Shyvana couldn't hold back the exhilaration that boiled just beneath her skin. Even as she drew in rapid, uneven breaths, she couldn't come down from the high of what had just happened.
And even though she'd lost, she had never felt so powerful in all her years. This... this was the world that Asta and others like him saw. A world that existed on an entirely different plane of strength, where limits were pushed past the point of reason.
Even now, she could feel her body adjusting to the immense strain she'd just forced it through. Her skin was scalding hot, heat rolling off her in visible waves as steam curled into the air. This was the first time Shyvana had ever felt as though she might truly overheat, might actually burn herself, and she was a dragon.
It didn't take long for her to realize that she and Asta were no longer alone. Movement in the distance caught her attention, and she spotted a group watching them from afar.
"Catch your breath, Shyvana. Looks like we have company," Asta said.
Shyvana nodded, the tension finally leaving her legs as she dropped back and sat on the ground.
Asta moved ahead to meet the approaching group. Now that she was a little calmer, Shyvana could make out more details. She recognized the High Marshal among them, flanked by four others she didn't recognize.
And then there was the Night Huntress.
The woman was staring directly at her, the look on her face balanced somewhere between rage and barely restrained frustration. Shyvana couldn't help the smirk that tugged at her lips.
She'd never liked the Huntress. One of the most silent enforcers of Demacia's laws of stone, taken, as far as Shyvana was concerned, to a fanatical extreme.
"You must be Asta. I am Senna, commander of this group of Sentinels," Shyvana heard the woman say. Her dragon heritage allowed her to catch the words clearly even from this distance.
But that wasn't the only thing her heritage granted her in that moment. As Shyvana watched Senna, she sensed something else, something beneath the surface. The woman carried a scent that was cold and stale, unnatural in a way that made Shyvana's brow furrow. The longer she looked at her, the more her thoughts drifted to the black mist.
"Oh? I've heard of the Sentinels. All sorts of amazing things," Asta replied, taking Senna's hand in his own.
"We've heard a few things about you as well. All of them great, of course," Senna said with a small smile. "You have our gratitude for protecting Demacia the way you have."
"Ah, it was nothing," Asta laughed. "As someone who aspires to become the future Wizard King, something like this is par for the course. Even if I hadn't promised to aid Demacia in its time of need, I'd still do it again, because it's the right thing to do."
"Still, you've done us a great service," the man standing beside Senna said. "Name's Lucian." He glanced toward the horizon, still clearly amazed. "I'm honestly impressed by all of it. Covering all of Demacia with just your sword? When did you even realize you could do that?"
Asta visibly perked up at that. "Right? The Demon-Dweller Sword is so cool, isn't it?" he said, grinning. "The previous owner was one of the strongest people I knew, and he's the one who showed me what the sword was capable of."
"Hi! I'm Gwen!" the blue-haired girl suddenly chirped, stepping forward. "And I think you're an amazing person, even though your power makes me a little uncomfortable."
Asta chuckled, rubbing the back of his head. "Yeah… sorry about that, I guess. You two must be under some strain, but there's really nothing I can do about it." He brightened almost immediately. "You know what? I say use this moment to surpass your limits."
"Yeah! I will!" Gwen replied, just as excited, her eyes shining with determination.
Shyvana couldn't help but smile at that. Gwen definitely didn't understand what Asta truly meant when he spoke those words he seemed to live by—but perhaps one day, she would.
After a moment, Shyvana finally felt strong enough to stand. She pushed herself upright, her movements still slow, her body radiating lingering heat. Almost immediately, Darryl was at her side.
"That was amazing, Shyvana. You were amazing," the boy said, his voice firm with resolve. "I'm going to have to work ten times as hard to surpass you." His eyes burned with conviction. "I won't lose."
Shyvana grinned, placing a hand atop his head. "I don't doubt that," she said. "I'm going to get much stronger too, so don't think it'll be easy."
Darryl chuckled, unfazed. "Yeah, I know. You and Mira won't stay ahead of me for long."
At the mention of her name, Shyvana's thoughts drifted to the shy girl, the fourth member of the Black Bulls. She remembered the summon she had witnessed.
The Pumpkin King.
The image lingered in her mind longer than she expected. She wondered, briefly, if that summon might be just as powerful as she was now.
She scoffed inwardly.
Her draconic pride refused to entertain the idea for long. A pumpkin stronger than a dragon? Especially after what she had just achieved? Unthinkable.
The thought barely had time to settle before it was torn away.
A devastating roar tore through the air, so powerful it made the ground beneath their feet shudder violently.
Before she could even react, it was answered by another, then another, until the air was filled with a cacophony of roars, each no less thunderous than the first.
Shyvana's smirk vanished instantly.
Her spine stiffened as instinct surged through her veins, ancient and violent. Every scale she possessed screamed danger. The heat still rolling off her body flared hotter as her draconic senses stretched outward, tasting the air, the magic, the wrongness flooding the horizon.
Around her, the others reacted just as sharply. The Sentinels snapped into motion, Lucian and Senna already raising their weapons, Gwen's expression sobering as the playful energy drained from her posture. Even the Demacian guards tensed, hands tightening on spears and crossbows as the ground continued to tremble beneath their boots.
Asta didn't move at first.
He stood still, head tilted slightly, eyes unfocused as though listening to something no one else could hear.
"…That's a lot," he muttered.
Another roar split the sky, closer this time. A shadow passed overhead, vast and distorted, blotting out the sun for a heartbeat before vanishing into the clouds.
Shyvana's breath hitched.
Dragons.
Or something close enough to make her blood burn in challenge.
She stepped forward before she fully realized it, claws flexing as her body responded on instinct alone. "Those roars," she said, her voice low and dangerous. "They're coming from one direction."
Senna's jaw tightened. "The Black Mist," she said. "It's breached the veil."
Asta exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders as he turned back toward the group. The easy grin he'd worn earlier was gone, replaced by something sharp and focused.
"Not exactly, it seems someone's taken interest in little ol' me" he said lightly, though the air around him began to shift. "Shyvana, you good to move?"
She bared her teeth in a feral grin. "Try stopping me."
""The rest of you do well to catch up. I'll give them something to focus on," Asta said.
Shyvana reacted instantly, power surging through her as she entered what she had already begun to think of as Dragon Force.
The world sharpened.
Her senses expanded, perception stretching far beyond its limits, yet even then she nearly lost sight of him. Asta shot forward like a living projectile, his feet barely touching the ground as he ran straight toward the source of the roars.
Shyvana followed.
Even with her newly enhanced speed, fast enough to outpace any Silverwing ten times over, she struggled to keep him in view. Gritting her teeth, she dropped to all fours, claws tearing shallow furrows into stone as she pushed her body harder, faster, heat and power roaring through her veins.
Then Asta leapt.
Shyvana didn't hesitate. She launched herself after him, the two of them soaring over rooftops and towers as they cleared half of Demacia in massive bounds, the wind screaming past them.
From the sky, the battlefield finally revealed itself.
"My goodness…" Shyvana whispered, though she knew Asta could hear her even through the rushing air. "What is… what is this?"
From the great gates of Demacia, an army of the dead poured into the city.
But this was no ordinary undead horde. It was not the familiar mass of lesser wraiths or shambling corpses.
Above the army, dragons circled.
Shyvana counted over thirty of them at a glance, their bodies formed of mist, bone, and shadow, wings beating with unnatural force. And they were not alone, dozens of other flying creatures wheeled through the sky alongside them, shrieking as they dove and climbed.
The ground was somehow worse.
Towering… things stalked the streets by the hundreds, their forms massive and grotesque. Each carried a glaive, the blade alone nearly as long as Shyvana was in her dragon form. Their eyes burned with pure malice, a gaze so heavy she was certain an ordinary human would perish from it alone.
And behind them, beyond those aberrations, were monsters.
So many that Shyvana couldn't begin to count them. Twisted shapes, warped silhouettes, creatures whose forms defied easy understanding. She didn't even know what half of them were meant to be.
Her chest tightened.
The wind screamed past Shyvana's ears as they descended, the city rushing up to meet them in a blur of stone and shadow.
Asta landed first.
He hit the street like a falling star, boots cracking the cobblestone as a shockwave rippled outward. Dust and debris erupted in a wide circle, undead nearest the impact thrown violently off their feet, bodies shattering against walls and one another.
Shyvana landed a heartbeat later, claws gouging deep into the street as she skidded to a halt beside him. Heat rolled off her in waves, steam hissing where her scales met the cooler air. Her eyes swept the battlefield in a single, sharp motion.
They were already too late.
Screams echoed through the streets, human,and desperate, cut short far too quickly. Buildings burned. Ballista bolts and arrows streaked through the air from the inner walls, but it was like throwing pebbles at a tidal wave.
One of the towering aberrations turned toward them.
Up close, it was even worse. Its armor looked grown rather than forged, plates of bone and shadow fused together. The glaive in its hands hummed with corrupted power, mist coiling around the blade like it was alive.
Its gaze locked onto Asta.
The creature roared and charged.
Asta stepped forward, sword already in motion, black energy screaming as it surged along the blade. The glaive came down in a devastating arc... and split cleanly in half.
Asta's sword didn't even slow.
The aberration froze, a thin black line running down its center, before collapsing inward on itself as the mist binding it together was torn apart and erased.
A shrill screech split the air.
Shyvana looked up just in time to see one of the ruined-dragons dive.
Her blood ignited.
She leapt.
Dragon Force surged through her as she met the creature head-on, flames roaring from her mouth in a blazing torrent. The fire washed over the dragon, searing mist and bone alike, but it didn't stop. It burst through the flames, jaws snapping wide.
Shyvana slammed her small frame into it midair.
The impact sent both of them crashing into a nearby tower, stone exploding outward as they smashed through it. She twisted, using her weight and momentum, and drove her claws into the dragon's neck.
"Burn in true dragon fire!!!" she snarled.
Flames erupted from her body before converging into the wound she'd made in its neck, heat spiking far beyond what she'd ever unleashed before. The mist-dragon shrieked, its form destabilizing, unraveling under the sheer intensity of her fire.
The dragon vanished mid-scream.
Shyvana landed heavily on the street below, chest heaving as she stared at the empty sky where the creature had been.
Asta grinned, resting the sword against his shoulder. "Way to go! I'll leave the dragons to you then. I'll deal with the ground forces, and whatever is watching me from the back."
More roars answered him.
Dozens of heads turned toward them at once.
The army shifted.
Shyvana felt it, the pressure, the malice, the attention. The horde was no longer spreading outward. Now It was converging.
"Well," she said, rolling her shoulders as flames licked along her arms, "That should make things easier."
Asta's grin sharpened, black energy beginning to coil around him like a living thing. "Yeah."
The ground trembled as the dead began to advance in earnest, dragons wheeling overhead, aberrations lowering their glaives as one.
Shyvana inhaled slowly, deeply, the air burning her lungs as she drew in heat and magic alike. Her gaze lifted skyward, locking onto the circling shapes above.
Thirty.
Maybe more.
Good.
Her lips curled into a sharp grin.
She bent her knees, and vanished.
The street cratered beneath her launch as she shot upward like a comet, flames tearing from her back as wings of fire briefly manifested to correct her trajectory. The nearest mist-dragon barely had time to react before she crashed into it from below, her small frame slamming into its ribcage with enough force to fold its body inward.
They spun through the air together.
Shyvana climbed along its body until she reached it's neck, grabbed hold of the horns on its skull with both hands, and wrenched.
The dragon screamed as its head tore free, mist spraying outward like blood before dissipating entirely. The body unraveled seconds later, collapsing into nothingness before it could even hit the ground.
She didn't stop.
Another dragon dove toward her, jaws wide. Shyvana met it head-on, flames erupting from her throat in a concentrated lance of white fire. The beam punched straight through its mouth and out the back of its skull, the creature's body disintegrating mid-flight.
Below her, the streets had become chaos.
Asta was already moving. The first wave of lesser undead reached him... and ceased to exist.
A single swing carved a wide, horizontal arc through the horde. Everything in its path was erased, leaving behind a clean stretch of empty street where dozens of monsters and buildings had stood moments before.
Another aberration charged, glaive raised.
Asta blurred forward, bisecting the creature from shoulder to hip. It staggered once before collapsing into mist that evaporated on contact with the ground.
From the rooftops, ballista bolts rained down, mages unleashing volleys of light and fire. They helped, but barely. The horde was endless, and the monsters kept pouring through the broken gates like a living tide.
High above, Shyvana changed direction midair, narrowly avoiding a pair of dragons attacking from opposite sides. She clenched her fists.
Enough playing.
Her body glowed.
Heat compressed inward, scales glowing white-hot as Dragon Force surged higher than before. The air around her warped violently, pressure building until the clouds themselves were pushed aside.
She spread her arms.
"Hear me, false wyrms," she growled, voice carrying with draconic authority. "This sky is mine."
Fire exploded outward.
A massive, expanding ring of dragonfire tore through the air, consuming everything within its radius. Ruined-dragons caught in the blast didn't even have time to scream, they vanished instantly, their forms unable to withstand the overwhelming heat and will behind the flames.
The sky cleared.
Below, Asta looked up briefly, eyes widening a fraction.
"…Nice," he muttered.
Ahead of him, hundreds of creatures rushed the Anti-Magic mage, many of them trampling over one another in their frantic attempt to reach him first.
Asta took a single step forward and leaned into his front foot, crouching slightly.
Then he shot forward like an arrow released from a drawn string.
The flood of wraiths was pierced instantly, torn apart as if a lance had been driven through wet mud. Scores of undead and otherworldly creatures were hurled aside like discarded refuse, bodies shattering, unraveling, or simply ceasing to exist as Asta tore through them without slowing. The ground cracked beneath his feet as he carved a straight path through the horde, pushing relentlessly toward the very edge of the city.
Then he was outside the city, and within the black mist.
It clung to his skin, thick and suffocating, writhing like something alive. The air itself felt wrong, heavy with malice and grief so dense it pressed against the mind. Asta rolled his shoulders once, unfazed, sword resting loosely in his grip.
"Well," he said casually, voice carrying into the fog, "are we gonna do this or what?"
As if listening to his question, the mist answered.
It churned violently, spiraling inward as though pulled by an unseen force, forming a massive, chaotic vortex. The sight of it made the eyes ache and the stomach twist, its movement unnatural in a way that set every instinct on edge.
The heavy clop of hooves striking stone signalled the arrival of a figure.
A towering silhouette emerged from the fog, armored and monstrous, its form wreathed in shadow and spectral flame. Asta regarded the shadow of war with a flat, unimpressed stare.
"I can see why Hecarim had a rough time with you," a different voice echoed, calm and intrigued.
From the mist stepped a cloaked figure, his face a pale skull wreathed in ghostly green fire. In his hand hung a lantern, suspended from a thick, malevolent chain that dragged lightly across the ground, each link whispering with trapped souls.
"What a fascinating human you are," He continued, tilting his head slightly.
But Asta wasn't looking at the warden.
His gaze was fixed ahead, locked onto the final presence as the mist parted once more.
The figure could only be one person.
He was tall and lean, his features undeniably handsome in a hollow, tragic way. Pale skin and white hair stood in stark contrast to the Black Mist that poured endlessly from the triangular wound in his chest, a void that pulsed with sickly green light.
Above his head hovered a twisted, decaying crown, suspended unnaturally in the air, its form faintly reminiscent of Yuno's Spirit Dive, though warped and wrong in every conceivable way. Combined with the black leather jacket he wore, the effect was unmistakably intimidating.
At least, it would have been.
For anyone other than Asta.
"Look around you," Viego finally spoke, gesturing lazily at the waves of Black Mist churning behind him. "At the inevitability knocking at your doors. Thousands will fall today, all because of your insolence."
Asta raised an eyebrow. His ki sense was already alerting him, several hundred hostile presences closing in, and three far more dangerous ones standing directly before him, but his expression remained unimpressed.
"I'm pretty sure you brought this army here all on your own," Asta replied. "I certainly didn't ask you to do any of this."
"I seek only her fetter," Viego said calmly. "Beyond that, I have no quarrel with Demacia." His gaze hardened. "Bring down your veil. Allow me to reunite with my queen, and there need be no more unnecessary energy spent."
As he spoke, he raised a hand to his shoulder. Sanctity manifested in his grasp, its corrupted blade resting casually against him, mist coiling along its edge like a living thing.
"Refuse," Viego continued, his voice dropping into something cold and absolute, "and all of Demacia will pay for your crimes."
The Black Mist surged violently.
"For I am VIEGO!" he roared. "Last and greatest of the kings of Camavor! Devoted husband to Queen Isolde! Reclaimer of history's greatest love!"
The mist roared with him, shapes flashing within it, impossible creatures, half-formed nightmares, before sinking back into the darkness.
"Who are you," Viego demanded, "to stand in the way of true love?"
Hecarim pawed at the ground, spectral flames flaring along his armor. "Let me trample him," the Shadow of War snarled, barely restraining himself.
Asta exhaled slowly.
"I thought I told you, Hecarim," he said, lifting his sword and pointing it directly at Viego, "that the next time we met would be your last."
"MEANINGLESS BLUFF!" Hecarim roared, rearing up on his hind legs. The full might of the Shadow Isles surged behind him, bolstered by Viego's presence and power.
With such odds stacked in his favour, how could he possibly lose?
That thought barely finished forming before the world inverted.
Hecarim's vision was still facing the most covered sky when his back slammed into the ground, his connection to his horse body severed in a single, invisible instant.
His torso lay apart from his lower body.
There was no pain, only disbelief.
Anti-Magic flooded him in the next heartbeat, devouring mist, will, and essence alike. His form unraveled, erased completely, leaving nothing behind but scorched stone and fading silence.
Thus ended the being once known as the Shadow of War.