Shadows and Smoke
The Forest between Kalstead City & Ravenhurst
The forest was eerily still as Warwick crouched low, his monstrous figure outlined in the pale moonlight. His glowing eyes burned into the group of assassins, who stood frozen for a moment before their leader, a scarred man gripping a dagger in one hand and a handgun in the other, barked, “Kill it! NOW!”
The assassins sprang into action. Handguns blazed, crossbow bolts whistled through the air, and daggers were thrown with deadly precision. Explosions erupted around Warwick as grenades detonated, flames and smoke filling the clearing.
But Warwick didn’t flinch. Bullets ricocheted off his hardened frame, crossbow bolts shattered against his reinforced hide, and the explosions did little more than singe the ground. The beast let out a guttural, metallic snarl, shaking off the debris as if it were dust.
The first assassin, a man armed with dual daggers, charged at Warwick, slashing wildly. Warwick caught him mid-strike, his massive claw closing around the man’s torso. With a sickening crunch, Warwick squeezed, blood spurting from the assassin’s mouth as his ribs caved in. Warwick tossed the lifeless body into another attacker, knocking him to the ground.
A crossbow-wielding assassin took aim from the shadows, his bolt gleaming faintly in the moonlight. He fired, the bolt striking Warwick’s shoulder with a solid thunk. For a brief moment, it seemed to land—but Warwick didn’t even flinch. The beast simply turned toward the source of the attack, his glowing eyes narrowing as a guttural growl rumbled from his chest.
The assassin’s confidence faltered. His hands trembled as he tried to reload, but it was too late. Warwick leaped into the shadows with horrifying speed, his massive claws finding the crossbowman’s torso. Blood splattered as Warwick tore through the man’s chest with a savage swipe, his prey collapsing into a mangled heap. The beast didn’t pause—he was already turning toward the next movement.
Two assassins moved together, one firing a flintlock pistol while the other hurled a dagger. The pistol shot echoed through the clearing, the bullet slamming into Warwick’s chest—but it bounced off harmlessly, falling to the ground with a faint plink. The dagger struck next, slicing across his arm, but the beast barely noticed the shallow wound.
Warwick lunged at them. The pistol-wielder tried to reload, but Warwick reached him first, slamming him into the ground with bone-crushing force. The man’s scream turned to a sickening gurgle as Warwick’s jaws clamped onto his throat, ripping it open in a spray of blood. The dagger-thrower turned to run, but Warwick pounced, pinning the man beneath his claws. The assassin screamed, struggling futilely as Warwick shredded his torso in a brutal frenzy of claws and teeth.
From a distance, the leader yelled, “Use the explosives! Take it down!”
Two assassins lit crude grenades, their fuses sparking, and hurled them toward Warwick. The explosions ripped through the clearing, the flames and shockwaves throwing dirt and debris into the air. Ekko and Powder ducked behind a fallen tree, shielding themselves from the blasts.
For a moment, the forest went still. The leader stepped forward, lowering his pistols. “That got it,” he muttered.
But then, a shadow moved in the smoke. Warwick’s massive frame emerged, his fur singed but his glowing eyes blazing with an animalistic rage. He let out a deafening howl, the sound reverberating through the trees.
“No… no way,” one of the assassins stammered, dropping his weapon and backing away.
Warwick pounced, tearing through the remaining attackers like a force of nature. One assassin screamed as the beast’s claws ripped him apart, his limbs torn from his body in a fountain of blood. Another tried to stab Warwick with a dagger, but the beast caught the blade with his claws, snapping it effortlessly before raking his claws across the man’s face, leaving him unrecognizable.
The leader, now alone, fired both pistols in a desperate attempt to stop the monster. The bullets struck Warwick’s chest and shoulders but did nothing to slow him. The beast charged, slamming into the leader and knocking him to the ground.
The man screamed as Warwick’s claws pinned him to the dirt. He writhed and struggled, but Warwick showed no mercy. With a savage roar, the beast’s jaws closed around the leader’s head, crushing it with a sickening crunch. Blood and brain matter splattered across the clearing as Warwick tossed the lifeless body aside.
The forest fell silent, save for Warwick’s heavy, ragged breaths. The bodies of the assassins lay in pieces, their blood pooling and soaking into the earth. Warwick, coated in gore, sniffed the air, his feral instincts scanning for any remaining threats.
Ekko and Powder cautiously emerged from their hiding spot, their faces pale. Ekko muttered, “He’s… not gonna eat us, right?”
Powder didn’t respond, her gaze fixed on the blood-soaked beast. She rubbed her arms nervously. “We need to get out of here. Let’s head back to Ravenhurst… I’ve got a really bad feeling about this.”
Ekko looked at his broken hoverboard. “Sure, but how? Walk? Because unless you can fix this thing…”
Powder glanced nervously at Warwick, whose massive frame was drenched in blood, bits of flesh and shredded clothing clinging to his fur. The remains of the assassins dripped from his claws and jaws, pooling at his feet in a gruesome display.
Ekko took a step back, his face pale. “There’s no way I’m getting on him. Did you see what he just did?”
Powder rubbed her arm, her gaze fixed on Warwick. She didn’t say a word, her unease replaced by a quiet, somber expression. The beast before her—blood-soaked, brutal, and monstrous—reminded her of a truth she had tried to bury. Vander is gone.
Warwick stood motionless, his glowing eyes scanning the forest, his hulking frame drenched in gore. His massive claws flexed, the remnants of his violent frenzy dripping from them. Yet, he made no move toward her or Ekko. Instead, he huffed and crouched low, as if waiting—obedient, almost like a dog.
The sight made Powder’s chest tighten. Her mind replayed fragments of the past: Vander’s strong, protective presence, his calming voice, his hand resting on her shoulder when she was scared. And now, there was this… thing. A savage, blood-drenched beast that tore men apart like paper, yet somehow, it listened to her.
No... it obeys me. Like a pet.
She blinked rapidly, swallowing hard. There was no trace of the man who had once been her father figure. The warmth, the care, the humanity—gone. All that remained was this monstrous shell, a creature of violence and instinct. And yet, he was here, crouched and waiting for her command.
“Powder?” Ekko’s voice broke through her thoughts, his discomfort clear. “Uh, seriously? You want to ride that?”
Powder glanced at Warwick, his blood-soaked form still standing ominously, and she shrugged nonchalantly. “Look at him, Ekko. He's a mess. Not happening.”
Ekko grimaced. “What the hell do we do now?”
Before Powder could respond, a distant explosion rocked the air, followed by a cloud of thick black smoke rising from the direction of Kalstead.
“Kalstead,” Powder muttered, squinting into the distance.
Powder didn’t hesitate. "We’re going there."
Without another word, they both turned and began heading toward the city. Warwick, hearing them, growled and followed behind.
In the West Coastline of Kalstead
The air hung thick with tension as Jarvan and Xin Zhao stood near the bodies of the fallen soldiers. The beach, usually alive with the sound of waves crashing against the rocks, now felt unnaturally quiet. Even the wind seemed hesitant, carrying only the faintest whispers through the trees that lined the coast. It was as if the world itself had paused, holding its breath in anticipation of something to come.
Jarvan’s eyes scanned the surroundings, his instincts screaming at him that they were being watched. The bodies of the two Demacian soldiers lay in the sand, their armor torn and battered. Deep gashes marred their bodies, and scorch marks indicated a fierce, up-close battle. Whoever had done this hadn’t been merciful.
“Where’s the third soldier?” Jarvan muttered, his voice barely above a whisper as he reached for the hilt of his sword, his fingers twitching with unease.
Xin Zhao, standing a few paces away, his spear at the ready, shook his head slowly. “There’s no sign of him, my prince. But this… This wasn’t just an ambush. They wanted us to find these bodies. Left them here like a message.”
Jarvan frowned, his gaze narrowing as he continued to scan the beach, his senses heightened. The feeling of being watched was undeniable, the stillness in the air pressing in on him. The wind had picked up, but it wasn’t enough to shake the growing tension in his chest. His instincts told him something was off—something more than just an ambush was at play.
“Something doesn’t feel right,” Jarvan said, his voice low, a hint of suspicion coloring his words. “We need to move, now.”
As Jarvan turned to head back toward their horses, a sharp whistle sliced through the air. He froze, his eyes darting toward the source of the sound, but it was too late. Arrows—sleek and black, whizzed past him. The first arrow struck his horse squarely between the eyes, and the animal let out a guttural cry before collapsing to the ground. Xin Zhao’s horse met the same fate, its legs buckling as it fell with a sickening thud.
Jarvan cursed under his breath, drawing his blade in one swift motion. “Ambush!”
From the shadows of the surrounding forest, the unmistakable figures of Noxian assassins began to emerge. They were clad in dark, lightweight armor, designed for stealth, their faces obscured by masks. Blades glinted in their hands, and the sharp sound of a crossbow being loaded echoed through the air.
“They took out the horses first,” Xin Zhao growled, positioning himself protectively in front of Jarvan, his spear at the ready. “They’re trying to trap us here.”
The assassins didn’t charge immediately. Instead, they circled, their movements eerily coordinated, keeping to the shadows like predators stalking their prey.
Xin’s voice was calm but firm. “Hold the line. They want us panicked.”
The first assassin lunged from the shadows, their dagger aimed straight for Jarvan’s chest. With practiced precision, he sidestepped the attack and drove his sword through the attacker’s side, the blade finding its mark with a sickening crunch. The assassin crumpled to the ground, but the others didn’t falter.
Another darted toward Xin Zhao, who met the attack head-on, spinning his spear in a deadly arc that caught his opponent in the neck. Blood sprayed across the ground, but before the body could hit the dirt, another assassin was already upon him.
The battle quickly devolved into chaos. The assassins moved like shadows, darting in and out with calculated strikes. Jarvan and Xin Zhao held their ground, their movements precise and powerful, but the sheer number of attackers began to take its toll.
One assassin managed to get close to Jarvan, their blade slashing toward his exposed side. He blocked it with his gauntlet, sparks flying as metal met metal, before driving his sword upward into the attacker’s chest.
Xin Zhao, meanwhile, fought like a whirlwind, his spear a blur as he parried and struck with lethal efficiency. Despite their skill, the assassins were relentless, their attacks unending.
As the tide of battle turned against them, Xin realized something. The assassins weren’t fighting to win—they were stalling.
“Prince!” Xin shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos. “They’re trying to buy time for something. Don’t let them pin us down!”
The moment he spoke, the remaining assassins suddenly disengaged, retreating into the shadows as quickly as they had appeared. The forest fell silent once more, the only sounds the ragged breathing of Jarvan and Xin and the distant crash of waves against the shore.
“Cowards,” Xin Zhao spat, his spear still at the ready as he scanned the treeline.
Jarvan wiped blood from his blade, his eyes narrowing. “This wasn’t just an ambush. They’re planning something bigger.”
Before they could dwell on it further, a distant explosion rocked the air, followed by a plume of dark smoke rising from the direction of Kalstead.
Xin Zhao’s expression darkened. “The city…”
Jarvan sheathed his sword, his jaw tightening. “We move. Now.”
Xin Zhao glanced at the dead horses, blood pooling beneath them. “On foot, then. We don’t have time to waste.”
Without another word, the two began running toward the source of the explosion, their weapons still at the ready. The thick plume of smoke rising from Kalstead painted the sky, an ominous beacon drawing them forward. Urgency burned in their veins as they pushed through the rugged terrain, the weight of the attack heavy on their minds.
Whatever awaited them in the city, Jarvan and Xin knew it would demand every ounce of their strength and resolve.