanly torn off by Vision’s claw and there were pieces of tattooed flesh missing, revealing live meat with the Tear’s marking beneath - for the ink etched itself and seeped all the way down to Zed’s bones. The scars on his wrists left from Tuula’s imprisonment were irritated and sliced into, the metal confining him becoming slick and wet with his blood. His eyes were swollen and puffy, the dark circles under his eyes from the Tear’s eternal nightmares haunting him were now nearly completely black, and the eyelids were redder than the albino’s usual look from his excessive crying over the last few days.

HE WAS CRYING FOR NO OTHER REASON THAN THE FACT THAT THE NOXIAN’S ACTIONS BROUGHT HIM TO AN ENTIRE NEW PLACE AND STATE OF MIND AT TIMES.

ZED WOULD FORGET WHERE HE WAS AND WHO HE WERE - D I S S O C I A T E , SHEN CALLED IT ONCE - AND BECOME CONFUSED AND SCARED BEYOND HIS COMPREHENSION LATER WHEN HE’S COME TO.

ZED COUGHED, THEN GURGLED, collecting blood and snot and mucus before he spat it all aside by his trembling. His W H O L E body shook, in fact, but he was trying to ignore the problem rather than do something about it. All if his attention was devoted to the tall Darkin before him -

ONLY THAT EVEN IN HIS BATTERED STATE - BLACK AND PURPLE SPOTS OVERLAP WITH CUTS AND LASHES, Zed could tell that this was not the Rhaast he knew. Pale brows darkened by crimson ichor knitted together to frown as his eyes darted around the other’s form. It was a C H O R E to try and keep his eyes locked to one spot, for they always tried to dash around or roll backwards and close down, but Zed forced himself to try and keep them on Rhaast’s form.

THIS WAS NOT HIS SON, THE DARKIN, but Zed felt at ease when his eyes skimmed over the man’s features. Some would call his face gnarly, some would run away and scream “ D E M O N “  - however Zed came to recognize this as the face of his thousands of years, deadlier and wiser little son figure.

EVEN IF THIS WASN’T HIM, ZED HOPED THIS RHAAST BORE NO ILL INTENTION TOWARDS HIM. HE’S HOPED THEY WERE ON GOOD TERMS.

THAT’S WHAT HE REMEMBERED, AT LEAST.

“Rha...ast... R U N . . . Please... Please don’t get caught.” His voice trembled.

IT WAS THE SCENT OF DEATH THAT LED HIM THIS WAY. Fresh blood and torn flesh, these people weren’t injured, no... He understood he should be cautious as he approached the scene, only to come across a large demon-looking person.

KANEKI PAUSED, UNSURE WHETHER OR NOT THEY WERE HOSTILE.

Aatrox sat atop a small rock, meditating. The fact that this particular rock was buried deep in the heart of one of the giant monsters that still haunted the coastlines of the world, artifacts of the old Rune Wars that evene in Aatrox’s time, were but legends, was irrelevant. He breathed in the rich rust-red air, still fresh with the blood of his kill, and exhaled purpose, as he had been taught so long ago.

He detected, just at the edge of hearing, the slight slither of rock sliding against one another as someone moved towards his rock. Aatrox held to older traditions than most civilizations, however, and refused to move until his meditations upon this kill, one more significant than the mass genocide of mere mortals, were complete.

Finally, he rose, and turned, only to find no-one standing there, transfixed in awe and terror of the monster that was dead and the monster that still lived...

“Show yourself!” He called “Don’t make me drag you out of hiding, little mortal worm!”

So lost in his thoughts the Curator is that he does not notice that he is no longer alone.

@sun-scorned