"I'm not the only one in shock right now, right?" Lucian asked, staring as the massive form of the arachnoid horror dissolved into nothingness under the Sentinels' light.
"No, Lucian," Senna replied quietly. "You're not."
Her eyes, however, weren't on the fading remains of the monster. They were fixed on the young boy who had been guiding them toward the capital of Demacia.
Darryl was, in one word, incredible.
"I didn't even know humans could move that fast," Gwen said in open awe, her hands lifting as if to reenact it. "One second you were there, whoosh! and then you were gone, and suddenly legs were flying everywhere."
"When he said he was an earth mage, I was expecting… you know, earth magic," Rookie added, tilting his head. "Not whatever that was."
Lucian wouldn't go so far as to say they would have lost against the arachnoid horror. Still, it would have been a long, drawn-out battle, one dictated by the way spiders hunted.
They would've spent most of the opening moments trying to pin down its location, dodging sudden strikes from unseen angles, waiting for even a glimpse of its true body.
Darryl had skipped all of that.
Somehow, impossibly, he had always known exactly where the monster was.
One moment it had been lurking within its webbed domain, the next, the boy had vanished in a sharp burst of air, movement too fast for Lucian's eyes to properly follow. Then the spider's legs were separating from its body in every direction, severed cleanly, before the creature itself was split straight down the middle by Darryl's short sword.
Before either half could even hit the ground, Darryl was already back beside the Sentinels, standing as though he'd never moved at all. That was when they fired, their light tearing into the reforming corpse before it could pull itself back together.
Now, with the danger gone, Darryl frowned, clearly dissatisfied. "We've wasted too much time," he muttered. "Mira's probably already worrying about me. We should hurry."
He collapsed his staff with a practiced motion and slid it neatly into the sheath on his back. This time, he fell into step with the Sentinels on foot.
"Let's go."
Senna gave the group a brief nod as they picked up the pace, following after the boy through the thinning strands of web and broken stone. Even as they moved, her attention lingered on Darryl, curiosity steadily gnawing at her.
"So, Darryl," she said at last, her tone calm but probing, "are you going to explain how you were able to move like that? I don't think I've met many people who can reach those kinds of speeds."
That wasn't to say she didn't know of any.
Viego came unbidden to her mind, his ability to traverse the Black Mist at terrifying speed still lingered as an unresolved problem in her thoughts, one she hadn't yet found a clean answer to.
She herself could move faster than most, but only in her wraith state. And even then, Darryl's speed had eclipsed hers by a wide margin.
"You'll have to thank the Captain for that," Darryl replied easily, walking as though the earlier fight had barely registered. "He's the one who keeps pushing me to get faster during training. I don't really mind, though. I've seen how fast he moves, and trust me, I've got nothing on him."
Lucian's brow furrowed. "So this Asta is even faster?" he asked. "What would that even look like?"
"Terrifying," Darryl said with a short laugh. "Most of our spars are just me trying to last as long as possible against him. That means moving fast enough to at least react to his attacks. If I can't even manage that…" He shrugged lightly. "Then I'd rather not call myself a Black Bull."
Senna's expression softened, though a small frown tugged at her lips. "That sounds like a very high bar to set for yourself."
"Frankly, I don't think it's high enough," Darryl retorted without missing a beat. "Sorry about that. It's just… up until around two weeks ago, I had it in my head that after the captain, I was the strongest Black Bull."
He scratched the back of his head as he spoke, his pace slowing slightly.
"Emilia's pretty awesome and all, but her illusions aren't that effective against someone like me, or the captain. And Mira…" His mouth twisted wryly. "Back then, all she really knew how to do was summon exploding pumpkins."
He exhaled, the sound heavier than before. "Then the Black Mist happened, and Mira got possessed by it. Ruined, the Illuminators called it. She attacked us, and that was the first time I really saw how strong she was when all her inhibitions were gone."
Darryl let out a short, humorless laugh. "I don't think I would've survived her very first attack if it wasn't for the captain." He glanced ahead, eyes focused but distant. "So I made a promise to myself after that. I'd get faster. Way faster. Fast enough to keep up with him."
"That sounds like a wonderful goal to strive toward," Gwen said warmly, flashing him an encouraging smile. "I just know you can do it!"
Senna, however, was still frowning. "You said your friend was ruined," she said carefully. "Mira, was it?"
Darryl nodded. "Yeah. Why?"
Lucian's eyes widened slightly as understanding dawned. "Isn't she the one creating those healing pumpkins?"
"Oh," Darryl said, his expression softening as realization clicked. "You're worried she's still ruined."
"Still ruined?" Senna repeated, one brow lifting. "You mean to say she isn't anymore?"
Darryl nodded again, this time with a small grin. "Yep. Captain kicked that possession right out of her. Anti-Magic is really amazing!"
"Antimagic sounds terrifying," Gwen supplied cheerfully, hopping over a broken chunk of stone. "But also kind of amazing."
Darryl smiled at that, though there was something firm underneath it. "Yeah. That's the captain for you."
They continued on, the terrain gradually shifting as the ruined outskirts thinned out. Webbing became more sparse, stone more structured. Cracked roadways began to peek through the dirt, remnants of old patrol paths leading toward Demacia's walls.
Senna lifted her gaze, and there they were.
Even from this distance, the capital rose like a monument to stubborn defiance. White stone walls stretched high and wide, unmarred despite the chaos beyond them. Light shimmered faintly along engraved runes, defensive enchantments humming softly beneath the surface. Towers stood vigilant, banners snapping in the wind.
Demacia still stood.
Darryl slowed slightly, relief easing into his posture. "Good. They haven't locked it down yet."
Lucian followed his gaze. "You sound surprised."
"Not really," Darryl replied. "Just… cautious. Things have been getting weird lately."
Senna hummed quietly. "Weird has a way of underselling the harrowing."
That earned a short chuckle from him.
---
Entering the city was a much simpler affair than Senna had expected. Even as she was guided deeper into Demacia, eventually brought before the antechamber at the city's heart, she couldn't quite shake the sense of dissonance settling in her chest.
Demacia was… different.
She had fully prepared herself for resistance—for suspicion sharpened into outright hostility. She had expected arguments, long explanations, perhaps even ultimatums. She had rehearsed what she would say if she had to convince Demacia, of all nations, to set aside its hatred and fear of magic, if only for the duration of the Harrowing, just long enough to stand united against Viego.
None of that had been necessary.
Apparently, that particular battle had already been fought, by a foreigner long before the Sentinels had ever crossed Demacia's borders.
She still felt the weight of eyes on her as they passed through the streets. Curious stares. Muted whispers. The occasional hard glare from men and women clad in the unmistakable garb of the MageSeekers. Their hostility wasn't subtle, but neither was it acted upon.
For Demacia, that alone was remarkable.
All things considered, Senna and Gwen made it to the antechamber unharmed and unassaulted.
Well. Almost unassaulted.
"Wow," a woman's voice chimed lightly, curiosity plain and unguarded. "To think that a Sentinel of Light would be a wraith herself. It's so unexpected."
The speaker was Myrtille, another Illuminator, one of the Radiant. Her eyes glowed faintly with awe as she studied Senna with open fascination rather than fear.
"Please put down your weapon, Night Hunter," Myrtille continued calmly. "The Sentinels are allies of the Light."
Her words went unanswered.
Shauna Vayne stood rigid, her expression carved from cold certainty, her crossbow unwavering as it remained trained squarely on Senna's face.
The shift was instant.
Lucian reacted without hesitation, his pistols snapping up to aim directly at Vayne in a smooth, practiced motion. In response, Demacian guards stiffened, spears leveling as one toward the two Sentinels now standing at the center of a rapidly escalating standoff.
Senna slowly raised one hand. "Lucian," she said quietly, without taking her eyes off Vayne. "Easy."
Lucian didn't lower his guns, but the subtle shift in his shoulders told her he was listening.
Senna turned her head just enough to meet Vayne's gaze fully. There was no fear there. No hostility either. Just the steady, weary certainty of someone who had already died once and refused to do so again.
"I'm not your enemy," Senna said. "And neither is the Light I carry."
Vayne's finger tightened on the trigger, just a fraction. "You wear the Mist," she replied coldly. "I've hunted monsters that spoke with kinder voices."
"That Mist tried to keep me, through Thresh," Senna answered evenly. "It failed."
Before Vayne could respond, a new presence cut through the tension like a blade through silk.
"That's enough."
The voice was calm, firm, and carried the weight of authority that didn't need to be raised to be obeyed.
Several guards stiffened immediately. A few even stepped back.
From the far end of the antechamber, a tall figure approached, clad in Demacian silver and blue, a mantle of leadership resting naturally on her shoulders which wore amazingly large pauldrons. Her gaze swept over the scene, spears, pistols, crossbow, before settling on Vayne.
"Stand down Shauna." She ordered.
Vayne hesitated, then reluctantly she lowered her crossbows, though her eyes never left Senna.
Lucian followed a heartbeat later, pistols lowering but not fully holstered.
Senna took in the woman who seemed to command the entire chamber with just a single word.
Tianna Crownguard. High Marshal of Demacia.
If Senna were being honest with herself, she wished she possessed even half of the authority this woman radiated so effortlessly. It wasn't bluster or aggression, Tianna's presence was simply there, heavy and undeniable, like stone that had never known how to yield.
Naturally intimidating.
Senna resisted the urge to huff a quiet laugh as a stray thought crossed her mind.
'Maybe I should start wearing giant pauldrons too, she mused internally. Would that make me look intimidating… or just ridiculous? How does she even pull that look off?'
Pushing the thought aside, Senna stepped forward, straightening her posture. Whatever doubts she had, this wasn't the place for them.
"My name is Senna," she said clearly, her voice carrying through the chamber. "And as you already know, I am a Sentinel of Light. Commander of this unit."
Tianna regarded her for a moment longer, sharp eyes measuring, weighing. Then, with a smooth motion, she took her seat.
"At ease, Commander Senna," Tianna replied, her tone firm but not unkind. "You are welcome in Demacia. We haven't hosted a Sentinel in over a decade."
There was a faint shift in her expression, something between resignation and dry amusement.
"A shame it took a Harrowing to finally see one again," she continued. "But such is the nature of crises. They have a way of forcing long-overdue meetings."
"I wish our meeting were under better circumstances," Senna said at last. "But the Harrowing doesn't wait for comfort. Viego is on the move, and Demacia stands directly in his path."
Tianna folded her hands atop the armrest of her chair, posture immaculate. "Demacia has weathered many threats," she replied evenly. "And we will weather this one as well. Still…" Her gaze sharpened. "You wouldn't be here if this were something we could simply endure alone."
"No," Senna agreed. "I wouldn't."
Lucian shifted slightly at her side, his pre
sence a quiet reassurance. Gwen hovered a little closer too, her cheer subdued but her eyes bright with interest as she took in the chamber.
"The Black Mist has spread worldwide," Senna said, her voice steady, carrying clearly through the chamber. "The Harrowing isn't localized anymore. It's happening everywhere, all at once."
That alone drew subtle reactions, tightened grips, exchanged glances, but Senna didn't pause.
"We believe Viego is searching for something. We don't yet know what it is," she continued. "But the Mist has gathered more heavily in Demacia than in any other region we've observed. It's only a matter of time before the Ruined King appears here himself."
There was no drama in her tone. No attempt to soften the truth.
"And when he comes," Senna finished, "he will bring the full force of the Shadow Isles with him."
The weight of that settled over the room like a held breath.
"I understand that the veil keeping the Mist at bay has been spread across Demacia's cities," Senna went on. "Yet I was still able to enter, despite what I am." She glanced briefly at her own hands, faintly luminous. "Or rather… despite what I'm no longer fully bound by."
Lucian stepped forward slightly, picking up where she left off. "That's the problem. If Senna can pass through, then it's possible stronger wraiths or creatures can as well."
His gaze hardened. "Thresh doesn't need the Black Mist to move. Never has. And if that's true for him, then it's likely true for others of similar strength."
"There's a real chance that something powerful could infiltrate the city," Lucian continued, "and target whatever's generating that anti-magic veil. If that happens..."
He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to.
"We've ensured the source of the veil is protected at all times," Tianna Crownguard said, rising smoothly from her seat. "But I'm not so foolish as to assume standard safeguards will be enough against the likes of the Shadow Isles."
Her gaze swept briefly over Senna and Lucian, sharp and assessing.
"If you would join me," she said, already turning.
Senna nodded without hesitation and stepped forward, falling into pace beside the High Marshal. Lucian and the others followed close behind, the antechamber slowly giving way to wide stone corridors and the quiet, disciplined movement of Demacia preparing for war.
The High Marshal led them deeper into the compound, and it didn't take long for Senna to recognize where they were.
A training barracks.
The wide space was alive with disciplined motion, soldiers drilling in coordinated formations, guards sparring under watchful eyes, the rhythmic clash of steel echoing against stone.
Senna found herself approving despite everything.
'What safer place than one constantly filled with armed knights and warriors?' she thought.
Along the walls stood rangers bearing heavy crossbows, their posture alert even at rest. Beside them were knights clad in heavy armor, massive shields resting at their sides like extensions of their bodies.
'Dauntless Vanguard,' Senna realized. She had heard enough to recognize them.
A faint memory surfaced.
'Wait… wasn't Saskja a member of the Dauntless Vanguard too?' The thought lingered, but she pushed it aside as Tianna slowed.
"There it is," the High Marshal said, gesturing forward.
Senna followed the motion, and felt it.
The pressure she had been ignoring since entering Demacia suddenly sharpened, becoming undeniable.
At the center of the barracks stood a small stone pedestal.
Embedded within it was a sword.
It looked… wrong.
The blade was worn and battered, its surface darkened to a uniform black from the hilt all the way to the tip buried in stone. Rust clung stubbornly to its edges, and yet, despite its neglected appearance, it radiated presence.
Power.
Senna took an involuntary step back as a chill ran through her. The sensation wasn't pain, nor fear exactly. Like the world itself was telling her she didn't belong near it.
Judging by the subtle shifts around her, she wasn't the only one who felt it.
From the sword rose a faint, dark miasma, drifting upward in slow, steady streams. High above, it split into multiple strands, stretching outward in all directions, threading through the air toward the city beyond.
Toward the other protected regions of Demacia.
"This," Tianna said evenly, "is one of the swords belonging to the Black Bulls' captain."
Her gaze lingered on the blade.
"Asta."
The sword sat there, silent and unmoving, yet it felt louder than any alarm Senna had ever heard. The air around it seemed heavier, not with pressure, but with absence, as if something fundamental was being stripped away simply by standing near it.
"So that's it," Lucian said quietly. "That's what's been keeping the Mist out."
"Yes," Tianna replied. "Or more accurately, what's been killing it."
Senna's eyes remained fixed on the blade. The mist within her reacted instinctively, flaring just beneath her skin before recoiling again, like a flame starved of air.
That unsettled her more than outright resistance.
"This isn't magic," Senna said slowly. "At least… not in the way I understand it."
Tianna nodded. "That aligns with what our scholars concluded. The sword doesn't dispel magic. It erases it. Actively."
Gwen leaned a little closer, then stopped herself, hands clasping together as her usual cheer dimmed into cautious fascination. "It feels like it's telling the world 'no,'" she said. "Very rudely too I might add."
Despite herself, Senna almost smiled.
Senna stepped forward again, careful, measured. Each step closer to the sword made her chest feel tighter, like her breath was being filtered through stone. The glow beneath her skin dimmed perceptibly, not extinguished, but muted.
Tianna watched her closely. "You feel something?"
"Yes," Senna replied. "It's not harming me. But if I stayed too long…" She exhaled slowly. "I don't think I'd stay whole."
That was all Tianna needed to hear.
"We rotate guards every hour," the High Marshal said. "No mage stays near it for long. Even non-mages report headaches, nausea, a sense of wrongness they can't quite describe."
"Smart," Lucian said. "But it won't be enough if Viego comes himself."
"I see," Tianna said calmly.
"Then we'll plan for that moment," Senna said. "And for what comes after."
Lucian stepped up beside her, pistols resting at his sides. "And if something comes for that sword..."
"We'll be there," Gwen added brightly, though her eyes were sharp now. "Needles, Light, and all."
"Is there a chance we can meet this Asta in person?" Senna asked.
Tianna's expression didn't change immediately, but there was the faintest pause before she answered. Just long enough to be telling. "I guess it's best to show you."
They moved through the city at a steady pace, stone corridors giving way to broader streets and then to reinforced walkways that gradually thinned as they approached Demacia's outer districts. The atmosphere subtly shifted the farther they went. Less ceremony. Fewer civilians. More soldiers.
And more damage.
They reached the edge of the city proper soon after. Beyond the last defensive wall stretched a wide, open training ground carved directly into the rocky terrain. The air here felt different, sharper somehow, charged.
Senna stopped.
She felt it before she fully saw it.
The oppressive, wrong absence that radiated from the sword back in the barracks was here too, but no longer anchored and still.
A figure stood alone in the field.
He was young. Younger than she'd expected, honestly. Shorter too, though broad-shouldered and solid in a way that spoke of hard-earned strength rather than bulk. His hair was ash-colored and wild, damp with sweat, and his expression was focused to the point of intensity.
In his right hand, he held a sword.
It was massive, chipped and blackened, its edge rough and brutal.
"Why's he just standing there?" Lucian asked, glancing around as if expecting someone else to step out. "What's he doing?"
"Maybe he's meditating," Gwen chirped helpfully.
"With his sword drawn?" Rookie chuckled. "And it looks like he and the commander share the same love for massive weapons."
Senna briefly glanced back at the relic cannon resting against her spine, nearly as tall as she was, before giving a small shake of her head. "Let's go introduce ourselves."
Tianna frowned, her gaze narrowing slightly. Wasn't he with the dragon girl? He's supposed to be training her.
Before Senna could take a single step forward, a hand pressed gently but firmly against her shoulder, stopping her cold.
"Don't get any closer," Darryl said, stepping half in front of her. "Or you'll get caught in it."
Lucian spun toward him instantly, hands drifting toward his pistols. "Where did you come from?" he demanded. "Don't freak people out like that."
"Get caught in what?" Senna asked, more curious than alarmed.
Darryl didn't answer. He simply raised a hand and pointed.
Senna followed his gesture, eyes narrowing as she took in the Black Bulls captain again, really looking this time.
Asta wasn't just standing there.
Now that she paid attention, she could see it, his posture was wrong for rest. His legs were braced, feet dug into fractured stone. His grip on the sword was tight, knuckles white. He looked less like someone waiting… and more like someone holding the line.
"I still don't..."
The words died in Senna's throat.
The sky burned.
A presence slammed down from above with the full wrath of the sun, and a spear of unbridled fire, vast and overwhelming, easily the size of a dragon, came crashing forward. The world was swallowed in blinding white.
The ground exploded beneath the impact. Stone shattered and lifted into the air as shockwaves tore outward, winds screaming violently enough to nearly rip everyone off their feet. Even braced, Senna staggered, boots scraping hard against the fractured ground.
She forced herself to look.
Through the chaos, through the heat and the roar, she saw him.
Asta stood at the center of it all, sword raised as he blocked the descending inferno. The blade was split down the middle, one side bleached stark white by the searing fire, the other swallowed in pitch-black nothingness as anti-magic raged and devoured the attack inch by inch.
The clash lingered, suspended in a terrible balance.
Then the shockwaves faded. The winds died. The spear of fire dimmed, flickered, and vanished.
A humanoid figure dropped from above, crashing to her knees in the ruined field, breaths coming fast and ragged as heat shimmered around her.
"What the hell just happened?" Lucian was the first back on his feet, already moving as his pistols came up in a smooth, practiced motion. "Was that an attack?"
"Looks like Shyvana's winning our next sparring session," Darryl said, pushing himself upright with a sharp laugh. His eyes gleamed with excitement as he stared at the scorched ground. "Dammit… Shyvana's so strong now. That's so cool. Guess I'll have to work even harder if I want to surpass her."
Tianna remained still, eyes wide and fixed on the crater left behind. "That was Shyvana?" she asked, though the words carried less uncertainty and more disbelief than an actual question.
"Now she's a genuine monster," Vayne muttered through clenched teeth. Her grip tightened around her weapon. "I don't even understand what's going on anymore."
"Captain said he was going to train Shyvana until she was strong enough," Darryl went on, inching closer to the molten ground despite the lingering heat. "Strong enough to do what? No idea. But still, this is awesome." He laughed, clearly impressed.
"Of course that bastard has something to do with it," Vayne grumbled, shooting a glare toward Asta. "There's no way this doesn't come back to bite us later. No way at all."
---
"What is the meaning of this!?" Viego roared, his voice echoing with unnatural fury as his gaze fixed on the great city of Demacia, pristine, unmarred, and utterly untouched by the encroaching mist. "Why is the Black Mist not consuming Demacia as we speak? Vex!"
The Ruined King's ire snapped toward a small, furry creature scarcely three times the size of a poro.
She was a yordle named Vex. A dark cloak hung loosely over her small frame, and a drooping, shadowed hat sat atop her head, partially concealing her mint-green hair while leaving room for her white bunny ears to poke through.
Behind her, her shadow stretched far longer than any shadow should. It peeled itself from the floor and rose to stand at her back like a looming guardian. It had no true features, only pale, white outlines suggesting eyes. Its form was limbless, crowned with two bat-shaped ears, and it radiated a quiet, oppressive presence.
"You told me you would spread the mist to all corners of Runeterra," Viego growled, his eyes narrowing as he glared down at the yordle.
"I did," Vex replied flatly, her face locked in the same deadpan expression as always. "I spread the Black Mist everywhere. Just like you wanted."
"Then what do you call that?" Viego snapped, pointing toward the untouched city. "How am I supposed to find her fetters if I cannot drown this miserable city in mist? Do you expect me to comb through the entire castle myself?"
"I don't know what you want me to say," Vex answered, her tone unchanged. Behind her, however, the shadow swelled slightly, the white outlines of its eyes narrowing into a faint scowl. "I did what you asked, didn't I?"
"My liege." From behind Viego, a fractured, echoing voice rose like broken glass dragged across stone. "I do not believe the fault lies with the yordle."
Viego turned, his attention shifting to his other… subordinate.
Unlike Vex, Thresh was tall, and most certainly not a yordle. He was not human either, nor merely a wraith. He was something else entirely. Otherworldly. His leather-like, mist-woven cloak clung to his ephemeral form with the weight of iron. A skull-like visage stared out from beneath it, splitting into writhing tentacles that served as hair. In one hand, he carried his massive lantern, eternally aglow with the muffled screams of tortured souls.
Viego cared little for him, as he did for all the so-called servants bound to his will. None of them had delivered what he sought, and so they were ultimately useless, beneath his concern.
And yet, after a brief pause, he gestured sharply for Thresh to continue.
"There seems to be a veil covering the various cities of Demacia," Thresh explained, his voice layered and echoing, as though several throats spoke at once. "It is not so powerful as to deny a being such as myself passage, nor one of your caliber, my king. However, in suppressing the advance of the Black Mist, it has fulfilled its purpose."
"Who is responsible for this… veil?" Viego demanded, the fury in his voice carrying the weight of the abyss itself. "Who dares to stand in my path?"
"Asta, Captain of the Black Bulls," a new voice answered, deep, thunderous, as though it rose from the bowels of the earth. "And the one who bears the title of Future Wizard King."
Viego turned his gaze toward the speaker.
There stood what had once been his chief warrior, the captain of the Camavoran Iron Order. Hecarim, the so-called Shadow of War.
"Ah, Hecarim," Thresh drawled, a cruel amusement seeping into his tone. "It seems you have finally recovered from your blunder. That you dare appear here despite your failure… you are lower than the weakest wraith scrounging for scraps within the mist." A hollow laugh rattled from him.
"I have no time for your games, warden," Hecarim replied, striding past Thresh as he approached Viego.
"Everyone seems eager to speak today," the Ruined King growled, irritation threading through his words. "You are testing my patience. Speak your purpose, Hecarim, before I sunder your soul for eternity. Who is this Asta, and why should his existence concern me?"
Hecarim inclined his head. "As I led your forces in accordance with your will through the port city of this nation, I encountered a group of three who called themselves the Black Bulls."
Viego leaned forward slightly, a silent gesture for him to continue. He ignored the phrasing, your forces, your will. Viego needed no one to act in his stead. Whatever Hecarim had done was of his own initiative. He did not correct him, if only to avoid yet another pointless diversion.
"They each possessed strength rarely encountered during our advance," Hecarim continued. "However, in the end, I did not deem them to be of any true consequence to our efforts."
Viego clenched his jaw, resisting the urge to bristle at the words, our conquest, his fury coiling just beneath the surface as he held his temper in check.
"However, when their captain appeared, everything turned for the worse," Hecarim continued. "I was hopelessly outmatched by his physical strength alone. Yet what truly seared this man into my soul with hatred was his… revolting power." Somehow, despite the cold metal of his helm, Hecarim conveyed unmistakable disgust.
"With a single touch of his sword, I felt my connection to the mist, to you, weaken instantly. And when that same blade ran me through, my strength bled away as the mist itself was devoured and erased."
He turned his gaze toward the distant city, his eyes lingering on the unseen barrier that cloaked it.
"This veil reeks of that vile power. Of this I am certain, my liege. This man, Asta, is responsible for the barrier that obstructs your advance."
"To think a mere mortal wields such an ability," Thresh murmured, a twisted delight creeping into his voice. "To erase His Majesty's beauty from the world… such a soul would be a most exquisite thing to play with." He chuckled softly, his lantern swaying as the trapped souls within wailed, their pleas bleeding into one another.
"I don't care," Viego said flatly.
The air fell still.
"I do not care for this man. I do not care for his Black Bulls. I do not care for his power." His grip tightened as his gaze fixed on Demacia. "There is only one thing that matters to me, and it lies within that city."
"Well," Vex cut in, her tone as flat as ever, "as long as the veil stays up, there's basically no way to get the mist into the city. Which, by the way, really sucks." Her shadow somehow managed to pout, its white eyes drooping in exaggerated displeasure.
"Then we will tear it down at the source," Viego declared, his voice final and unyielding.
"My liege, this man is no mere mortal," Hecarim pressed, his voice heavy with urgency. "It would take considerable force to overcome him. Perhaps even… your personal involvement."
"Then send everything!" Viego roared. "All that stalks the Mist! Born of it! Molded by it! Nothing! Nothing, will stand in my way!"
As the Ruined King's command thundered across the void, the Black Mist answered in kind.
Behind him, the fog thickened and churned, swelling like a living tide. From its depths, shapes began to emerge, slow at first, then in endless numbers. Creatures that once prowled only the cursed shores of the Shadow Isles now clawed their way into form, drawn by the will of the one who ruled them absolutely.
Wraiths twisted into grotesque silhouettes. Hulking monstrosities dragged themselves forward on too many limbs. Screeching horrors unfurled wings of rot and shadow, their forms barely held together by the Mist that birthed them.
Viego exhaled slowly, forcing his fury into a cold, razor-edged focus. With measured steps, he advanced, passing through the edge of the vile veil as though it were little more than a curtain of smoke. His blade, Sanctity, rested casually upon his shoulder, its corrupted sheen reflecting the chaos around him.
With every step he took, the invasion followed.
Enormous dragons of mist and bone tore through the barrier, their roars shaking the air. Hordes of warped demons poured in behind them, cackling as they spilled across the land. Massive aberrations lumbered onto Demacian soil, their footsteps cracking stone, their howls promising a future of torment and eternal ruination.
The ground trembled beneath the weight of it all.
Viego's lips curled into a smile. "I've come for my queen, Demacia."