THE TYRANT'S SHADOW
"You found his tomb?" Jericho Swain said, raising an eyebrow at the warmason.
"You found his tomb?" He repeated when the mason failed to reply.
"Affirmative, Grand General. We have reason to believe the crypt beneath The Immortal Bastion is not only for his lieutenants, but also the final resting place of The Iron Revenant himself." The mason answered.
Swain's eyes narrowed. "Do not presume his rest to be final. I want the entrance guarded at all times by our finest troops. No one gets in… and we need something to slow down whatever may come out. Dismissed." He said sharply.
"Affirmative, Grand General. As you command." The mason said.
Swain turned to his companion as he sharpened his axe. "Do you really think it's him?" Darius asked, examining the blade of his weapon.
Many times Darius had used it to cut down Demacian Elites and Ionian resistance fighters, but hearing the mason's speculation, he found some doubts in his own abilities. He was getting old. No one would say it to his face, but with each year, he wasn't getting any stronger. He was past his prime.
"Let us see for ourselves." Swain said, nodding towards The Bastion, a looming monolith in the distance.
Long before Jericho's time, many had lived in the shadow of The Immortal Bastion, helpless against the might of Mordekaiser. The spiteful revenant's malice knew no end, and no soul was safe from his grasp. When he was defeated, the Noxii celebrated within The Bastion's halls. They had finally earned their freedom, but something more was coming.
The Rune Wars forced the tribes deep into the bowels of the revenant's fortress. Outside, pure magical energy ravaged the wasteland for decades. They thought it was the end of the world, and they were almost right.
But the storm ended. The War had ceased, and the Noxii emerged from The Bastion, changed by the time they spent in the dark. They were no longer Noxii: they were one. They were Noxus.
Every Noxian knew the story. Year zero on the calendar. Thousands of years had passed since they left The Bastion, and still, the structure stood, a reminder of their unity…
… And a monument to an undying evil.
Swain and Darius arrived at The Bastion, accompanied by the finest troops The Trifarian Legion had to offer. The warmasons immediately stopped their work to salute their Grand General and the hand of their nation. "As you were." Swain commanded, and the masons resumed. "Bring us to his crypt." He said to the leader of the excavation.
The chief warmason went pale. "... His crypt?" He repeated, anxiously clutching a document.
"You heard the Grand General, warmason. Bring us to his crypt." Darius said sternly.
The warmason gulped nervously. "... As you command, Grand General." He said, saluting Swain.
Swain nodded, and followed the mason. Deep within the fortress, he found there was no light. No braziers to illuminate the halls. No torch fixtures to guide the weary troops. Only darkness. The dead had no need for light.
Swain held up his right arm and summoned an orb of energy, flooding the corridor with crimson light. "Continue." He told the mason.
They continued going deeper and deeper, until eventually they arrived at a long hallway lined with statues depicting undead soldiers clad in a variety of different garbs: Demacian steel, Freljordian furs, Ionian silk, and even ancient Icathian armor.
"We believe these statues to be monuments to his conquests. A reminder to all who walk this hall that they stand in the presence of the greatest conqueror Runeterra has ever seen." The warmason said.
Swain smirked at the last comment. "Yet here we are, walking freely through his bastion. He claimed it to be immortal, like himself. How… ironic." He said, earning a snort of laughter from Darius.
"Now, enough gawking at stone. Take us deeper. This is only a prelude to where he rests." Swain ordered.
The warmason moved forward, reaching a door depicting the Revenant's likeness on it. "We have yet to breach this chamber. It's sealed sh-".
The warmason was interrupted by the sound of stone grinding against stone. The door opened slowly, and the chamber let out an echoing sound, like a beast inhaling air after being held under water too long.
Within the chamber, several statues' eyes suddenly burned with witchfire, contrasting Swain's deep red light.
Darius gripped his axe. "...This doesn't feel right..." The grizzled veteran grumbled.
Swain looked at the door closely, and noticed symbols etched into the iron. "Mason, send someone to find a scholar who is well-versed in the language of Ochnuun." He said, running his demonic hand over the metalwork.
"This place reeks of magic, and not like any kind I've ever seen. Not even those things I fought during our failed campaign to take The Shadow Isles had magic like this." Darius stated.
"Those things possessed no magic, my friend. They were simply ethereal beings that do not abide by the laws of the living. This…" he said, tracing the symbols again, "This is Necromancy. An ancient and powerful form of magic. Mordekaiser enthralled the dead. He bent them to his will. What he killed would rise again, eager to kill for him. It's a wonder the Noxii defeated him." He explained.
Darius shrugged. "My point is, we should head back.".
Swain looked over his shoulder and smirked. "No knowledge ever came from running away from danger. Knowledge is power. Power changes everything." He said, walking into the crypt.
When he turned to face forward, a wave of terror washed over him. He felt the blood drain from his face as his eyes came to rest upon one of the most infamous weapons Runeterra had ever seen:
Nightfall.
Darius followed Swain, and when he entered, the same horror set upon him. Visions of brutality, death, and nightmarish deeds no living man should witness plagued them for what seemed like an eternity, before subsiding.
"...So it's true." Swain said, breaking the silence. He approached the mammoth weapon slowly, taking a moment to admire the solid form. "He does rest here." He continued.
Darius didn't respond.
Swain looked up from the weapon to find that he was now alone in the crypt. He looked around frantically for any sign of his friend, and the numerous soldiers who followed them.
...And then, Nightfall moved.
Raum's ravens had been whispering to him on his way here, warning him not to go in. The Bastion figuratively plucked out the eyes and severed the tongue of Swain's demonic patron. He still had magic, but that was all. No one to warn him.
Swain whirled around as he heard the mace scrape against the stone floor, and found himself face to face with the thing that built The Immortal Bastion. The thing that conquered nearly all of Runeterra. The man who refused to fade.
Mordekaiser. The Iron Revenant sat upon a throne of skeletal iron, a seat of death for one whom commanded it.
"Jericho Swain…" he said in a deep, timbery voice.
"I am not afraid of you, revenant." Swain stated, staring down the undead warlord. "You have no power h-".
"Oh, but I think I do." Mordekaiser said, standing up from his seat.
Swain had always been an imposing man, standing tall among his colleagues, nearly as tall as Darius.
Even with his height, Mordekaiser towered over him. The revenant was twice his size. "You enter my domain, and claim to be the one in control? You mortals never cease to amuse me…" he said, laughing, a sound that sent chills down the smaller man's spine.
"You're not here. You're dead." Swain stated, glaring up at Mordekaiser.
Again, the revenant laughed. "Indeed I am. But here you are. How can we speak, if I am dead?" He asked.
Swain paused. He looked around, and noticed that the crypt now looked blurred around him. "Welcome… to Oblivion.".
Swain was panicking, but he wasn't going to let Mordekaiser know that. "This is a trick. You cannot hurt me-".
Mordekaiser suddenly rushed forward, his hand wrapping around Swain's throat. He lifted the general off the ground and brought his face close to his own, eyes burning bright beneath his helmet. "But I can." He snarled. "I could break your spine right here, Jericho… but you have a part to play. Bring glory to your little nation. Take what you can… but remember where you came from.".
Swain couldn't say anything in response. He struggled to pry Mordekaiser's fingers off his throat, but it was hopeless. For lack of a better word, his grip was iron.
"You became Grand General because you sold your soul. A demon owns you… a demon I do not have a use for." He stated. "Continue your little games. King for king, queen for queen, pawns killing pawns… but remember this:".
"Resist or give in, your fate remains the same. You are mine.".