In the northwest of Nashramae, atop a secluded cliff, stood a towering, secretive spire.
The top floor of the tower's room was packed with intricately arranged bookshelves, occupying what little space existed. Various styles of wooden scrolls, ancient yellowed loose pages, and numerous books adorned the room.
A figure, with skin resembling obsidian, and a stature of at least two meters, sat cross-legged in silence.
His visage concealed in the shadows of a tattered, robe-like hood, the entire person hunched forward, emitting occasional deep sighs.
As the night grew deeper, he slowly stood up. His legs, contorted into peculiar angles compared to an ordinary person, brought him to the window of the room. He gazed upward at the myriad of stars.
Astrology, a form of divination magic mastered by only a handful of magical geniuses.
His originally crimson eyes emitted a dark purple magical light. The splendid and colorful constellations in the sky abruptly transformed into a different shape in his eyes.
Suddenly, he noticed an anomaly in the star pattern, "...This is?!"
Extending a hand wrapped in bandages resembling a leper or a mummy, he gathered shimmering magical energy at his fingertips, forming a grand celestial pattern.
The cool breeze blowing in through the window dislodged his hood, revealing his complete wolf-dog-like countenance.
He was Nasus, the lost son of the desert, the Grand Magister who established and oversaw the Great Library of Shurima.
"The Ouroboros, the wheel of fate... Renekton, my brother, and Xerath..." Nasus inhaled sharply.
Before he could proceed with his divination, the constellation in the night sky suddenly changed again, and a beam of light shot from the heavens towards the central desert.
Shock flashed in Nasus's eyes, and his hoarse, deep voice couldn't help but exclaim, "This, this can't be!"
He rushed through the piles of books, pushed open the room's dilapidated door, and ran down the tower through the winding, crumbling stone stairs.
How many years had it been since he last ventured outside? Ten years, twenty years? Perhaps several decades...
He couldn't remember.
But the arcane mage with purple skin, dedicated to collecting the world's runes and sealing them away, Nasus remembered vividly.
How had his journey fared?
Shaking his head, Nasus dismissed the hazy memories of his past.
Now was not the time for such thoughts.
Nasus's crimson eyes squinted slightly, and he bowed his head, gazing into the distance.
There lay the center of the desert, the direction of the former imperial capital of Shurima—the Sun City.
Suddenly, a bloodline-connected palpitation surged through his heart.
Nasus couldn't hide the astonishment and joy in his eyes, "Renekton... you've actually emerged..."
But soon, his joy was replaced by profound worry.
Renekton and Xerath had lingered in the dark and sunless imperial tombs for thousands of years.
Was he truly still the same...
Before Nasus could ponder this for too long, a long-lost power rushed into his body.
He could feel his Ascended body bathing once again in the gentle and boundless sea of magic.
Nasus's expression became even more shocked, "This power... is from the Sun Disk!"
His fingers tightly clenched together, the joints crackling.
Standing still in the night wind for a long time, Nasus hastily returned to the tower. He took out a "staff" wrapped in cloth, its large top similarly covered in tatters.
The tower door, impenetrable to ordinary people, closed tightly. Nasus took a deep breath and walked towards the mountain's base along the winding and dilapidated cliff.
This time, he would not repeat the same mistakes.
...
...
In the distant northern polar region, amid the severe cold and piercing icy landscapes.
A monstrous creature, four to five meters tall, composed of crimson flesh, wreaked havoc in a small tribe of dozens.
"Yes, yes! Scream! Hahaha..."
The sword in his hand, a bladeless giant sword, seemed like a corrupted and fallen demonic entity. Its sharp edges, the same color as obsidian, were like the incarnation of a demon, stained with blood.
In the center of the sword's body, an orange-red evil light emanated. At the connection point between the hilt and the body, a core resembling a heart pulsed rhythmically, resonating with the entire sword body.
The wails, cries, and roars were incessant.
Yet, he reveled in it all—enjoying the slaughter and the pleasure of enhancing himself by absorbing flesh and blood.
"I am Aatrox, the ender of worlds!" He raised his hand, simultaneously unleashing a maniacal laughter. His imposing aura seemed capable of shattering mountains and rivers.
"You demon! You will face curses! The mighty mammoth won't spare you!" A warrior, crushed under Aatrox's foot, uttered his final curse.
"Mammoth? Hahaha!"
With a slight force from Aatrox's foot, he crushed the warrior's bones, absorbing his flesh and blood into the crude imitation of his Ascended form—struggling to regain the glory of his ascension.
"Your gods fear me!" he sneered disdainfully.
His crimson eyes then shifted towards the tribal totem altar, where five priests were summoning the spirit of the mammoth.
"Or else, why haven't your gods appeared yet?" Aatrox sneered.
He raised his giant sword and leaped forward, swiftly cutting horizontally with the obsidian-hard blade. In one fluid motion, he claimed the lives of the five priests, absorbing their blood and flesh into the giant sword.
"Not enough... still not enough! This bit of flesh won't sustain this form for long."
Aatrox's eyes flashed with a bloody hue as he muttered, "Yes, a few years ago, I seem to have left behind a qualified vessel, perhaps a leader of some tribe? It's time..."
Before he could finish, an inexplicable palpitation made him abruptly halt the massacre.
"This... what is it?!"
Ignoring the few survivors who were already scattering, Aatrox turned his head abruptly, looking towards the distant south.
"The Sun Disc... Shurima..."
...
...
In the treacherous waters, in the southernmost province of the Ionian Islands—
A man with silver-white hair and deep purple skin walked on the moonlit desert plateau.
The heart area on his chest flickered with a purple magical light, shimmering with the beat of his heart.
In his hand, he gripped a uniquely shaped longbow made of an unknown material, seemingly fused with his left hand, and lacking a bowstring.
His eyes, with only whites visible, were exceptionally icy, as if a mere gaze could pierce through with countless arrows.
"Where are you going, Varus?" echoed the voice of a young man in his mind.
Kai?
Or maybe Valmar?
Varus often couldn't distinguish between the voices of these two individuals.
Two years ago, in the temple of Pallas, he used blood magic to occupy the bodies of these two Ionian hunters, avoiding Noxian soldiers.
Yet, this couple's willpower was so strong that not even his past as a divine warrior could suppress them.
Their souls could not be extinguished...
Now, they had become a trinity of existence.
"We can't leave Ionia, Varus." Another man's voice sounded, "Our parents are still here..."
This should be Valmar's voice?
Varus shook his head, ignoring their questions and objections, heading directly towards the western coast of the City.
According to the memories of these two hunters, there should be ships there to sail to Shurima.
In general, these two mortals were unable to seize control of Varus's body.
Except for certain special circumstances, such as when he wanted to kill innocents, and they would vehemently resist.
"Why do you want to go to Shurima?" Valmar couldn't stop him, but asked with helplessness.
"I've said it many times," Varus's words carried no emotional undertones, "I want to find my compatriots and resurrect them."
"Resurrect like you devoured us? We won't allow such inhumane actions." Kai vehemently opposed this unnecessary slaughter, trying to stop Varus's steps.
"You can't stop me, nor can you..." Just as he spoke, Varus's steps suddenly paused, a look of uncontrollable astonishment on his face.
"What... what is this?!"
Despite the few voices buzzing in his head, Varus resumed his cold and indifferent expression, continuing his brisk stride forward.
"What's going on? Why can't I stop him?"
"Kai, I can feel our control over our bodies weakening..."
"That's impossible! Weren't things fine just now? Varus, what have you done?"
Varus chose to ignore the annoying voices in his head.
The Sun Disk had re-suspended itself over the Shuriman Empire.
Regardless, I must go back.
The empire must have a way to release me from being sealed in these weapons!
Yet...
For those as sinful as us, do we have the right to plead for forgiveness from the empire?
Varus's steps became unusually heavy.
...
...
In an undisclosed underground tomb in Noxus on the continent of Valoran.
A scythe, sealed by countless chains and arcane magic on an altar, suddenly opened its crimson single eye at the corner.
"How long have I slept..." A low, dark, and hateful voice slowly emanated from the scythe, echoing in this vast underground space.
No one answered his question, and no one could answer.
"Sigh..." The scythe sighed heavily, "My once most handy and trusted companion, now imprisons me in this endless dark underground, subjecting me to eternal torment..."
Suddenly, the scythe let out a deafening roar:
"I refuse! I am Rhaast, the great divine warrior! I once saved the world, how can I be trapped in this endless darkness, enduring this eternal torture?!"
In the space, the echoes of the roar gradually subsided.
After an unknown period, the single eye at the corner of the scythe couldn't help but close again, accompanied by a final sigh of helplessness:
"Shurima..."
(End of this chapter)
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