Aethelos Pain and Blood

The silhouette in the fog took a step forward. The voice came out low, loaded with old hatred. · “A Vindicari on Noxi land… is a dead Vindicari.” · Nayb felt the weight of those words. In the eyes of the man in front of him there was more than combat hostility. There was accumulated rage. The rage of an entire people. · “So you’re one of them,” Nayb answered, his light aura flaring around him. “The rebels.” · Zakrom smiled sideways, shadows stirring at his feet. · “Rebels is the name you give us. We only want what has always been ours.” · There were no more words. · The battle exploded in the middle of the fog. · Zakrom attacked with brute force and dense darkness. Nayb answered with precision and absurd speed. Every blow from the Noxian was read, dodged, or broken. It was as if Nayb had been born for this — his body moved before thought, light cutting through shadow as if it already knew it by heart. · Within minutes, Zakrom was already bleeding from the mouth. Nayb sidestepped a final attack of black roots, shot forward in a straight line, and landed a clean punch to the opponent’s stomach. Zakrom dropped to his knees, breathing hard. · Nayb stood over him, light still glowing in his fists. · “Who is your leader? · And why are you attacking?” · Zakrom lifted his head with effort. Blood ran from the corner of his mouth, but his gaze did not yield. · “I would rather die… than live on our knees under your government.” · Nayb opened his mouth to answer. · He did not get the time. · “Black Explosion!” · The voice was feminine, clear and cold. · A black explosion burst at point-blank range. Nayb only managed to cross his arms in front of his body. The impact tore him off the ground and hurled him through several trees. The fog trembled. The air filled with soot and residual power. · When he managed to stand, his vision was still shaking. · Zakrom was no longer on his knees. A woman stood beside him, helping him up. Dark hair, firm posture, black aura still fading from her hands. Even through the fury and the pain, Nayb had the same involuntary thought: · She’s… beautiful. · She looked at him for a second. There was no fear in her eyes. Only determination. · “You can still stand,” she said. “Then it’s not over yet.” · Zakrom spat blood and laughed low. · “Careful, Nayb Cari. · She is not like me.” · The fog seemed to thicken once more around the three of them.