2 Prologue II

The boy pulled back the bowstring till his hand neared his chubby cheek. His golden eyes locked onto a frantically writhing figure in the distance strapped to a wooden stake. The harsh breeze of chilling air briefly calmed down, and his crimson hair stopped billowing in the wind.

He fired. The stability in his eyes was proof that he had repeated this same action several times since birth.

The arrow whistled across the forest and embedded itself in one of many heavily emphasized weak points on the target's body.

"Boy, why do you insist on aiming for the head," Vladmere said through gritted teeth.

"No suffering," Alaric responded with a smile.

"What does it matter whether it suffers or not? As long as it dies…"

"Mother said it is better to be efficient and cause less pain," He interrupted proudfully, his tone leaving no room for persuasion.

'Stupid bitch keeps getting in the way!' Vladmere thought, clicking his tongue.

Vladmere looked up into the sky as distant rumbles of thunder reached their ears.

"Go home and prepare. Tomorrow you face your first battle."

"Yes, Father."

Alaric strapped the bow over his chest and disappeared in a burst of speed, leaping from tree to tree with agility unfitting of a child his age. Suddenly halting at the sound of a bird chittering away inside a tree hollow to his left. His eyes lit up with curiosity as he peeked.

What he found was a small and chubby blue bird with a broken wing.

The bird fell into despair as it found itself under the gaze of the boy, its cries turned frantic and panicked as it attempted to take off. However, before it could further injure itself Alaric had already cupped it gently in both hands, leaving only its head exposed from between his thumbs. His eyes sparkled with excitement and a smile snuck its way to his lips.

He giggled as he rushed home. Further increasing his pace as a cobbled house came into view. Giving the door which had opened by itself no second glance as he entered the house. His cloak and bow were removed by what seemed to be a pair of magical hands leaving him with only his leather armour.

He burst into the kitchen.

"Mom! Look what I found," Alaric whispered, so as to not agitate the little creature as he presented it to her.

Ella smiled at the sight of the poor animal looking in her direction in fear.

"I see you've brought back quite the bountiful hunt Alaric." She chuckled, caressing its little head with her finger.

"I want it to be my partner!" He whined, cupping it protectively to his chest.

"Oh? Is this the second coming of Avarosa I've heard so much about?!" Ella exclaimed, a teasing smile on her face.

"Mooom! I'm a boy, like [General Sion]!" He proclaimed, puffing his chest.

"Ah yes, the mighty [General Alaric] and his imposing Blue Chickadee…"

…

The [ Legion General ] marched, and following close behind were two wizards. Both holding identical wooden staffs with a crystal ball embedded at the tip, a revolving cloud of multicoloured energy sealed within.

Each time they tapped the ground, like an old man supporting his weight, the waist-level piles of snow parted to make way for the army.

Six years had passed since their first expedition, they had lost many brave men and women to the north. Be it by the hands of the vicious tribes scattered throughout the snowy landscape or the cold constantly gnawing away at their endurance.

"August... There is an unknown group of what seems to be warriors ahead. They number around 206, 75 armed with crossbows and a few petricite-tipped bolts, 100 armed with enchanted shields and swords, 20 armed with a claymore, 10 holding various strange weapons emitting a chilling cold, and a child no older than 6, I assume," Says the wizard to the right as he projects the terrain and arrangement of the units.

August examines the map with a frown on his face. Placing his helmet back on his head and drawing his longsword. He breathed in deeply, the cold air staving off his exhaustion.

"We need to look into their methods of information gathering when we set up camp," He growled, "You know what to do."

The old wizard caressed his grey beard, his fingers undoing several knots. He looked at his apprentice observing the conversation and gave him a nod. The apprentice pointed his staff above the army marching behind them, firing several strings of light attached to the closest troop's forehead. They both watched as the string slowly branched through each head until it reached the rear and by the time it had, there was a massive yet quiet change in their formation.

"Full marks." He chuckled with a warm smile o his face.

"Thank you, sir." His apprentice replied, secretly swelling with pride.

( On the other side of the soon-to-be battlefield )

Alaric looked around at the warriors with stars in his bright golden eyes. Burning with so much passion and excitement they were visible through his helmet's face covering.

"I believe you're finally ready for your first battle," Vladmere smiled. "I was no older than 5 when I joined my first raid. However, your mother is adamant about turning you into a defenceless lamb…"

Ignoring his father's "Poisonous Rants", as his mother called them, choosing to draw a thick sword from the short pommel strapped sideways to his lower back. The blade was half his size and weighed around 20kg.

"Father, why can't I use my sword?" He asked curiously, after all, his sword was light as a feather and it got all shiny when he swung it.

To prove his point he swung the hunk of metal in his hands twice. It didn't glow, nor was it weightless. As proven by the lag in his second swing.

"Because your sword is enchanted. And it would be stupid to get used to fighting with a weightless weapon when you could one day find yourself without an enchanted sword available." He explained.

"But-"

"Shh."

With a disgruntled pout, he nodded and stared into the distance. Sinking into thoughts of his ambitions, he had already promised himself that he would stand on the same pedestal of legends such as [General Sion], [The Deceiver], and [The Crimson Reaper]. If he couldn't reach it through sheer battle power and endurance. He would be a mysterious power that no one could fully grasp or even a leader of a rapidly growing cult.

A strange whistle in the air snapped him out of his dreams, Alaric looked up in search of the source. Seeing the usual cloud of spiralling snow that covered the skies, he turned to his father in order to get some clarity. Only to find the man had vanished without a trace.

The itch in his ears became more pronounced with every second.

There was an odd calmness in the air as the soldiers, gathered from several local tribes, trudged through the terrain.

Alaric found himself jumping back instinctually with an unnatural agility right as the noise reached the peak of its volume, a cacophony of clinks, crunches and explosions shattered the silence in the air. What followed was a bout of pained groans and thuds.

Something bloomed from this right foot, a sharp and painful feeling. He jumped away again in a panic, trying to escape whatever bit his foot. However, instead of leaping away like usual, he ended up falling limply.

Now, half-buried in the snow, he began to feel dizzy. Bile rose to his throat and a strange weakness slithered up his leg and began spreading its strange pressure throughout his skin. He felt like his body was slowly sinking to the depths of a lake.

Slowly sitting up, removing himself from the chilling embrace of the snow. Alaric directed his attention to his leg, barely able to decipher the arrow piercing his foot as the world spun violently.

It took him a while to complete his thoughts. His surroundings began to blur out. At this point, he felt like he had been chained to the depths of a freezing lake. Every muscle in his body stiffened up in resistance to the oppressive sensations.

Then the pain worsened ten-fold, shocks travelling up and down his spine while tears prickled his eyes for the first time in a while.

"BOY!" He heard from behind, snapping him back into reality.

A strange feeling rippled throughout his skin, his body performing an instinctual movement with every ounce of strength it could gather.

Somehow managing to avoid the quickly approaching halberd by a hair's breadth, much to the horror and shock of the perpetrator. He drew a dagger from his thigh and thrust it into the closest target with rough and clunky movements lacking the usual savagery and dexterity.

*Clang*

'What's happening to me?!' He thought to himself in a panic.

All he could do was watch as the butt of the halberd buried itself in his stomach and a massive blade split the [Noxian] soldier in half.

He bathed in the warm liquid pouring down from above, into his mouth and eyes. A potent taste of iron invaded his mouth.

All he could do was watch, as he was gripped by the head and lifted into the air. A very familiar callous hand exerted skull-crushing strength, making his head pulsate painfully. The withering gaze of his father was harsher than ever, making him feel vulnerable.

"Is this all you're worth as a warrior-? No... You can't even be called a warrior." He growled.

The boy slurred out a few unintelligible words.

"Let's make this a learning experience. Shall we?" He smirked.

Cranking his arm all the way back and performing a gentle throw in the direction of the clashing infantry. Watching indifferently as his child was sent flying back first into the frontlines.

Time slowed down as the father and son locked eyes.

'Why?' Thought Alaric.

Vladmere watched as the emotions in those golden eyes shifted from dazed surprise to vivid betrayal and... Indignant rage. A crooked smile tugged at his lips when golden flames burst into existence around Alaric's body.

'This should help him progress.' Vladmere thought to himself, as he turned his unperturbed gaze towards the man shouting orders from the enemy rear.

As if feeling his gaze, the General stared right back for a moment. The smile turned into a full-blown grin as he ripped his greatsword from the corpse of the weakling he had killed before. He breathed in deeply, letting the fresh air of the north fill his lungs.

"RAAAAAAAAAARRRGHH!" He screamed as he rushed into the heart of the ongoing battle with a manic grin on his face.

His rallying cry was quickly piled on by the other members of the tribe hurling themselves against shield and spear. His blade ripped through flesh and steel alike. Sending limbs, armour shards and shattered weapons flying into the air.

Gripping a lucky soldier who ducked on instinct by the head and crushing it mercilessly, chuckling as flesh, bone and blood alike escaped where they could.

An archer in the distance pointed in his direction, only to have the crumpled helmet thrown in his direction so hard that lodged itself deep into his face.

...

The commander observed 20 berserkers, led by the man he noticed earlier. Rip and tear through his frontline, quickly approaching the elite squads with no more than 7 losses.

"Marauders! Intercept the enemy berserkers! 2:1!" He called out.

'Hopefully, they'll manage to create some balance...' August coldly thought to himself as the wizards slammed their staffs onto the ground.

The ground trembled as multiple spikes rose and pierced through the enemy infantry, he could count 47 dead and 14 injured. A volley of strangely shaped arrows flew in the direction of the sorcerers. Blocked by a squad of heavily armoured giants (2-2.5m tall.), they should win this battle if everything goes according to plan...

Atlan, the leader of the marauders, clashed with the leading tribesman. Trying to manoeuvre around the claymore's disadvantage, he danced around every slash and thrust with impressive dexterity. His second-in-command occasionally slashed at the enemy's openings, it worked like a charm as evidenced by the several nicks bleeding profusely on the man's body.

He stepped back just in time to dodge an exhausted slash.

'An opportunity!' He glanced, quickly closing in and burying his axe deep into the target's liver.

Grinning as he watched his partner in crime perform an overhead slash that stopped halfway down Vladmere's chest. That grin never left his face, even as Vladmere's eyes lit up in a magmatic orange, molten veins bulging in his massive arm as he grabbed Atlan by the neck and ripped his head and spine out of his torso with a sickening wet crackle.

"Wha-" The other pest uttered as the massive blade sliced right through his opened mouth.

The wounds on his body stopped bleeding, his swordsmanship gained a drastically increased ferocity. With every step he took, he could imagine himself beheading the commander more vividly. Even as red lightning persistently struck his body, burning his skin as it skipped throughout his flesh.

Meanwhile, the commander watched as a single squad of 20, now 6, berserkers ripped a hole in their formation.

August was counting his losses, he could win... Yet the sacrifices would leave his army completely demoralized. Not to mention the [ Ice-born ] standing at the high ground like they own the place. Likely waiting for him and the more powerful squads to engage in the battle and trigger whatever trap they have planned.

"Octavius, collapse the terrain. Allen, call the retreat as discreetly as you can." He whispered.

The wizards nodded, the master seamlessly jumping from his previous chant into a new one while the apprentice paused for a few seconds before casting the very same spell from before. Except the light was significantly dimmed to the point he could barely trace the trajectory.

August burned two figures into his mind, the boy and the berserker...

His eyes traced the burning child weaving throughout his infantry, multiple bolts were buried in his legs and back. The flames clearly held some strange magical properties, his daggers sliced through iron armour as if it were butter. The flames wrapped around his body caused all weapons to melt upon contact, leaving him immune to normal means of combat.

At some point in the battle, he watched as the boy threw his flame-clad sword all the way to the rear where it was buried into the stomach of the crossbowman. Burned to ash and charred bone before he could even scream...

'I hate foreign magic.' He sighed.

...

Alaric growled as he wrapped his legs around the neck of a nearby retreating soldier. The daggers in his hands buried into his opponent's eyes, eliciting a desperate scream as their face melted away.

Leaving nothing but a headless body and a black skull covered in molten metal rolling across the snow. Ending another life just in time to watch a tide of earth crashing down in his direction with no signs of stopping.

*Tremors*

He glumly watched the mix of trees, rocks and dirt crashing down from above.

Too tired to light the flame of rage a second time. The image of his father tossing him to his death etched deep into his mind, alongside the faces of those he killed.