Chapter 13: Asmodeus

~Feera WindHeart

A silence. The six people who stood around the white flag had become still. It was as if time itself had frozen over.

To the horizon, the sun had also frozen over, as if stuck in a decision on whether to allow the darkness of the night to take reign.

Beyond the six people, the camps of the Noxus army had become likewise still, embraced by the lords and ladies of time. At Northstorm Fortress, the rampart guards had become still, no longer breathing, like the dead themselves.

The whole world had been embraced in the frozen kiss of time.

This was the frozen second—

The moment before a battle begins, the moment everything deteriorates, falling into chaos, the moment history changes, setting a turn of events that will spiral upward into the unknown, spiraling far beyond, toward the stars themselves and even further beyond.

This was the lingering second of the Three Fates, the realm where they weave the threads into their tapestries, the realm where the descent of a shimmering coin, half visible, half hidden, would decide an outcome. An outcome even the Three Fates did not know themselves.

The tumbling and strides of fate.

And the frosted realm was fractured—then shattered by a single voice.

The die had been cast and none could stop it, not even the Three Fates.

“[Frigid Tempest]!” High Commander Feera WindHeart roared, a voice of such strength that there could be no doubts that it had been heard. Inside her Magus Domain, two of her Surges whirled, urged on by her roar. They were her Water and Wind Surges.

The focus word Feera uttered with such strength empowered her magic, as if the will behind her word had bent the laws of the Essence Realm itself.

At the same time Feera shouted out her focus word, her palms slammed onto the meadow in front of her, flattening the bright verdant grass. It was a focus movement that further strengthened her magic.

Enveloped by both the white glow of Wind Essences and the light blue glow of Water Essences, the area around Feera trembled. No! It exploded outward as a violent windstorm instantly took shape.

Having known Feera for many years, Commander Devan and Commander Liam both instinctively took to the skies, not wanting to get caught up in the magic. They had been prepared. Not wanting the enemies to interrupt Feera in the midst of her channeling, the two of them continuously threw out wind blades, gouging out sections of the earth.

Tutor Beldin acted fast. Before Feera had even shouted the focus word, he had already casted [Soaring Steps] and [Wind Walk] on himself. And when the violent windstorm took shape, he had dragged Prince Zane far backward, flying a distance of more than twenty feet away.

The violent windstorm began to grow larger and larger and the ice began to spread even further. The ground which Feera stood upon had frozen over, a thin layer of ice spreading quickly. In its hunger, the ice soon reached the white flag and covered it with a thin layer of ice.

Only one man remained standing, not even moving the slightest bit away from his spot which was quickly being enveloped by the windstorm and the wind blades thrown by Commander Liam and Commander Devan.

Thorion Solus calmly stood watching as the violent windstorm grew larger and larger. Every third of a second that passed by, the [Frigid Tempest] grew sizable enough to devour five grown men.

Encompassing the windstorm like an armor, shards of ice and blades of wind surrounded it, moving so quickly that they could even puncture through iron plates. Yet in the middle of it all, Thorion had thrown up a few layers of wind shield that deflected everything in a large radious around him.

Noticing the prince and his tutor fleeing, Feera was not alarmed. She continued to calmly channel her [Frigid Tempest], adding more converted Essences into the spell. She knew that they would not be quick enough to escape from the spell. And if Thorion wanted to stand in the middle of her spell, she would gladly welcome his death.

“[Contraction: Sphere]!” Feera screamed out, the words like a battle-cry.

The violent windstorm shrunk quickly. In a blink of an eye, its gigantic size that was able to swallow over a group of thirty men was reduced to the size of a sphere. It was a sphere that was small enough to hold in the palm of her hand. White and light blue all over with dancing tiny ice shards and tiny wind blades, the clouds inside the transparent sphere convulsed as if wanting to escape.

Feera threw the sphere toward the ground between Commander Thorion and Zane while casting three simultaneous magic spells on herself. [Wind Walk], [Wind Amor], [Soaring Steps], all of which allowed her to soar high into the sky. Feera knew that once the sphere exploded, not even she would escape unharmed from the resulting explosion.

[Expansion: Burst]

As soon as the sphere contacted with the ground, it expanded once more into a violent windstorm. But this time, the size of the storm could not be compared to what it had been originally.

In a single second, a circular radius of a hundred and fifty feet was devoured by massive white and blue clouds which spewed out shards of ice and blades of wind. Stretches of the meadow were torn apart by the violent wind as if the ground had been dug out by gigantic shovels.

The myriad of enormous clouds which reached up to more than fifteen feet of height became still, no longer expanding or violently lashing out. But that was just a façade for what was truly happening inside the core where the clouds were the thickest.

The sound of a clap resounded and Feera clasped her hands together, her fingers tightly interlocking for a few seconds. Then she ripped her interlocked fingers so forcefully apart that it made a sound akin to that of two palms sliding against each other.

“[Implosion]!” Feera spoke another focus word along with a series of focus movements.

The moment her clasped hands were unlatched, the core of the [Frigid Tempest] imploded. It was similar to the center of a whirlpool, but instead of water, it was with wind and ice.

The suction force of the implosion ripped apart everything in a three hundred feet radius. Patches of frozen grass and dirt and the few trees of the meadow were torn free, roots and all as they were all sucked into the core of the tempest.

To that scene of destruction, one could only think it was devastation at its purest form.

Flying freely, Feera regrouped with her two commanders. The three of them gazed down at the devastation, waiting for the clouds to clear. Their faces were relaxed, but in their minds, all three of them were vigilant.

There were two reasons why Feera had used such a destructive spell from the beginning. One was to test her opponents and the other was to circumvent a Magus’ natural domain. The natural domain of a Magus and non-Magus were protective areas which prevented the casting of spells nearby.

A Magus couldn’t just summon a simple pillar of fire from underneath his opponent and thereby burn his opponent. The Magus would need to concentrate on breaking through the natural domain of his opponent. Depending on the strength of the natural domain, the concentration needed could be anywhere from a few seconds to even a longer time.

With each Rank added to the Surges and with age, the natural domain of the Magus would only continue to strengthen. Of course, the Magus weren’t the only exceptions. There was an inherent natural domain in all living beings, each domain with its own differences in strength.

This was why it was better to sling out a few destructive spells from afar rather than spend a long moment trying to cast a magic spell directly onto the Magus or non-Magus. Time saved and energy well spent.

“A Seventh Rank synergetic spell right from the very beginning, Feera?” asked Commander Devan. “And of an adept class too.”

Commander Liam smiled but it barely reached his eyes. “I think our High Commander here has once more improved her spell a tad bit.”

Based on the difficulties and scale of destruction, magic spells could be divided into six classes: basic, intermediate, adept, superior, ultimate, and mythic. Mythic and most of the ultimate classes of spells, however, were a realm a Magus could no longer reach.

In the past, long before the age of Impius Divisux, long before the chaotic breaking, long before when the runic language had been conceptualized, the Ancient Magus walked HavenFall and the other realms. They were masters of their powers and masters of the Essence Realm, able to directly manipulate the essences in the realm.

This was where the theories that beliefs, faith, and emotions could strengthen one’s magic stemmed from. The Ancient Magus needed no Surges for their magic. They took with their will, fought with their will, and created with their will.

Far to the north, beyond the Altus Spiral River, there were actually people who could use a form of emotion and faith based magic. Most of the Magus, however, theorized that this sort of magic stemmed from inherent changes within the Surges, resulting in entirely different magics.

Such changes caused by the long passage of time had also resulted in natural born magical gifts such as a strong body, a certain resistance to different elements, or keener senses. Naturally, the passage of time had also created warriors that had transcended physical limits, though they were rare and few between and were only found in the far north.

“Be on guard, old brothers,” Feera said with a smile though a little somewhat tight-lipped. She didn’t think the battle would be concluded that easily.

And now that she had some time to breathe, Feera casted [Wind Minstrel] and [Call of Zephyr], boosting both her flight and her natural physical abilities, including her senses. When channeling an adept spell like [Frigid Tempest] which consisted of six steps, Feera had been hard-pressed to cast three more spells, not to mention five spells successively.

When the clouds cleared, a crater could be seen. The crater was large enough to act as a grave for two hundred men. Beyond the edges of the crater, there were still small areas of the meadow that were still frozen and deep gouges left by the wind blades.

Inside of the crater, there was a man standing on top of a pillar just wide enough for him to stretch with ease. That area was entirely unscathed by the destruction that had occurred, and the man was Commander Thorion Solus. In his full body black adamantium armor, a metal that was naturally resistant to magic, he stood at ease with his sheathed greatsword pointed toward the ground, two gloved hands resting on each side the weapon’s hilt.

A hundred feet away from Commander Thorion, the prince and his tutor also stood unscathed from the destruction. There was a scowl on Tutor Beldin’s face, however. A scowl that made his double chins quiver gently in anger.

“Damn it, Thorion! Couldn’t you have handled her faster instead of leaving me to flee with Prince Zane?” Beldin shouted.

Grim-faced as ever, Thorion smoothed his black hair closely shaved to the skull with an easy hand. “I simply wanted to confirm something, Advisor Beldin. Although you were born in our kingdom and adopted by the previous king, you were taken to be raised elsewhere. You see, I do not trust unfamiliar factors and ever since I have heard about your time as a mercenary, when you were part of Omni, I have been pondering. And now, my suspicions have been confirmed regarding the truth behind your mercenary time. Of course, I have also confirmed the extent of your loyalty to the Noxus crown.”

Beldin arched a brow curiously. “And what would you have done had I been unable to protect Prince Zane?”

“I am confident that Prince Zane would have withstood such a spell, especially given his vestment and…newfound abilities.” Thorion unsheathed his greatsword, freeing all six feet of its length from the heavy leather scabbard. The black greatsword looked about half as heavy as a grown man and was as wide as two thighs, but Thorion carried it with one hand only.

Next, the brown scabbard was strapped, then swung around behind his back. “My opponent shall be the one of the two men. As for the prince, he should be able to persevere against the other man. You can take care of the female. I know how you like your females, and she seems right around your dark alleys, which are always too wide for my taste.”

Tutor Beldin was surprised. Had that grim man seriously made a joke just then? And in the middle of a fight too.

Commander Liam spat at the air. “Damn, they are underestimating us, having such a relaxed conversation amongst themselves.”

“There is more to that fat man than meets the eyes. How could he have blocked Feera’s spell? I was sure I sensed that he was at a lower rank, no more than the seventh rank at the most. He should have taken some damage at the very least. Does he have some sort of natural born resistance?” Commander Devan said. “Or perhaps he has learned a defensive adept spell.”

“Nothing to be done about it now,” Liam answered. “Take care of that prince, Devan. And you, Feera, will take care of the fat man since he seems unpredictable. As for me, I will keep that Commander Thorion busy.”

It was a simple plan. But simplicity was the best in both battles and wars. The less convoluted things were, the smaller the probabilities of unlucky happenstances.

Feera nodded her agreement, drawing the shortsword she always kept behind her waist. It was about her arm’s length and was made of black majinta, one of the rarer metals that allowed for magical enchantments. If compared to the adamantium armor Thorion wore, the black majinta would be of a lower tier.

Compared to most of the other types, Wind Magus were the ones with the most body enhancement spells. This resulted in Feera being a warrior before she was a Wind Magus.

The other two commanders likewise drew their shortswords.

Having used an adept spell, the shortsword would allow Feera to conserve her Essences. It was in case she encountered any unexpected situations that would require more use of her magic. It was also wise to save enough for a retreat.

Suddenly, Feera felt a murderous intent and saw a gaze that was enough to make a wild beast retreat in fear.

Thorion had soared up into the skies until he was within speaking range, and just about far enough that a wind spell could not suddenly ambush him. He shifted his greatsword so that the blade pointed diagonally toward the ground. “Greetings, I am Thorion Solus, Commander of the Royal Magus Guards.”

The revelation behind his status shocked Feera. She had been expecting something along those lines, but to think the man before her was the Commander of the Royal Magus Guards of Noxus Kingdom?

His status revealed him to be one of the strongest Magus in Noxus Kingdom, perhaps even the strongest. It was obvious—only one of the strongest Magus would be suitable to serve as a guard for the king.

“Although it is audacious of me, I do not suggest trying to bind me with simply one opponent. It would be both an insult to me and to yourselves.” Thorion smiled. It wasn’t like him to be so verbose. He wondered if the cause was seeing the three Wind Magus before him. To Thorion, his only desires were to seek strength and to use that strength to protect the kingdom. He was already forty-four years old and at the pinnacle of his strength.

From the corners of her eyes, Feera glanced at her two commanders. They gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod. They would stick to the plan.

The signal given, Feera and Commander Devan instantly rushed toward the direction where Zane and Tutor Beldin was.

At the same time, Commander Liam made for a tackle toward Thorion, his shortsword prepared to slice at the neck. “Your opponent is me!” he roared, not even giving his opponent any time to look back.

Diving toward the ground where Tutor Beldin was, Feera split up from Commander Devan who went straight for the prince.

“[Wind Blades]!” the two commanders shouted, using their shortswords as the medium for their focus movements.

Slicing the air, the shortswords formed two wind blades, each one fifteen feet long and as thick as an arm. The two wind blades crashed into the ground, gouging out two slices of the earth and throwing up grass and dirt in the process.

In the face of those two gigantic wind blades, Beldin carried Zane to a safe distance backward using both [Wind Walk] and [Soaring Steps]. In a few seconds, he was already more than thirty feet away and was still fleeing, getting further and further away.

Feera and Devan both increased their speed, causing blades of wind to burst outward everywhere. Parallel to the ground, they continued chasing the tutor and his prince. Mid-flight, they casted another spell, dividing their concentration.

It was already difficult enough to channel [Wind Walk] for continuous flight, but to cast more spells on top of that? This was a testament to their abilities.

[Enhancement: Wind Edge]

It was a spell to cover the shortswords with a constant wind blade, increasing its range and sharpness and allowing the weapon to instantly release a wind blade.

Feera and Devan couldn’t waste a single moment. They continued chasing their fleeing opponents using quick bursts of wind gusts to boost their speed even further. Feera narrowed her eyes as she reevaluated the prince’s tutor. The fat man was a skilled Wind Magus and although of lower rank, he was almost outdistancing them. And that was while carrying the prince!

Impatience gnawed at the edges of her mind. Feera couldn’t let the chase continue on for too long. She could see that both the prince and the tutor were heading back to the direction of their camps.

Unexpectedly, the prince and his tutor suddenly stopped short, landing on the ground. The young prince then sighed as if he found the battle tiresome, as if he found their attempts to kill him an unamusing farce.

He now stood beside Beldin, no longer allowing his tutor to manhandle him while they escaped. Carefully, with as much grace as he could maintain, he patted away some dirt and dust from his sleeves.

He closed his eyes for a brief half a second.

When they opened again, his eyes were now softly glowing with a blood-red aura.

“And here I was hoping we could settle this the easy way. Looks like I shouldn’t trust Poise, Conduct, and Disposition in a war.” Zane tipped his head toward his tutor. “Dear Advisor Beldin, I hope you do not mind me taking the old man as my opponent.” A small smile. “You may take the lady as your opponent, on the other hand.”

Tutor Beldin sighed. “Very well, I shall take care of the High Commander. Try not to die, for I am afraid your father will be quite displeased with me if you get killed under my watch. Now then,” Beldin said, looking toward Feera. “Shall we fight elsewhere or perhaps watch the prince and your commander Devan fight? I do abhor violence, especially when I am personally involved.”

Feera furiously pondered over her choices as she landed on the ground. She decided to follow the plan and allow the one on one fight. She gave a quick nod toward Commander Devan who nodded back.

If the enemies wanted to make this easier for them, they would gladly take the opportunity. Still, could there be some hidden enemies lying in wait?

Tutor Beldin chuckled, as if having heard the question that had ran through her mind. “Do not worry. There are no tricks or reinforcements hiding anywhere. And even though the destruction you caused will have been seen all the way at our camps, they will not come to help. You have plenty of time.”

A trick? Or did this Tutor Beldin think that even with the help of the magical vestment, the prince would be able to defeat Commander Devan?

Impossible. The prince didn’t even have his Magus Senses yet.

Could the prince be a fake? Feera had heard of some dolls a few necromancers could create, but they couldn’t imitate people so easily. There were always tell-tale signs and the smell of death on the dolls.

Feera and her two commanders weren’t stupid. Prior to leaving for the meeting, the three of them had already checked for any hidden ambushes in all four directions using Wind Magus scouts and Earth Magus scouts. They had checked both underground and above air for any traps.

“Very well, I will battle you elsewhere,” Feera finally said.

“Do not worry, Feera. The tutor will regret leaving the prince alone with me,” Devan said.

Feera followed Tutor Beldin a distance away until they stood two hundred feet away from the prince and Commander Devan. But before Feera left, she gave a suspicious glance toward the prince who was now humming some sort of nursery rhymes.

“Do you really believe the prince can defeat Commander Devan?” Feera asked.

The tutor prodded at his chins with two fingers. “He has a chance.” A smile that almost reached his ears formed. “Believe me, High Commander Feera, should you interrupt the fight, I shall intervene. And you would not like me to intervene. Have you ever heard of the mercenary group, Omni?

The name did sound familiar to Feera. Just where had she heard it before?

In the end, it didn’t matter. She would distract the tutor and use her greatest magic: an adept wind spell of the Eight Rank. Off a distance, she could see Devan launching himself at the prince.

“Enough talk, I will kill you now,” Feera said, the [Enhancement: Wind Edge] covering her shortsword buzzing wildly. She had sent a wild surging of Wind Essences to boost the spell to its utmost limits, causing the wind edge to sharpen its range further. It was now a six feet long blade, half of it made entirely out of white wind, sharp enough to cut through steel.

==============

~Commander Devan

“Say, do you know of Omnus?”

“What nonsense are you spouting,” Commander Devan said, somewhat annoyed at the young man’s carefree attitude.

Ever so slowly, the prince folded his sleeves upward, revealing a black forearm vambrace above his similarly black gloves. The vambrace was enchanted with swirling red runes.

None of the runes were familiar to Deven even with all of his experience. Were they some ancient runes or some sort of esoteric necromancer runes?

Still moving slowly, as if to irk Devan, the prince peeled off his black glove, then stashed the glove inside his lower pocket.

Devan gasped at what the black glove revealed.

“You…Just what is that?”

The prince’s right hand was entirely pale white, a sickly pallor not of the world, as if death had squeezed all life away from it. On his entire hand including the palm and his fingers, there were swirls of red tattoos like chains, all of them tracing back to a single red orb embedded on the back of his hand.

More than half of the orb was sunken into this flesh, and pulsed every second like a beating heart, as if it was breathing, as if it was alive.

“This?” the prince said mirthfully, raising his right hand for a better look. “It is simply Father’s present.”

Commander Devan slowly released a breath. He could not get caught up inside the prince’s pace. He needed to end his opponent’s life as soon as possible. The life of his comrades were on the line.

He charged, kicking himself forward with a step and in the process, leaving behind a trail of white wind.

Zane calmly raised his right hand toward his opponent. “[Aperio: Hand Demonization]!”

His hand rippled with strange movements as if his flesh was dancing to some foreign tune. It brought into mind of white maggots crawling through dead bodies.

In the next moment, as if that horrific scene hadn’t occurred, his flesh became pitch black and the nails extended into claws, its previous white now red-tipped as if the claws had been dipped into a pool of blood.

“[Aperio: Banefire]!”

Demon? Devan thought to himself.

When his surprise broke free from that unimaginable scene, there was just enough time for Devan to think of that single word before a jet of black flames tinged with green hues shot toward him.

The flames rippled, folding and distorting light and the very air itself. And although the flames seemed to burn with an intensity, they did not make the usual noises that accompanied a strong magical fire. There were no roars or the crackling of fire.

Instead, there was a mix of noises that jarred the ears and seeped bone-deep. Noises that could only be found in the worst of nightmares, dreams that should never be remembered the next morning, dreams that could only be left buried in forgotten secrecy.

The noises were screeching and moaning of the dead. They sounded like what one would make right before seeing the face of death, like the screams of a man and woman who had been burned alive.

Seeing such an unimaginable black green fire with its equally horrific noises, which made it seem as if the flames were the green-glowing black arms of the dead reaching for him, Devan knew that avoiding it would be far better than blocking.

Charging toward the banefire, Devan vaulted, kicking off with a wind burst that sent him fifteen feet high up into the air. A brief glance back down at the ground told him that he had made the correct decision. Where the banefire had touched, the ground was now a scorched wasteland, sizzling with a black mist.

Shortsword in hand, Devan soared toward his target, not losing any speed. With a flick of his wrist, he swung out a [Wind Blade] more than five feet in height, enough to cut a man into halves.

Strangely enough, the prince easily dodged it, sidestepping the wind blade. It only made Devan more wary of his opponent. Not having time to speculate on whether the reflexes were gained from the transformation of his hand or from another spell, Devan landed back onto the ground, carrying his blade into a forward slashing motion.

The shortsword was caught by the prince’s demonized hand, but it wasn’t an outright failure. With the help of the constant [Wind Edge] casted onto his weapon, the shortsword had bit deeply into his palm until it was stopped by the bones which made a clanging noise.

Are his bones stronger than steel? Devan exclaimed. Suddenly, his instincts warned him to escape. He retreated backward, pulling his blade free as banefire wrapped around the prince’s hand. He retreated further and further backward, dodging the jets of banefire that turned the ground into small areas of wastelands.

Devan gritted his teeth. The black majinta blade of his shortsword was now dyed even darker with the prince’s black blood. His suspicions that the prince’s right hand was no longer human was confirmed. Or perhaps the prince himself was no longer human. Was he a demon? Devan had only thought they were fictitious figures of the Netherals.

Dripping black blood, the prince pointed his right palm at Devan. “[Blood Lance].”

Devan watched as the black blood staining his shortsword rippled like a still lake that had been interrupted. And a black lance ruptured outward from the bloodstain, curving straight toward his eyes.

Devan was quick to react, especially with his enhanced reflexes by [Wind Minstrel]. Despite having casted a thin layer of [Wind Armor] onto himself, Devan knew that an attack aimed straight for his eyes would easily penetrate through.

With his free hand that glowed with a wind shield, Devan caught the curving blood lance. The blood lance was stopped right in its tracks just as its point was only a few inches away from his eyes. Methodically proceeding onward, Devan destroyed all traces of the blood lance and the blood stains on his shortsword.

When he finished, Devan was just in time to see the prince cast another spell as he flung more of his dripping black blood onto the ground in front, painting the green grass of the meadowland into a pitch black color. Then the prince marked his own face and chest with a bloody palm print, the blood seeping down into onto his neck and into his clothes.

“[Creation: Blood Spider].”

Seven black eight-legged spiders rose from the seven smudges of blood on the grass, each with a body size that could easily latch onto a grown man’s thigh. With seven of them in tow, they could certainly cover an entire man with their combined legs and bodies.

Devan cursed at those sights. A Blood Magus was always troublesome. The longer they bled, the longer the fight would go on and the stronger the Blood Magus would become. He needed to hurry and kill the prince, especially given the fact that he didn’t know much about Blood Magus. They were rare in the southern lands of HavenFall.

The seven black spiders crawled quickly across the meadow, planning to throw themselves at Devan.

A decision came over him. He would push his body to the utmost limits. Taking a few seconds, Devan recasted the five magic spells integral to a Wind Magus warrior and that any Wind Magus would eventually learn upon the Seventh Rank.

[Wind Walk], [Wind Amor], [Soaring Steps], [Call of Zephyr], and [Wind Minstrel]

A burst of air was released, slamming the blood spiders onto the ground ten feet away and flattening the blades of grass around him, as if they were bowing down to his might. Devan went further.

He had resolved to die.

From the moment Commander Liam had made his plan and had designated Devan as the one who would take the prince’s life, he knew what Liam meant. It was to take the prince’s life even at the cost of his own. And Devan was the only one out of the three who knew the forbidden wind spell of the Seventh Rank. He was Devan Iolas, the third son of House Iolas, one of the major noble families in Ascal Kingdom.

[Celerity of Life]

This time, a burst of white glow exploded outward from Devan, ripping the seven fallen bodies of the blood spiders into pieces. They dissolved into puddles of blood which vanished a moment later, absorbed back into the Essence realm.

Devan released a breath he had suppressed. His whole body and the organs inside creaked from the force of the spell. Devan knew that he was now enveloped in a myriad of white wind so bright that it would hurt his opponent’s eyes to look at them. It was a forbidden magic that gave the Wind Magus speed that far surpasses human limits. In exchange for the few seconds of unsurpassed swiftness and the entirety of his magic reserves, he would lose all of his bodily functions and die afterwards in an agonizing death as blood ruptured from the inside.

Devan dashed forward, leaving nothing but a lingering trail of white wind and flattened plants behind. He saw the prince widen his eyes at the burst of power he had released, then raise an arm to protect his face and neck fearfully.

As he dashed forward, his feet only ever touched the ground briefly in the beginning. One second, Devan was more than forty feet away from the prince and the next second, he had stuck a sword through the heart of the prince, enchanted vestment and all. Devan twisted the grip of his weapon, plunging it deeper into the heart until the end of the sword poked out of his back.

The prince widened his eyes but the surprise in those scarlet orbs did not match with the wicked curl of his smile. A smile on his face covered with his own blood. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you that princes are heartless?”

Devan attempted to free himself, even releasing the grip on his weapon. But he found himself unable to move. He looked down and saw that his legs were entrapped in chains of blood that had risen from the ground.

“[Aperio: Devour]!”

The black demon hand of the prince suddenly morphed into the great gaping maw of a monster. Four rows of white fangs peered at Devan. But most of all, two black beady eyes, pupil-less and devoid of any light, gazed into his own eyes hungrily.

Impossible? Is he no longer human?

“Thankzz, my prince, for the meal. It has been a long time,” the black demon hand of the prince whispered, the words like harsh dissonant gutturals, as if the human language were something distasteful.

It was the last thing Devan heard before the maw swallowed his head whole, beheading him.

In the end, Devan had been careless for trying to put all his hopes into one final attack. But Zane didn't blame the old man. How could he have known that Zane wouldn't die from such an attack. Furthermore, the old man had been pressed by time.

“You are welcome Asmodeus,” the prince said softly, his normal hand pulling out the shortsword stuck in his heart. It left a gaping hole, but there was no heart to be seen there. “Ah right, you may put back my heart in its proper place now.”

Zane looked down at his hand, but there were no longer any replies. The maw had reverted back into a pale white hand, a pallor that was not of this world. And on the back of his hand was a blood red orb, no longer releasing a dull scarlet glow, but a bright glow that made the orb seemed as if it was satisfied.

Zane snorted. His Father’s present left much to be desired. The Penitentiary where the demons of the Netherals were sealed and the secret that had been revealed.

The Noxus family weren’t necromancers or even truly Magus—they were Warlocks with their Blood, Darkness, and Death Surge.

And Asmodeus who was sealed inside the blood red orb of his right hand was an ArchDemon that lived in the deepest layers of the Netherals. He had been sealed in the Penitentiary for more than three thousand years already, sealed by the very first of the Noxus warlock.

An explosion cut across the skies. Looking up, Zane could see Tutor Beldin fighting against Feera. Further across a distance away, two shadowy figures clashed against each other—Thorion and Commander Liam.

<><><><><>

AN: Sorry about the lateness, been busy the last few days. Also only gave this chapter a quick edit.

PS: A few changes: the continent is now called HavenFall, as this name is more relevant to the history of the story. And that I couldn't possibly create a thousand effing lands lol.

Before you go batshit insane about the sudden OPness, know that there are weaknesses that have yet to be introduced due to the chapter being a perspective from the enemies. Also, Commander Devan isn't really top tier, there being 7th-10th rank and disparities within the ranks.