The great din that ensued from the madness of the assassin could be heard from the room in which the General was held, leaving the man silent in amusement as he aimed to discern whom this impromptu savior may be. He had long ceased believing that he had any allies in Noxus, aside from his brother, whom he had all the reason to believe was done with him. So who could it have been? Was this an attempt to save his life or put him out of his misery? Maybe it wasn’t related to him at all. But as the sounds grew closer and closer, he knew that suspicion was false. So why?
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As Talon descended the final stairs, staring grimly down the hallway to his destination, he couldn’t stop from doing a mental inventory of what he had left. He had planned for heavy resistance, but the response within the prison had exceeded even his expectations. His body ached in ways he only had faint memories of it aching, and he could feel the blood-soaked tatters that had once been a magnificent gift from General Du Couteau himself clinging to his skin with every movement.
He shrugged away the pain, shrugged away the fatigue, and wiped away the hot blood that dripped across his vision and stung his eyes. The end was in sight, the first of the two goals of this whole affair. All that stood between him and Darius now was two guards, their horrified eyes watching the bloodied assassin as he stalked down the hall towards them. He had bested men with five times their skill, men who wore sturdier armor and wielded sharper blades. What hope did they have of stopping him? He could have let them run, could have allowed them to live as they dropped their weapons and sprinted away. But no...there was no room for mercy. Left alive, they could tell the tale to that woman, and any time advantage he had gained by his recklessness would be lost. So as the men drew close to the assassin, his hands reached out and grasped one leg from each and wrenched them off their feet. Knowing the impact would knock the wind from their lungs, Talon moved quickly to drive the heels of his palms into their throats, preventing them from ever drawing breath again.
The commotion from the room ahead forced his body into motion again. Had he been too late? Was Urgot, even now rushing to finish off his captive? Putting all the strength he had left into a sprint, he rushed to the door and planted his heel firmly against the solid steel.
His fears were allayed when he saw the large form of his trusted friend and brother standing, illuminated by the dim light, broken and battered...but alive.
“That it has, Darius. Find your equipment, I’ve come to bring you home.”
Time had bled away from him, minutes, to hours, to days, to weeks, and Darius soon lost track. Not that such things really meant anything to him anymore, for all that remained for him now was pain. A world of torment at the behest of one Noxus’ foulest mistakes, and all Darius could do was bear it. Part of him sought death, but even he knew that was a temporary escape at best, if the image of the reanimated Sion was any indication. However, the concept of freedom overrode such an idea. The only freedom worth having would be returning home - to the home he accepted, alongside the people he truly cared for in Hive City, not this wretched prison of his original birth. It was all that mattered now, and he would fight to return to it, futile as the effort may be.
And so, his captor, the grotesque Urgot, visited pain upon him, day after day, adding a motley of scars and bruises to his flesh, along with wounds that could not be seen, but only remembered. Darius would not let it break him however, fighting as harshly as he could against the overwhelming trauma that he suffered hour by hour. Urgot would never let him rest. Why would he grant such a “gifted” individual such good fortune? The clanking sounds of the foul being’s limbs would warn the former General of his presence, his hollow monstrous voice ringing out in empty mocking.
“Perhaps you’d like to cooperate now, General? Your anguish is of your own doing. Remember your place, and the pain will stop. Why do you not accept your good fortune? Most would beg me for it.”
At first, there was nothing but silence that responded to him, the undeniably tempting offer hanging in the air. Finally, a globule of blood was spit out, at the feet of the monstrosity before Darius gave him a defiant smile.
“Freedom from your preaching…would be the greatest fortune.”
The abomination looked upon him for a moment before shifting about, all the machinery that made him grinding angrily together as he moved to retrieve another one of his favorite “toys” to test out upon Darius, when suddenly, from above, the scrapes of steel and screams of pain made it clear they were not alone. Both of them looked upward to the floors above, confusion on the General’s features before chuckling to himself. Could that be the good fortune he hoped for?
“It seems you have company…Don’t let me keep you.”
He knew now that his presence in the prison had been revealed. The sounds of battle had become almost foreign to him in the months since his return, having found himself dealing more in information and treachery than in steel and blood. A lesser evil, to be sure, but there was no discounting the evils that had been wrought because of the information he had sold and bargained with.
Tonight was the first night in a very long time that his actions were something he could feel pride towards. Every drop of Noxian blood he spilled as he made his way through the prison was another wave of absolution that washed over him, cleansing his heart, mind, and soul of the things that he had done in the past. Darius was here. His friend was within reach once more, and Talon would see to it that both were returned to the place they belonged. Their true home.
The first subterranean floor of the prison was nearly clear now, though the burning in the assassin’s limbs told him that he needed to press on or face the possibility of losing his momentum and the adrenaline that pushed him forwards. Ten men on the first floor had fallen to his blades, but nearly twice their number had faced him on this second floor. Three had charged at once, swords in hand as they attempted to overwhelm the one they now recognized as the infamous adopted son of the Du Couteau family. Had they thought harder, they would have realized their folly. Slipping through the gap between two of the men in an instant, Talon’s blades found their marks in the backs of two mens knees before the third was dispatched with a swift heel to the jaw so savage that it sent the man’s teeth skittering across the stone floors. Talon had not been idle, after all. His body had become as deadly as his blades, and he used it to great effect.
Others on the floor had come as stragglers, five being caught unawares around corners, but the final dozen...they presented a challenge.
All twelve of the heavily armored and armed men stood between the assassin and the stairs to the third and final floor of the prison. Once beyond them, there would be two more, and the torturer himself to deal with. Talon didn’t relish the idea of being in the same vicinity as the odious existence known as Urgot, but such disgust was buried beneath an ironclad wall of resolve.
Twelve men stood between him and his goal, and twelve were the number that rushed him as a single unit. They had been trained well, possibly chosen by Swain himself, and Talon found himself fighting with every ounce of his ability simply to keep on the defensive. Blades and spears and clubs cut through the air, biting through fabric, skin, and flesh as they went. The stone floors quickly became slick with blood, and each man still standing had to fight to keep their footing. Talon could feel the burning in his injured limbs, the raggedness of his breath as it was ripped from overworked lungs, but he did not falter. Even as blood soaked into the violet fabric of his clothing, even as he lost the feeling in his arms from the constant battering of steel against steel, even as images of Sona flashed through his mind, the assassin did not falter.
He could hear General Marcus Du Couteau, the only father he had ever known, calling to him, urging him onwards. “Faster”, the voice said, “Don’t waste a single second of your movements.”. The voice rang as clear as day in his ears, and he could feel strength filling his frame. To fall would be one thing...to fall when he had been ordered to fight was another entirely. It was unacceptable.
He could hear his sisters’ voices, chiding and mocking more often than not, but he could hear the rare words of encouragement. The pride in their voices as they spoke of their deadly adoptive brother and his skill. “The finest bladesmasters in Valoran”, she had said. His blade moved swifter, struck truer, and bit deeper than before. He could not afford to disappoint their expectations of him.
Body after body fell around the assassin, the pools of blood beneath him no longer distinguishable between that of himself and that of his enemies.
“Faster.”, he muttered under his breath.
“Faster!”, he shouted aloud as he broke one of his blades off in the throat of an adversary.
“FASTER!”, he more howled than spoke as he drove his thumbs into the eye sockets of the final survivor of the twelve, screaming his feral rage as he felt the fleshy orbs pop beneath his grasp. The screams of the man below him went silent, and as he wrenched his fingers from the bloodied sockets Talon felt an indescribable emotion wash over him.
He felt no joy in the kills, no pride in having bested so many. No...the only thing that Talon Du Couteau felt in that moment was a feeling similar to that of absolution. As blood poured from his wounds, staining his tattered clothes, he felt as if his sins too were pouring out of him. Taking only a moment to revel in the feeling, he spared no gaze to the corpses around him as he turned and began to stride towards the stairway to the final floor of the prison.
The Blade’s Shadow was not a man of inaction, and even upon his return to Valoran he had continued to make his own plans and movements. Information, assassinations, blackmail, and things even more distasteful. Anything that happened in Noxus, Talon knew about it. Many long nights were spent compiling facts, drawing connections, and sending letters to contacts, all in the long effort to never again be caught unawares by the workings of the city he was forced to call home.
However...something finally happened that he was unprepared for. Of all the people to be called back, of all those to be accused of treason...the Hand of Noxus had not been one he had considered. Confined to the deepest, most heavily guarded cell in a Noxian dungeon, and remanded to the custody of the city-state's most odious resident, Darius' future was bleak. Before their shared time in the otherworldly city of Hive, Talon may have simply viewed the General's imprisonment as an unfortunate circumstance of the times they lived in.
However...Talon had grown to see Darius as more than simply a superior warrior and General. He had come to see the man as a comrade, an ally, and, most importantly, as a friend.
So he had begun to plan. In one night, he would destroy everything he had built in Noxus, everything he had planned and created, for the sake of a friend. For the sake of returning to a place he had long since given up on returning to.
Talon Du Couteau, the Shadow of Noxus, would rescue Darius. He would kill anyone in his way, he would crush all opposition, and he would bring them both back to the city that they loved. Back to the Hive.
He had waited for the opportune moment. Tonight was the night that the fewest guards would be on duty, and that the greatest threat to his plan, a certain woman that even the assassin feared crossing paths with, would be away from Noxus. Word would reach her, of course, by hopefully he would be done with his business by then.
This was not a time for quiet, measured motions. This was an assault, not an assassination. Face hidden beneath his cowl, he had approached the two men guarding the doors. In answer to their demands for him to identify himself, he threw two of his spinning blades into their throats. Pushing open the doors as he walked past their bodies, he palmed four more of the blades in preparation for what was to come next. Three from the left, one from the right. A simple patrol pattern that he had studied and memorized. Each man was brought low with a single blade. He continued on his path. Four more, coming from straight ahead as the patrols failed to return. He ducked under the swing of the first man's sword, driving a blade between his ribs and into his heart. The second swing of a blade was blocked with his infamous armblade, and in that moment his identity was revealed. The last two men came at him at the same time as he was still locked against the second. In an instant, he vanished from sight. Blood sprayed across the stone floors as Talon's strikes to their necks took effect. The bodies fell into a heap, disregarded by the assassin as he continued on his way.
"...Swain." The sound of distaste made in the back of his throat was incomparable.
If there was one existence that the assassin held in utter distaste, then it was Jericho Swain.
You awake to discover 4 or 5 presents stowed away in your abode, all of which have been boxed in pristine, vibrantly wrapped boxes adorned with bows. Some of these boxes contain: a collection of daggers, an Assassin's Creed cosplay costume, an assortment of sweaters and a framed photo of Sona. (This is not to be published or responded to until the 25th. Merry Christmas!)
"...that outfit is ridiculous. As are the sweaters. The rest is...acceptable."
"I speak this now to any who may question what Darius and Lucina once shared, and who may be listening now: I know very little of love. I know little besides how to do harm to others...but I know that what they shared was legitimate. I have not given up on either of them, nor shall I. Beyond my own opinions, it would be best if some of you took to minding your own business. I may be a Shepherd, but I am also a friend to both Darius and Lucina, those whom you harm with your doubts."
"And any harm dealt to those I care for will be answered with utmost urgency."
The older Noxian sighed in return. He didn’t know why Talon continued speaking to him. Like Katarina, Zero, and all the others that stood by his side in that assault, he had betrayed his trust. He lured him in with false words and promises and promptly left them to die in a battle he had begun.
"Wish for my company? I would find that laughable, if such an action did not hurt as much as it would. Between those I have betrayed and those I have abandoned for the sake of a war I never intended to begin?"
"No, Talon. I’m fairly certain I should remain here for the time being."
"...you know that both Sona and I would welcome you gladly, Darius...as would many others. Many are willing to forgive you for what has come to pass...but you remain stubborn in condemning yourself. Thrice-damned fool, and I'll damn you a fourth time for it...damned fool." Standing, Talon lowered his hood and looked to the general with undisguised anger...but it wasn't anger over the betrayal, nor over the abandonment. It was anger at the man for being so absorbed in his own self-loathing that he refused to allow himself to be absolved.
It was Noxus all over again.
Finally, they had clawed their way out of this place...but the taint of it still clung to the general like filth to a sewer. Talon had grown to respect Darius in Noxus, and even more so in Hive City, and it was that respect that fueled his anger now. To see the man he respected being dragged down, not by an opponent, not by an enemy, but by himself was...unforgivable.
"...you remain welcome, Darius. Even should you choose to ignore it, or refuse it, you are welcomed by the people who care for you. I wish you a speedy recovery, and leave you with this."
Reaching into his cloak and producing a thick, heavy blade, Talon pressed it into the hand of his friend before turning away and starting to walk away. If Darius looked closely, he would see the marks on the blade matched to a certain crimson stone, renowned for its ability to sharpen steel.
"...if you die in this place, on your back without a blade in your hand, I will not forgive you. Survive, General Darius...or I swear on that blade you hold, I will drag you back from death myself, our hosts and their machines be damned."
The man had offered very little in terms of discussion to any of his patrons, his grim disposition ruining any mood over time. However, when Talon walked into the room, the General could only stare. Then the punch. Darius’ head reeled back for a moment but quickly returned to it’s normal position, a bruise forming soundly above his eyes. The man hardly flinched; considering the beating he had taken from Zero some time prior, the punch was a love tap.
"As long as you are aware." Unclenching his fist and returning it to his side, Talon let out a sign even as the dull ache began to spread through his knuckles. It was like striking a brick wall, only less agreeable and far less intelligent. "...so, you're resolved to stay here then? You won't be persuaded to spend a time like this with those who would wish for your company?"
It hadn't taken long to find the man once he'd found the right hospital. He just needed to look for the room where anyone coming out look utterly distressed and downtrodden. The General had that effect on others these days. Opening the door and walking in, Talon wordlessly moved to sit on the chair next to the bedridden man. A few moments passed in silence, until finally the assassin leaned forwards and, in one swift motion, punched Darius in the forehead as hard as he could.
"You're a thrice-damned fool. You are aware of this yes?"
[The moment movement seemed to stop in the city she knew there was something wrong. The sign never seemed to bode well before now, not when the scientists always seemed to have some trick hidden up their sleeves to torment the citizens with. There was one noticeable difference this time however. There was no explaination, no drawn out, one sided conversations from invisible voices. Instead everything just melted away. The world faded after a time had seemed to be replaced with an unfamiliar setting.
Fingers trembled as she clutched to the frame of the brass instrument. Tere was something forboding about this setting. The dim lights, the dripping walls, the lack of obvious exits other than the path that looked like it would only lead them further into the almost terrifying world. What kinds of monsters would be laying in wait further down the corridor? What was the trick to the entire situation.
There was a pricking pain in one hand, eyes turned to quickly stare at her hand, left coming away from the instrument to cover and grip tight at the red mark that seemed to snake it’s way around her wrist.
It was in that moment of silence that she realized that she wasn’t the only one here. Eyes opened wide and the woman’s head turned to notice a familiar face. It was almost instantaneous that the fear seemed to vanish and joy and relief seemed to take the place at the sight of the assassin near her. The usual smile didn’t come to her face however. She was uncertain if this was a situation in which she could show, or should show her enthusiasm in. Little was being explained, and she couldn’t help but keep the concern in the back of her mind. A force, an instinct seeming call her towards the maze.]
So used to these sorts of events was Talon that he hardly even reacted when the city began to slow around him. His stoic act remained as it ground to a halt and he found himself in this strange labyrinth, with two others close by. The act broke for a moment when he saw the Maven, allowing a concerned look to pass his visage as he realized that once again they had been thrown into danger together, just as they had been before...however, when his eyes settle on the hulking form of the man with whom his relationship had become...complicated, the act broke entirely and his lips twisted into a fierce scowl of anger.
"...Darius. I'm to assume that you, Sona, and I are bound for this occurrence. And in such a case, I will make a single thing clear."
Talon was not a small man, but even he needed to reach up to grasp the collar of the brutish man's armor, pulling his down with surprising strength to meet the assassin's eyes.
"...you will curb your death-seeking tendencies while we are in this place. If harm comes to Sona or I because of you, rest assured that I will spend the rest of my time in this city working against everything you ever work for. This, I promise you. Are we clear, Darius?"
[The touch felt surprisingly gentle and she couldn’t help but lean into the touch. She was glad to be back, more than that she was glad to be here. A had came up to rest over his. Eyes slid shut as she revelled in the touch. His hand was cupped gently between her hand as her face pressed against it further. The smile only grew softer and warmer. His voice caused a small sigh of delight to pass through her lips. Eyes opened slowly and she turned her gaze up to his face. A soundless giggle caused her to shake a little. A soft kiss pressing against his palm before leaning into press another against his cheek.]
Wrapping his arms around her as she leaned in to press her lips to his cheek, Talon returned the kiss with his own while lightly squeezing her against him. It had been too long, and much as he had found ways to fill the empty space, none could compare to the way she made him feel. The smile that slid onto his features was evidence enough of that.
"Sona...welcome home. So much has happened since you left...but none of it matters right now. What matters now is that you're back."
[If you asked her when she first had arrived in the city, if she ever thought she would really miss something, or even someone from this place, the answer would have been an obvious no. Over time though that answer had become clouded. And by the time she was free of the city, for the umptenth time, she knew more than anything she wanted to come back here… Eyes lifted immediately at the sound of her name drawn out in a familiar voice. Her breath caught for a moment, and the maven looked up. Immediately her expression twisted into a warm smile. Eyes meeting the assassins. Quickly she approached, smile turning almost bashful as she did.]
Walking to help close the distance between them, Talon couldn't help but reach out and lay a hand on Sona's cheek. It was truly her...his patience hadn't been for nothing. All thoughts of war were suddenly washed away, all thoughts of battle and bloodshed muted, instead replaced with her. Her smiles, the way her silence spoke more than words ever could. His Maven had returned.
