WANT. ACHING. NEED!
CLOSE NOW. THEY COME.
NO CHAINS? FREE! KILL!
IN REACH. YES! DIE! DIE!
Gone. Too quick. No fight. More. I want… more.
A voice? Unfamiliar. I see him. The Grand General. My general.
He leads. I follow. Marching. To where? I should know. I can’t remember.
It all bleeds together. Does it matter? Noxus conquers. The rest? Trivial. So long… since I’ve tasted victory.
The war wagon rocks. Rattles. A cramped cage. Pointless ceremony. The waiting. Maddening. Faster, dogs!
There. Banners. Demacians and their walls. Cowards. Their gates will shatter. Thoughts of the massacre come easily.
Who gave the order to halt? The underlings don’t answer. No familiar faces. If I do not remember, neither will history.
The cage is opened. Finally! No more waiting. WE CHARGE!
Slings and arrows? The weapons of children! Their walls will not save them!
I can taste their fear. They shrink at every blow as their barricades splinter. SOON!
Noxian drums. Demacian screams. Glory isn’t accolades; glory is hot blood on your hands! This is life!
A thousand shattered corpses lie at my feet, and Demacian homes burn all around me. It’s over too quickly! Just one more…
The men stare. There’s fear in their eyes. If they’re afraid to look upon victory, I should pluck those craven eyes out. There is no fear in the Grand General’s eyes, only approval. He is pleased with this conquest.
Walking the field with the Grand General, surveying the carnage, I ache for another foe. He is hobbled, a leg wound from the battle? If it pains him, he does not show it. A true Noxian. I do not like his pet, though; it picks over the dead, having earned nothing. His war hounds were more fitting company.
Demacia will be within our grasp soon. I can feel it. I am ready to march. The Grand General insists that I rest. How can I rest when my enemies still live?
Why do we mill about? The waiting eats at me. I’m left to my own devices. The bird watches. It’s unsettling. Were it anyone else’s, I would crush it.
Fatigue sets in. I’ve never felt so… tired.
Boram? Is that you? What are you whispering?
Where am I?
Captured? Kenneled like some dog. How?
There was… the battle, the razing of the fortress, the quiet of the aftermath. Were we ambushed? I can’t remember.
I was wounded. I can feel the ragged gash… but no pain. They thought me dead. Now, I am their prize. Fate is laughing. I will not be caged! They will regret sparing me.
Demacian worms! They parrot kind words, but they are ruthless all the same. This place is a dank pit. They bring no food. There is no torture. They do not make a show of me. I am left to rot.
I remember my finest hour. I held a king by his throat and felt the final beat of his heart through my tightening grasp. I don’t remember letting go. Is this your vengeance, Jarvan?
I hear the triumphal march. Boots on stone. Faint, through the dungeon walls. The cadence of Noxian drums. I shall be free. Demacian blood will run in the streets!
No one came. I heard no struggle. No retreat. Did I imagine it?
There is no aching in this stump. I barely noticed the iron boot. It’s caked in rust.
When did I lose my leg?
I still smell the blood. Battle. It brings comfort.
The hunger gnaws. I have not slept. Time crawls. So tired.
So dark. This pit. I remember. Grand General. His whispering. What was it?
Not who I think.
Fading. Mustn’t forget.
Message. Cut. Remember.
“SION – Beware ravens.”