Master of Shadows

An independent roleplaying blog for the League of Legends champion, Zed. Sidebar images by TyCrane and Fiveonthe

[dominusumbrarum]

truth-lies-in-darkness

When Zed descended the Kinkou temple’s steps with anger--hurt--weighing his every step, he had only two things with him: his blades, sheathed not with honor but with shame, and power. And it was this power rather than coin that found him food and residence when he cared for both only as much as necessity forced him to, and this power that steadily wore at the chains he had already begun to untangle from around his throat. 

But power was an answer, not a cure, and ire still burned hotly within his chest as he wiped the sweat from his brow and summoned yet another shadowed clone to fight him. It was an exercise for both body and mind, and a challenge angled both for and against him. The shadows were nothing like the Kinkou and their traditional teachings; there was no balance, no equilibrium, and no state of peace. Nothing was static, not unless it was suffocating and whole, and Zed was spared no mercy by neither darkness nor himself in destroying what shackles his old master had placed around his wrists.

It was nearing midnight by the time Zed finally allowed himself some rest, though it was more or less forced upon him when exhaustion anchored him in place and brought him, shamefully, to the floor. Not yet, he urged himself; not when there was still so much more to learn, to master; not when he was still too weak to get what he desired with almost a burning, consuming sort of obsession.

With his jaw clenched tight and his teeth grinding painfully against each other, Zed rose to his feet again with a deep, slow breath. Pain was nothing--he had long since been trained to overcome it--but his limbs were heavy. It was not yet time to stop.

But even in his exhaustion, Zed was acutely aware of footsteps--quiet, light, near inaudible to the untrained ear--approaching him. It was the only thing, he convinced himself, keeping him rested for a while longer.

“Akali.”

[dominusumbrarum]

im gonna go lose myself in more dragon age hell and probably get some sleep since it is 4 am now lmao tag me in starters or just hmu if you want me to write some (prob shit and short) starter for you bc zed is a dumb baby ninja and i live to make him miserable it’d be fun to interact with more of y’all o/

[jasonarts]

Yaay another league fan art haha, here is Zed this time! One of my least favourite champions to fight against. I hope you all like it! Webiste  Deviantart ArtStation DrawCrowd

[yuyamii-deactivated20161214]

‘eyo. i’m an indie roleplay blog for shen, trying to dig up more blogs to follow. if any of y’all could pass this around or point me out to any blogs, it’d be much appreciated. thanks!

[dominusumbrarum]

smooches. right in front of all the akalis and syndras. now who's the fuckin nerd.

oh. oh you wanna do this. because we can do this. you’re the only fuckin nerd around here. your master agreed with me before he died. trust me i was the only witness.

“Zed—” Shen begins to say, and it’s there—a hint of emotion, a phantom of what was once there in abundance, and a vestige of what made him more man than Eye of Twilight. Zed breathes it in, covets it with all the greed of a dying man, and presses Shen even harder against the ground.

“I said to shut up,” Zed growls, but it’s obvious to someone who knows—obvious to Shen—that there’s been a moment of silence that has lasted too long before he spoke. But the moon is bright and it’s making Shen’s eyes gleam, reminding Zed again and again of a thought, a passing sentiment, that Shen is weak. Shen is imperfect.

Shen is human, and his blood can still boil just as hotly as Zed’s can.

“Eye of Twilight… don’t make me laugh.” Zed’s fingers twist even further into the fabric of Shen’s clothes, and something—something hotter than anger, fiercer than fire—burns in his gaze. “Look me in the eye and speak of balance, Shen. Tell me what good it’s done for you. And I,” he leans in closer, until their lips are just a hair’s breadth away. It reminds him of a distant time when anger did not consume him so thoroughly and jealousy did not curl so thickly around his heart. “I will show you what the shadows have given me.”

[elegant-equilibrium]

     Shen doesn’t feel anything when he thinks of the man who bore him, who raised him and trained him into the lethal weapon he is today. Shen feels nothing when he thinks of the man who had beaten and tormented him physically, verbally, emotionally up until the day of his death. He felt nothing – indeed, didn’t bat an eyelash today or then – as that same man was tortured within an inch of his life. He couldn’t, though stars know it isn’t because he doesn’t have the capacity. Indeed, Shen can feel as deeply as the next man, but to feel is to falter and to falter is to fall. If the Eye falls, equilibrium falls with him.

     “Indeed,” he said, pressing the palms of his hands together as if in mourning or respect. The darkness was impenetrable, with no change whether his eyes were open or closed, so Shen settles for closed, at least for now. “You bring me here for a reason,” the Eye continued before interrupting himself. “I seem to recall a window here, and sky and stars before. Describe the room for me. Indulge those who choose to remain unseeing to see all, rather than attempt to see all and see nothing.” A jab, an inflection here and there. 

     “Tell me, Zed,” he speaks as if to a child beneath the layer of unfeeling. “Does your name bring you comfort? Does it bring you power? Is it not just another mask to hide behind? … Does severing yourself make you feel better?”

[dominusumbrarum]

Shen’s words disgust him. 

...No; it more than simply disgusts him. It repulses him down to his very core, and Zed feels anger thread through him with pride as the sharpened needle.

“I,” he begins, and it is only through the sure sound of Zed’s mask being discarded on the floor that Shen can know how here, in the shadows, they are both as bare as they are guarded, “am not the one in need of any mask or pitiful lie to guide me, Shen.” Calloused fingers reach out and take a fistful of Shen’s clothes, jerking him ever-close to the pair of eyes that gleam red with forbidden power. (It is like blood, he’s been told, and Zed scoffs at the comparison even now. It is like power.) “But how much can you speak of yourself? Raising your wrists to be shackled, baring your neck to be collared, believing yourself to be so detached when in truth you are far more blind than any fool within the Kinkou’s ranks... pathetic. You are no ninja, Shen; you are merely a slave. And there is no longer any room for your childish delusions.”

[run-playthings]

She pauses and considers his words, pale eyes glancing downwards to her hands. Syndra curls them in. Power radiates at the tip of her fingers. Even this, the ability to tear an entire temple from the ground it is confined to and keep it afloat perpetually in the air, is not enough for her. There are limits her body has placed. Today has reminded her of such only to incite her to break them.

Zed’s touch tears her from her thoughts. She lets out a sharp hiss and for a moment, draws back. Syndra is not use to being touched, let alone feeling pain. She casts him a disapproving look, one of petulance, much like a cat. He finishes quick enough and Syndra retreats. She takes her shirt and slips it on, doing her best to ignore the sting of pain.

“Yes, yes,” she sighs, sparing him another scornful glance. “Enough of this. You still have not mentioned why you visit.”

Syndra’s feet lift off the ground until she hovers inches above it. She looks down at Zed, an eyebrow arching as she awaits a response.

[dominusumbrarum]

The best way to do anything, he’s always believed, is to do it himself, and it is for this reason alone that he is only satisfied with how Syndra’s wounds are treated. But vocalizing as much will bring upon them the question of whether that speaks more for him or Syndra, so he chooses wisely to keep quiet instead. And besides, Zed doubts her power no more than he doubts his own; it is in his every best interest to remain in her good graces, just as she remains in his.

His lips twitch briefly into a smirk at her open disdain regardless, and amusement resonates in his voice like a single droplet of rainwater in an otherwise steady ocean. It’s never been any intention of his to displease her so, but Zed can’t help but find himself relating Syndra, if only for a moment, to a cat. (But a cat, he always remembers, that can very well crush him as easily as her flesh would bleed under his blades. Truly, there is none other he can and will deem worthy as an ally.)

“I came to ensure your well-being. It looks like I had been right to make that call.”

[elegant-equilibrium]

dominusumbrarum

he isn’t a manly man don’t be fooled

     stars damn it zed I’m tryna pick up chicks here

[dominusumbrarum]

you’re trying to pick up chicks

you’re trying to

pick up

chicks

ok i don’t know which is the greater joke

this, or

UR ABILITIES AS A NINJA

[dominusumbrarum]

smooches. right in front of all the akalis and syndras. now who's the fuckin nerd.

oh. oh you wanna do this. because we can do this. you’re the only fuckin nerd around here. your master agreed with me before he died. trust me i was the only witness.

“Zed—” Shen begins to say, and it’s there—a hint of emotion, a phantom of what was once there in abundance, and a vestige of what made him more man than Eye of Twilight. Zed breathes it in, covets it with all the greed of a dying man, and presses Shen even harder against the ground.

“I said to shut up,” Zed growls, but it’s obvious to someone who knows—obvious to Shen—that there’s been a moment of silence that has lasted too long before he spoke. But the moon is bright and it’s making Shen’s eyes gleam, reminding Zed again and again of a thought, a passing sentiment, that Shen is weak. Shen is imperfect.

Shen is human, and his blood can still boil just as hotly as Zed’s can.

“Eye of Twilight… don’t make me laugh.” Zed’s fingers twist even further into the fabric of Shen’s clothes, and something—something hotter than anger, fiercer than fire—burns in his gaze. “Look me in the eye and speak of balance, Shen. Tell me what good it’s done for you. And I,” he leans in closer, until their lips are just a hair’s breadth away. It reminds him of a distant time when anger did not consume him so thoroughly and jealousy did not curl so thickly around his heart. “I will show you what the shadows have given me.”

[elegant-equilibrium]

     Shen remembers. Beneath the still surface, in the depths of his being are memories, utterances, teachings that are not of balance. Lessons, feelings, attachments. He keeps them, as he must, but they do not define him. 

     Amber eyes flit upwards in the memory, and a voice that he has not heard for years slips into his ear like poison. “你哥哥.” This is your older brother. Introduce yourself.

     His own voice, soft and steady, disciplined and light. “我姓神,” he speaks, and then by way of conversation, “你今年多大?” My name is Shen. How old are you? Maybe he was curious, or his pride had been infringed on at the introduction of another boy – older, thus superior – but in the presence of his father, Shen would never reveal an ounce of thought. It would change as they warmed to each other, certainly, but when he was sitting there garbed in the cloth not of a student or disciple but something more, Shen was blank, as he is now. 

     “… What was it he called you,” Shen asked, and just like that there was a ripple in the water, like something had been dropped into its depths, “back then? The name he gave you.”

[dominusumbrarum]

It’s nothing Zed wants to remember, nothing he deems worthwhile, but the memory is still there all the same. (Jealousy’s claws have dug in deep; even after all these years, the scars are there to remind him of everything he had once desired but never received. But the shadows have given him power and more than what his childish mind could have imagined, and he stands now caring little for scars when he re-defines strength with each passing day.)

“...You ask even though you remember.” Because Zed has not always been only Zed; when the master had taken him under his wing, giving him name and home and purpose beyond survival on Ionia’s streets, Shen had been there. And Zed knows--just as he remembers, so too does Shen.

He both hates and relishes in how this exists between them, because as much as it seeks to agitate him, it is also--or so Zed hopes--an anchor to the Liao Shen that is still very much human. (And that is the Shen he wishes to kill, wishes to bleed, wishes to constrict and and push until he is on his knees. The Eye of Twilight, the Kinkou Order, balance and the stars and all else that he so fervently believes in--will any of it truly matter once Shen is on his knees?

...Yes and no. It will depend, as they both know, on whether or not Zed will finally deal the final blow.)

[silvxrfang]

[silvxrfang]

… You speak about balance, but do you really know what that is?

× Alternate universe ask/roleplay blog for Silverfang Akali from League of Legends.

× Over 10 years of roleplay experience, 2 years on tumblr.

× Paragraphs, one-liners and drabbles.

× Singleship, singleverse.

× Willing to roleplay with anyone. Canon or Original Character.

× Character development, flashbacks etc.

× NSFW roleplays and asks properly tagged and put under ‘Read More’.

× Very friendly mun, contact given to mutuals!

「order of shadows × secret messages × mission reports × code of ninja」

[run-playthings]

She feels his eyes on her skin, picking the wound apart almost to the bone. Her hands clench into fists. There are no other scars asides from the faded, silvery lines of stretch marks against her chest, reaching back to her arms. A story of a girl who grew a little too fast and had once been exactly that - a girl.

The moment he touches her, Syndra is on edge. The ends of her hair begin to lift. She thinks of this instance not as it is, but what it could be. A quick gouge to the heart, a flick of his wrist to split open her throat. Like this, there would be no time for her to react. But then, she could just as easily turn. His armor means little when she can use it to crush him. She has done it before and it is no more difficult than snapping her own neck. A sphere, right to the center of the chest, where the metal caves in so hard that the sternum cracks, the ribs bend, and they die. Quick and sudden and slow.

But -

Syndra relaxes. She would not harm him, and with that thought, she accepts that Zed is not a threat.

“Myself,” she responds quietly, after a moment. Her lips curl back, disdain and embarrassment finding its way to her face. “I pushed myself past what I normally do. One of the trees’ branches split off before I could react.”

Her fingers twitch. She offers a wry smile. “Sometimes, I have too much power.”

[dominusumbrarum]

Just like that, some hapless fool is spared, and whatever thought of retribution that might have slipped into mind simply dissipates into nothing.

Perhaps some may say it is a sign of him growing soft--sentiment, they might call it, because there is no word and no feeling he has come to detest with such venom on his tongue--but that is hardly the case. Zed is not like the Kinkou and he is not like Shen; he denies himself nothing, for there are no thicker bars to create a prison than denial. It is instead all simply a matter of what he deems as his and what he does not, what he will sacrifice and what he will not.

“You can only have too much if there is a limit. In time, even this will not be enough for you,” the ninja replies, and spares her only a brief glance before he begins dressing the wound. His touch is not necessarily gentle, but he is efficient; it hardly takes him long before he wraps the last of the bandages around her, though he’s no doubts that they will need to be changed not too long from now. “...But until then, take care not to get yourself killed. I will not lose you to a tree.”

[run-playthings]

The relationship between them is so carefully and meticulously threaded. His response reveals the masterwork stitches that hold them together. Something akin to friendship, but colder. (More than an alliance, but also less than.) Syndra smirks. There is so much pride to be had in being needed.

“Of course,” she hums, her tone relaxing, growing even content despite the wound. She begins to peel away the bandages until her injury is exposed. Its rather ugly looking, set just under her collarbone, where there is only soft flesh and muscle. The skin is split apart and torn in such a way that it looks as though she were impaled.

Her lips keep the smirk, but Syndra’s teeth are pressed together.

She motions with her left arm, raising the pestles of salve to present to him. She knows far more about herbal remedies than her rudimentary concoctions would display. The temple has countless plants and at one point, Syndra had been taught the uses of each and every one.

“I am only permitting this to put you at ease,” Syndra comments. She lowers herself to the ground, arms resting stiff at her sides. She has better things to do than play patient, but Zed is right and she would only end up having to dress the wound more carefully later.

[dominusumbrarum]

...She is almost childish in how much pleasure she takes in a simple confession of facts, but Zed can hardly fault such a prideful woman when he is no better. And he must confess--she looks so much better with content written into the smooth lines of her face, when her lips are curved into a smug smile than twisted into a pained scowl.

And indeed, this is where they are so many things and yet nothing at all. It goes without saying that Syndra is an ally, not only for her strength but also for her mentality. There is beauty in power without limit, in being wholly free from whatever shackles that Ionia, with its blind affair with balance and tradition, seeks to lock around their wrists, and in this manner, Syndra is beautiful. But it is not so much a beauty that captivates the heart as it is a beauty that captivates his ambitions.

“Of course,” Zed echoes, but says nothing more to thank her for her gracious decision for his aid. Instead he inspects the wound with a frown hidden behind the cold metal of his mask, and reaches for some spare cloth first to wipe away what blood still trickles free along her skin. “Who was it?”

[dominusumbrarum]

smooches. right in front of all the akalis and syndras. now who's the fuckin nerd.

oh. oh you wanna do this. because we can do this. you’re the only fuckin nerd around here. your master agreed with me before he died. trust me i was the only witness.

“Zed—” Shen begins to say, and it’s there—a hint of emotion, a phantom of what was once there in abundance, and a vestige of what made him more man than Eye of Twilight. Zed breathes it in, covets it with all the greed of a dying man, and presses Shen even harder against the ground.

“I said to shut up,” Zed growls, but it’s obvious to someone who knows—obvious to Shen—that there’s been a moment of silence that has lasted too long before he spoke. But the moon is bright and it’s making Shen’s eyes gleam, reminding Zed again and again of a thought, a passing sentiment, that Shen is weak. Shen is imperfect.

Shen is human, and his blood can still boil just as hotly as Zed’s can.

“Eye of Twilight… don’t make me laugh.” Zed’s fingers twist even further into the fabric of Shen’s clothes, and something—something hotter than anger, fiercer than fire—burns in his gaze. “Look me in the eye and speak of balance, Shen. Tell me what good it’s done for you. And I,” he leans in closer, until their lips are just a hair’s breadth away. It reminds him of a distant time when anger did not consume him so thoroughly and jealousy did not curl so thickly around his heart. “I will show you what the shadows have given me.”

[elegant-equilibrium]

     Darkness. Liao Shen doesn’t know what he was expecting, but the pitch that suffocates him now, covering his eyes and ears with promising hands and crawling down his throat as if to silence him … He is not surprised. Feet pad tentatively on wooden floors and naked amber eyes flit this way and that before they steady at the release of another breath. 

     Fear is just as much of a weakness as it is a strength. 

     His suspicions are confirmed at Zed’s words. The old Kinkou temple. For just a moment the Eye of Twilight is transported back to a younger body–a different time. Sneaking out with barely-muffled laughter to steal food or explore outdoors. Training, maybe. Something. 

     But that was then, and this is now. He is stable and flexible, alert and relaxed. He has surrendered himself thus far, but Shen is at his limits. Any more and it would be … Reckless, almost. Like a child with something to prove. The Eye of Twilight must remember that it is not him and Zed that matter–it isn’t a spar between two figures; it’s a trembling web of balance, and they are nothing. Everything and nothing, all at once.

     “– This is not home.”

[dominusumbrarum]

“It was,” Zed reminds him, and almost as if in response, the shadows curl thick and heavy around Shen’s form. This was where they sat to meditate together. This was where they ate together. This was where they snuck out in the middle of the night to see what lay beyond the temple walls, and this was where they stared up at the stars as two brothers joined by the blade. 

Shen remembers. Shen must remember. Zed knows more than he hopes.

“This is where you first introduced yourself to me.” The memory is fresh in his mind even though it’s been years. History is written in every inch of the temple that once belonged to the Kinkou, and Zed has done his best to write over it all in blood and power. “This exact room.”

[run-playthings]

Inadequete. The word earns a scornful laugh. When has anyone dared use such a word in relation to her? Her fingers smooth over the bandages. Zed is right, of course. She has taken little concern over the wound. She applied a quick salve and dressed it, but that was the extent of her effort. There was time to worry about it later.

There had been, at least.

Zed does not let her change the conversation. But there is a certain gentleness in how he handles it. Syndra turns to him. She has stopped pulling her top on, instead holding it in a pale fist.

“If you find it so concerning, then I assume you will help?” she states, brows raising.

[dominusumbrarum]

"I’ve a need for you still,” is Zed’s reply, and though it sounds callous--is callous in its nature--there is a distinct lack of cruelty in his tone. He cares for her, that much is obvious to them both, but that is not what is focused on now. “And I’m not interested in losing an ally due to her own negligence. Remove your top.”

As he waits for her to abide by his request, Zed looks at the materials she’s gathered for herself. They’re nothing at all like the sort of medicinal herbs he has back in his temple, but he supposes that is just as well; Syndra does not lead and train an army of ninjas as he does, and it’s rare enough that anyone can come close to even harm her.

...It does make him wonder, though...

[dominusumbrarum]

smooches. right in front of all the akalis and syndras. now who's the fuckin nerd.

oh. oh you wanna do this. because we can do this. you’re the only fuckin nerd around here. your master agreed with me before he died. trust me i was the only witness.

“Zed—” Shen begins to say, and it’s there—a hint of emotion, a phantom of what was once there in abundance, and a vestige of what made him more man than Eye of Twilight. Zed breathes it in, covets it with all the greed of a dying man, and presses Shen even harder against the ground.

“I said to shut up,” Zed growls, but it’s obvious to someone who knows—obvious to Shen—that there’s been a moment of silence that has lasted too long before he spoke. But the moon is bright and it’s making Shen’s eyes gleam, reminding Zed again and again of a thought, a passing sentiment, that Shen is weak. Shen is imperfect.

Shen is human, and his blood can still boil just as hotly as Zed’s can.

“Eye of Twilight… don’t make me laugh.” Zed’s fingers twist even further into the fabric of Shen’s clothes, and something—something hotter than anger, fiercer than fire—burns in his gaze. “Look me in the eye and speak of balance, Shen. Tell me what good it’s done for you. And I,” he leans in closer, until their lips are just a hair’s breadth away. It reminds him of a distant time when anger did not consume him so thoroughly and jealousy did not curl so thickly around his heart. “I will show you what the shadows have given me.”

[elegant-equilibrium]

     His face does not change when his chin is wrenched, clamped between fingers that he once knew and no longer recognises. Staring into Shen’s eyes is like staring into a hunk of amber, blank and unfeeling, almost transparent in their emptiness. He is rock, eerily still, steadily strong. There are only three people on this earth who have beheld his face since donning the mask. One is dead, one betrayed, one …

     … Akali …

     She must not chase him. She is strong and steadfast, exactly what the Fist of Shadow must be, but she is passionate. It is a danger.

     “Bring it,” he says, a moment before catching what would have been a stumble to a lesser man. Shen steps back, but he does not falter. “If you will not respect me, respect my wishes. You are a man of reason … ?” It’s a barbed question, phrased as if he was not sure, but the request is there. The Eye of Twilight must not reveal his face to those that are not family or the closest of comrades. It is law. Zed must know. Bring the mask.

     Steady eyes flit to the portal, unflinching and unfearing. “You waste your time,” Shen speaks, but ultimately does not protest. “You err. You waver. You flux, and it makes you weak.” He does not glance again at his once-brother, but steps forward into the portal and towards whatever might greet him.

[dominusumbrarum]

Shen speaks of reason like it’s a cage, and Zed curls his lips in disgust. Reason does not escape him when he is clear in his doctrines and clearer still in his goals, but Shen--brother no longer, friend no longer, a chink in armor he has spent years forging thrice over--stands in the way of it all.

“Your wishes,” Zed repeats with a scowl, and looks down at the mask that rests now by his feet. He thinks to burn it, but opts instead to step on it as he follows Shen into the shadows. It closes behind him, leaving no trace and melding into the natural dark of the night, and abandons the mask for all it ever has been and ever will be worth. Perhaps it will draw the Kinkou to him; perhaps, come morning, Akali will see it and simply know. But that is hardly a problem when Zed dares them to come, thirsting both to introduce revelation and to destroy that which clung so stubbornly to a dead past.

At the portal’s end is darkness, complete and thick all around them. It will not scare Shen, this he already knows, but Zed did not bring him here to simply threaten and toy with. They are alone here at the heart of the Order of the Shadows’ temple, and here, there are no stars to guide this poor, pitiful shell of a man he once knew.

“Welcome home, Liao Shen.”

[run-playthings]

The sound of his voice catches her off guard. For a moment, Syndra is nothing but exposed edges, ready to turn and tear into him. She presses a hand to her chest, where the warmth of blood spreads under her fingertips. She breathes. Slowly. One breath in, one out. A grimace touches her features.

Syndra turns so that her back is to him. She had thought this garden secure, safe to practice in and safe to lose herself in her thoughts. Zed would, of course, prove otherwise. You didn’t keep the shadows out, after all. That he has caught her off guard annoys her, but more than that, she is aware of her own lack of clothing. Her shoulder armor and gauntlets have been removed. Her headpiece lays to the side. She has her skirt and tights on, but they offer little protection.

She is queen. She is sovereign. And she still holds herself with dignity. Standing before anyone like this leaves her agitated.

Syndra drums her fingers against the wound, then lifts them up, touching just under her nose. Is there still a trace of her earlier nosebleed? She had paid little attention to her face.

"A mistake on my part," she states after a moment. Her hand moves, fingers curling inward. Her top lifts and drifts to her and Syndra begins to put it on. The motions hurt, but Syndra holds her tongue. She lets out a low hiss.

"Why the sudden visit?"

She attempts to take control of the conversation.

[dominusumbrarum]

It isn’t his place to be concerned, nor is he under any obligation to spare her any decency, but Zed still looks her over with a critical eye examining what part of her injury he can see before she works to cover herself once again. It isn’t fatal, that much he’s certain of, but the wound is deep and he’s no doubts that her mistake had been a costly one. As she stands now, a crippled queen with more exposed than what she deems acceptable, Zed by all means is free to judge her.

But he does not, and instead approaches her with quiet steps until he is just shy of a foot away from where she remains. Though their alliance dictates that he cares, at least to some extent, for her well-being, there is also an underlying and genuine respect for who and what Syndra is. Zed does not push those limits now.

“You only allow room for infection if you leave your injury with such inadequate treatment,” he speaks instead, ignoring her question and the attempt to steer the situation back into her domain of comfort. “Attend to that first, Syndra.”

[dominusumbrarum]

smooches. right in front of all the akalis and syndras. now who's the fuckin nerd.

oh. oh you wanna do this. because we can do this. you’re the only fuckin nerd around here. your master agreed with me before he died. trust me i was the only witness.

"Zed—" Shen begins to say, and it’s there—a hint of emotion, a phantom of what was once there in abundance, and a vestige of what made him more man than Eye of Twilight. Zed breathes it in, covets it with all the greed of a dying man, and presses Shen even harder against the ground.

"I said to shut up,” Zed growls, but it’s obvious to someone who knows—obvious to Shen—that there’s been a moment of silence that has lasted too long before he spoke. But the moon is bright and it’s making Shen’s eyes gleam, reminding Zed again and again of a thought, a passing sentiment, that Shen is weak. Shen is imperfect.

Shen is human, and his blood can still boil just as hotly as Zed’s can.

“Eye of Twilight… don’t make me laugh.” Zed’s fingers twist even further into the fabric of Shen’s clothes, and something—something hotter than anger, fiercer than fire—burns in his gaze. “Look me in the eye and speak of balance, Shen. Tell me what good it’s done for you. And I,” he leans in closer, until their lips are just a hair’s breadth away. It reminds him of a distant time when anger did not consume him so thoroughly and jealousy did not curl so thickly around his heart. “I will show you what the shadows have given me.”

[elegant-equilibrium]

     He knows. He knows, he knows, he knows of the anger that Zed feels—the anger that consumes him now within an inch of his life. Shen knows, perhaps better than most, what it is to be angry, for he is the one who can take his own emotions, bottle them up and hold them up to the light to examine them. His and those of all others. It’s what’s required of him and it’s what he must do.

     Kill me, he’d said, and a tiny part of him glimmers and wishes that Zed would—wishes that he would surprise the Eye of Twilight once again. Wishes that this was not his brother who straddled him in a death grip with a loose hand around his throat. A tiny part of him wishes with all its might before it’s quashed beneath a fist of steel. He would not yield to weakness as Zed did. He would not follow failure’s footsteps. The Eye of Twilight would accept death, but deep down Liao Shen knew it was an empty acceptance. The Master of Shadows would not kill him. Not today or likely tomorrow. 

     His face is blank and unfeeling, even as Zed pulls away to leave his flat gaze along with the stars. Shen doesn’t yield—doesn’t question, doesn’t feel—anything but what they tell him to.  When prompted, he pushes himself to stand, barely hesitating despite the ache in his muscles from their fight, and straightens, tall and disciplined, though now amount of posture will compensate for their difference in height. “You will gain nothing,” he speaks so smoothly. “I will yield to show you the futility in your actions, and then you will release me.” Shen blinks just once, and the moonlight catches on the liquid of his eyes. “It is preordained. … Hand me my mask.”

[dominusumbrarum]

“No.” Zed’s answer comes quickly and sharply like the edge of a knife, bitter and ugly as he seizes Shen’s chin between rough fingers. He wants Shen to look at him--him and not the stars, he who is real and and strong and not that which is fake and a lie--but the desire feels disgusting, curling in the pit of his stomach until he wishes again and again that he could just kill the man before him. 

“I will see your face."

(And I will see it twist, I will see it rage, I will see it cry.)

Because Zed knows--oh, of course he knows--what the mask does to Shen, what it means to him. What more is it than yet another layer of deceit, a way of separating himself from the truth that lingers and unfurls all around him? It’s pathetic and pitiful, and Zed has no desire to cast even one more glance at the single piece of blue fabric that hides a visage that is both most familiar and most foreign.

With a scowl, Zed shoves Shen back and wills the shadows to his side. They react immediately, dark and cold like wisps of power in his veins, and gather to form a portal when he channels his energies with but two smooth movements of his arms. Dark red sigils form around the passageway, glowing the same color as his eyes, and only prove to mark his success--his strength.

“Step inside, Shen. We will see how pre-ordained your weakness is.”

[dominusumbrarum]

smooches. right in front of all the akalis and syndras. now who's the fuckin nerd.

oh. oh you wanna do this. because we can do this. you’re the only fuckin nerd around here. your master agreed with me before he died. trust me i was the only witness.

"Zed—" Shen begins to say, and it’s there—a hint of emotion, a phantom of what was once there in abundance, and a vestige of what made him more man than Eye of Twilight. Zed breathes it in, covets it with all the greed of a dying man, and presses Shen even harder against the ground.

"I said to shut up,” Zed growls, but it’s obvious to someone who knows—obvious to Shen—that there’s been a moment of silence that has lasted too long before he spoke. But the moon is bright and it’s making Shen’s eyes gleam, reminding Zed again and again of a thought, a passing sentiment, that Shen is weak. Shen is imperfect.

Shen is human, and his blood can still boil just as hotly as Zed’s can.

“Eye of Twilight… don’t make me laugh.” Zed’s fingers twist even further into the fabric of Shen’s clothes, and something—something hotter than anger, fiercer than fire—burns in his gaze. “Look me in the eye and speak of balance, Shen. Tell me what good it’s done for you. And I,” he leans in closer, until their lips are just a hair’s breadth away. It reminds him of a distant time when anger did not consume him so thoroughly and jealousy did not curl so thickly around his heart. “I will show you what the shadows have given me.”

[elegant-equilibrium]

     Liao Shen isn’t afraid. He hasn’t been afraid for a long, long time, and it will take more than idle death threads—for that is what they are, and they both know it; Zed will never kill Shen like this, and the Eye of Twilight is not so different. One will only be slain when they have lost, not physically but …

     His breath escapes against Zed’s thumb, warm in the cool air, and steady as the heart that soon beats, living, against firm fingers. It’s an even pulse, and Shen steels himself further, determined to keep it so, because each inch of ground he yields to his once-brother is an inch that cannot be regained by any level of victory. Even if he wins in the end—brings Zed back to the side of balance—there will always be that memory of when the Master of Shadows made the Eye of Twilight’s heart rate pick up beneath the light of the moon. It will always be between them, and thus he cannot allow it to happen. He wants to return the gesture, to grasp at Zed’s throat as well and show that he’s not yielding, but that’s exactly what he’s doing. 

     Yield to achieve victory. Shen lies still and amber eyes are steady and blank, albeit half-lidded. “I disgust you,” he echoes in an easy monotone. He has a will of steel and a defense of even more, yet Zed still manages to make him struggle for control—for equilibrium, for balance—with every word and gesture. “Then kill me. Show me your makeshift truth, Zed, or fail in that, too.”

     Stars damn him.

[dominusumbrarum]

Zed cannot hide his anger, not when it burns hot enough to consume him whole. It starts at his core, at the heart that beats harshly within his chest, and then spreads outwards, rushing like liquid fire in his veins until want becomes need and need becomes something more--an obsession, a compulsion, a fixation, something that takes hold of every sense and every thought and taunts him until he is only a hair’s breadth away from snapping.

Kill me, Shen says, daring, mocking, challenging--and God, it’s infuriating. It’s a reminder that Shen has so easily cast away that which once made him human and real in order to become this pathetic shell, little more than a puppet who delights in locking itself in a prison and throwing away the key.

I can’t, Zed wants to say, to shout, to scream until Shen--Shen and not the Eye of Twilight, Shen if indeed he still exists--can hear him, but instead he grits his teeth. This isn’t how things are supposed to play out. This isn’t how Shen is supposed to die. This isn’t the end he’s always imagined and dreamt of, because this is not the boy, the man, that at one point could not beat.

“You don’t deserve death,” Zed growls, and pulls away like Shen is the filth underneath his shoes. “On your feet, fool. Cast one good look around at the home you will leave behind yet again.”