Will edit tomorrow. Too lazy.
And she was brought back to those verdant fields, beams of super-heated energy searing overhead, cracking through the wind like electrified whiplashes. The proximity of the violent bolts was cause for concern, as Leona did not want to be incinerated. And so she heaved her emblazoned shield skyward. Shyvana’s flame-infused breath crashed into the steel with a loud clap. The flames appeared to engulf the Radiant one at first. So bright and strong was the blaze that Leona had to buckle down and hope that the shield provided enough protection. As the fire passed over the raised ridges on the perimeter of the plated steel, she could feel strands of hair getting singed clean off, leaving behind charred roots. Had she been less image-conscious, this infraction on her appearance might have been casually dismissed, but Leona cared about her appearance, especially while fighting on the Fields of Justice. After the strength of the fiery assault diminished, Leona ran her hand, gloved in red velvet and polished metallic webbing, through her hair while channeling a reinvigoration spell, a little trick she’d picked up from Luxanna. Beneath her fingertips the auburn strands underwent a self-repairing process. With her scalp now rid of burnt hair, she raised her Zenith Blade in defiance, a mocking gesture that caused Shyvana to clench her firsts in anger. The Half-Dragon focused her mind and crouched low as transmissions of devastating spellcraft were received via her Summoner. Shyvana was pleased at the cognisance with which her Summoner acted, and with a careful phrase and several shifting gestures she conjured forth a transformation that overshadowed anything Leona had seen during the entire match. While still crouching, jets of light seemed to shoot through Shyvana’s body, causing her to quiver and rise slowly from the ground. Her eyes became orbs of fire, and her voice cried out with revenant fury. It was a state of eternal glory, the right of a Dragonborn, encapsulated in a moment of untamed energy and beauty. Her limbs grew outward to produce sinewy wings stretching outward like a great sea-sail, and her skin formed upon in thickly layered scales reinforced with dragon blood. During this transformation, the ground surrounding Shyvana blew outward in a cloudy ring, causing Leona to shield her eyes from the projected grass and underbrush flying towards her.
‘Prepare to meet your doom, Leona!’ cried Shyvana in a voice that reverberated with draconic might, each words deep and resonating with the strength of a thousand winds. Leona appeared visibly stunned for several seconds, unable to support the thought of this ravenous beast unleashing havoc upon the field. ‘By the might of the Dragonborn, I will run you into the ground!’
Leona said nothing. She rearmed herself and prepared to meet Shyvana’s oncoming rush of fury. The dragon at first unleashed a barrage of incendiary blasts that shook the earth around the Illuminated one. Leona dodged a blast that nearly scorched the left side of her face. She felt the heat through her armor as a large flame-bolt flew past her before crashing into the ground and burning up all the vegetation at the point of impact. Without further delay, Leona recovered her senses and charged forward with her shield raised at the Dragon. The shield provided for her a temporary burst of magical resistance that flooded through her body, requisitioning the power of the sun to shield her person with pure, lighted resilience. Shyvana responded to this burst of fortitude by summoning forth a whirlwind of encompassing flame, turning the ground beneath her feet to scorched earth. Undaunted by the deathly flames, Leona projected a solar image of her sword, the Zenith Blade, that honed in on the Dragon, piercing one of its wings and pulling her towards it with a blinding quickness. The crowd erupted with jubilation as Leona crashed into the beast with the blazing disk of destruction still rending the air. In single moment of blurred motion, the fire splashed across Leona’s shield like a waterfall landing upon a tin roof. The image of the blade erupted in the wing with a flash of magical strength inflicting vicious tendrils of pain before dissipating into ember fragments fading from bright red to charcoal black, breaking off into the rotating inferno. Shyvana reeled from the blight of the attack. She let loose a throaty roar that penetrated the flame-licked surroundings. It was a howl so deep that Leona felt the vibrations rattle her armour, and it almost caused her to misstep. The Radiant Dawn was apt to regain her senses, and she struck down repeatedly with her sword while the effects of the charge took their toll on Shyvana’s, disorienting her for several seconds. Before landing the third strike, Leona shield-bashed the dragon with a force that nearly knocked her off her feet. Her winged arms became fully extended as she fought to rebalance herself as she recovered from the attack. Leona became caught up in the radius of the fire surrounding Shyvana, but due to her amplified resistance, very little damage was inflicted. Shyvana snarled in anger, her claws clutched into tight fists, trying to pummel Leona into the ground. Each fearsome strike was met with the reinforced steel of the Shield of Daybreak, but Leona was simply unable to block all the attacks, and with one strong punch, the ardent defender was hurled back in a bundle of flailing limbs and residual magics surrounding her in an invisible aura. She landed flat-faced on the ground not far the spot from where she initiated her charge, and was nearly knocked unconscious. In her draconic form, the forces of Shyvana’s attacks were exponentially more powerful. Feeling overwhelmed and disoriented, Leona felt the familiar Summoner intervention flooding her spirit, the bond strengthened by the ethereal connection traversing dimensional spaces unseen. She felt the connection in her mind becoming entwined with her motor functions, her magical abilities bolstered by the sheer mental aptitude of her respective Summoner. The instructions came as a veiled whisper, subliminal yet received with perfect clarity within the space of her mind. It was a state of entanglement by which summoners communicated with their champions, an instantaneous transmission relaying an impossibly dense stream of arcane data flowing freely at all times during League matches. She felt compelled to rise, to stand firm, and confront the dragon once more. With a strong gaze of utter contempt, Leona stared the half-dragon down, putting it in its place.
‘You will soon feel the wrath of the sun!’ she exclaimed. The dragon paid no heed to the verbal offence, and focused instead on launching another charged bolt of magical flame. Before the attack could reach her, Leona drew from deep within herself a wellspring of untapped power unlocked only with the assistance of her Summoner. After several moments her arms began to tremble as the power within her spilled over into the surrounding air, radiating outward like a blazing hearth consuming stacks of flimsy kindling. Her hands became too bright to discern from her forearms. Globular orbs of raw sunlight burst from her palms aimed skyward, her eyes glowed pure white. Her form became temporarily phased out from existence as the ancient Solarian ritual was whispered from her lips. And with each word uttered, the area around the two champions grew dark and silent. Particles of light energy branched off and rose towards the sky at Leona’s beck and call. Shyvana did not know what to expect, and she became frightened by the magnificent display of advanced spellcraft. For a moment, the sunlight was blotted out entirely, and then a pinpoint of fire appeared out of nowhere above the half-dragon. With a gentle manipulation, Leona drew outward with her arms and extended her fingertips, bringing the ritual to finalization. The pinpoint sparked out, and a massive column of light-energy spewed out of it in an instant. Shyvana was completely caught off-guard, and as the column descended upon her, she was blinded and unable to move. The crowd went wild as Leona’s ultimate attack split the sky and drove towards the earth with reckless abandon. Had Shyvana anticipated the strength of the attack, she might have avoided it entirely, but the light was so captivating that she had lost all sense of situational awareness. There was a brief moment of silence before the emblazoned flood consumed her completely, a serene vision of brilliance that came like the calm before a storm. The beam was packed with the energy of a solar flare, and when it struck, her surroundings were screened behind a veil of blackness. In truth, this limitation in sight came about because Shyvana’s serpentine eyes were disintegrated from being exposed to the crushing heat, as was the rest of her writhing form, leaving behind a smoking crater and not much else. Another cheer erupted from the spectators. Leona had slain Shyvana while taking barely a scratch, and her Summoner knew well the weaknesses to exploit.
‘This is what I call solar justice,’ she said plainly, getting the crowd to rally behind her words. The blue team was definitely pulling ahead now, and Leona’s recent kill emphasized this fact. There were few champions with the ability to take down a visibly stronger opponent in as little time as she did, but a combination of experience and quick thinking made up for it.
‘And here we have The Radiant Dawn delivering a catastrophic end to Shyvana, amazing!’ said the announcer, riling up the crowd further. Leona smiled to herself and continued to push ahead. A fresh wave of minions trucked up steadily behind her in an orderly fashion, their wooden shields and metallic helmets clanking noisily up the field. There were a combination of more heavily armed minions atop mechanized cannons rolling ominously along, and the foot-bound minions followed close-by. Leona had hoped for multiple waves of minions to take part in the assault on the bottom tower, but so far as her luck permitted this was simply too much to ask for. She walked ahead and set her sights on the bottom defence tower. An opposing wave of minions crashed into her, but she quickly overpowered the little beings. The scene became a haze of tattered blue robes and broken weapons. She struck down hard on one of the leader units with her Zenith blade, slicing clear through its miniature thorax. The shapeless form of the summoned being immediately dissipated as she stuck and its magical essence returned to the nexus from whence it came. The fighting was steady for several minutes, with Leona accompanied only by the purple minion wave, but it did not take long for another wave to follow up behind her. Behind the scenes, multiple novice mages focused solely on the task of summoning minions worked their spellcraft with inordinate ease. These mages were able to command entire waves of minions with inordinate ease, and like musical conductors they directed the minions to push the bottom tower in an attempt to break it down. As the group of purples, led by Leona, approached the gleaming ivory tower, a low hum began to resonate loudly from within it. The tower was in the shape of a massive gargoyle, and when enemy entities were detected nearby, a sentient power within the turret commanded it to retaliate. There was a ruby-encrusted scepter held aloft by the massive stone gargoyle built into the structure, and when intruders were near, the scepter became energised with concentrated firepower. At a certain time, the mechanism would violently erupt with prismatic bolts directed at the enemy team, and as the current tower now did so, the sacrificial minion ways scurried helplessly into the blasts of charged energy. Leona recognized that the sacrifice of the minions was necessary in order to make an advance on the structure, and she eyed it for weaknesses with a cold and calculating eye. As the bodies of minions burst into flame and virtually disintegrated all around her, she lunged forward at the tower, careful not to attract its attention. One false move on her part would result in gaining the tower’s attention, resulting in a quick death. The co-direction of her Summoner influenced her to remain at the tower, hacking and slashing bits as hard as solid rock from it, chipping it away slowly as one would hew a wood block. With each swing, her blade dug great gashes in the tower, and the minions continued to die all around her, and the remaining ones gathered at her feet to assist in the demolition. Despite the oncoming reinforcements, the wave of minions within which Leona used to shield herself from the merciless onslaught of the tower was quickly being destroyed, and it was up to her to inflict as much damage as possible before being targeted. No sooner had she renewed her assault than an opposing wave of minions approached swiftly through the mists and tangled bushes of the enemy lane. They pelted Leona with unrestrained fury, but the attacks were but a feeble nuisance. Her primary focus was devoted to bringing the tower down, and no amount of minions would get in her way. For good measure, she drove her steel-plated boot into the foremost minion, stomping it into the ground as it attempted to bash her with its shield. Leona scoffed in disdain at the pitiful attempt. As she reeled back for another strike, she heard a sound coming from the dark, densely laden woodlands to her immediate left. Her Summoner advised caution, but Leona continued to pelt away without consideration for the noises.
And from the depths of the jungle, the Wuju Bladesman leapt forward without warning. He wore upon his face an observation device that branched into multiple cylinders ending in jade-green lenses for additional visual perception. The Master moved only as a nascent blur - an inhuman quickness unable to be countered by those not learned in the ancient art of Wuju. Leona tried to brace herself against the Master Yi’s lightning blitz of melee swings, but the relentless Ionian too quick for her to respond. The multiple blows from his two-handed sword scraped across her golden breastplate, coughing out sparks and bits of sheared scrap as it separated the solid metal with ease. Before he had a chance to deal a third deadly blow, it was already clear that Leona was defeated. She fell to her knees, trails of blood weeping from her mouth. A moment later, she slumped hard to the ground in front of the Swordsman, landing flat on her face. Yi did not revel in his kills as other Champions did. ‘May the winds carry you to solitude and back,’ he said calmly. His ability to remain humble and collected in any situation was well regarded by League announcers and spectators alike, even if his opponents considered it arrogant. The Master wasted no time in dispatching the remaining force of enemy minions attempting to encroach on the turret, now badly damaged from Leona’s assault. The crowd was impressed by the swift defence of Yi, but it was well known that League matches in the Rift were won by destroying towers, and not by racking up enemy kills. Still, Yi’s penchant for accumulating kills was not to be overlooked, as his presence in team fights often turned the tide of battle.
Before the match could resume, custodial mages had to be deployed to specific locations on the field to clear up the discarded weapons and other items of fallen champions to prevent foul play. It was not a common occurrence that another champion would retrieve discarded items to enhance their personal power illegitimately, but such incidents had to be avoided at all cost. The most prominent case of item theft in recent history occurred when Gangplank of Bligewater retried from a fallen Talon and Renekton three Blades of Zeal early on in the match, resulting in such an unfair advantage that he decimated the opposing team no more than fifteen minutes after the game began. It was a horrible upset that lead to riots throughout Demacia, and Jaravan III himself had to be dispatched with a retinue of the Demacian Royal Guard to deal with the uprising. Since then, strict retrieval policies had been put in place by the institute. Even then, there were still attempts to cheat the system, especially for champions with stealth-like abilities like Evelynn and Teemo. Although the little Yordle was as honest as a Demacian cub-scout, his insatiable drive to win a match was unparalleled.
Soraka paired up with Master Yi to lead a frontal assault on the middle tower, and there were no enemy minions to impede them. Yi dived in with his sword slashing viciously, slicing clean chunks out of the foundation of the turret. Soraka channeled shard-like fragments of her vibrant inner spirit, converting them into powerful self-directed healing spells to regenerate her strength. Whatever tension and pain resided in her muscles was instantly released, and her mind became a focused plane of clarity as the healing spell took effect. Once it was over, she assisted Yi by hurling energy disks at the lonesome tower, each charged bolt searing the air and crashing on impact, cutting deep, damaging rivets into the structure. The combined efforts of the champions brought the tower down far quicker than was to be expected. After a few minutes of directed attack, parts of the turrets’ interior began to be exposed in the form of swirling purple energy shining through the cracks and seeping out in clouds of compressed gas. In some places, the pressure from within was so great that it parts of the outer casing began to bulge out and shift uncontrollably. Finally, the last hinges of integrity were removed as the Master bore down with one last swing. The exposed cracks rippled before the ammunition stores exploded violently, sending large fragments of gray slab in all directions. There was a burst of light accompanying the explosion, and within seconds the turret was reduced to a desultory pile of rubble, smoke still rising from it. The Starchild appeared content with the demolition. She stood, smiling, above the rubble, and gently touched Yi’s shoulder.
“We’ve accomplished much here, perhaps we should survey the bottom lane once more, and provide assistance if needed,’ Soraka said as she channelled a minor healing spell directed at her companion.
‘You’ll have to depart without me,’ said Yi, looking visible spent, ‘I must return to the nexus, as I am in need of wares.’
‘Do what you must,’ Soraka replied, ‘and meet me near the bottom riverbank when you’re prepared to do so.’ Yi raised his mask for a moment to make eye contact.
‘Avoid confrontation,’ he said. ‘Do not engage without me.’ The Starchild nodded, and proceeded to take off downstream towards the rendezvous point. Master Yi slunk into the shadows, and requested from his summoner the ritual of teleportation that allow for a base recall. Within moments, the spell began to channel, and Yi’s body was enveloped by glowing blue energy as the particles of his body were put into a state of suspended animation, disassembled, and redirected to the blue Nexus, referred to as the point of origin. Here, the particles were rebuilt accordingly, or at least that was the hope. There were times when accidents did happen. Fatalities occurred. However, it became a requirement of all League summoners to undergo extensive teleportation training before hitting the fields, causing the error rate to be cut down considerably. Luckily for Yi, his Summoner was very well experienced, and could, in some cases, perform teleportation rituals far more efficiently than others, allowing for decreased channeling times and not as much nausea when the ritual concluded. It was not uncommon for novice champions to experience a debilitating sickness for the first few teleports, rendering them inept for the rest of the match. This was often called ‘the shifts’, for one reason or another, but mostly due to the shifty nature of teleportation in general, and how it was known to wreak havoc on one’s immune system.
Sona looked at Janna, and a nod of agreement was made between the two champions. With a progressive strum of her Etwahl, Sona broadcasted an energetic hymn. Her music served to provide combat enhancements for both herself and nearby allies. When necessary, her tunes provided an offensive component, earning the ire and fear of enemy champions. Sona had become so adept with her Etwahl that few could resist enchanting splendour she produced with it, but all feared the devastation it wrought. Sona’s inability to speak made the connection with her summoner a much stronger one, as it was enhanced by magical telepathy. She glided seamlessly across the riverbank, and Janna, also airborne by several feet, followed closely by, her white majestic attire flowing sumptuously on the winds.
“Our forward tower was destroyed just now,” said Janna as she received the message from her summoner. Her eyes winced as she processed the thought. Losing a tower was serious business in the match, as each tower provided a first-line defence that, when removed, allowed for enemy advances to take place unhindered. Each tower brought down was more ground the enemy could potentially take advantage of, so that they could advance ever closer to the sacred Nexus – the main objective building in all League sanctioned matches of Summoner’ Rift.
“We should advance into the jungle, and cut off their reinforcements.”
Sona nodded in agreement, and the two champions glided across the water into enemy territory. With her delicate and beautiful hymns singing through the air, Sona provided for herself and Janna a boost of speed, allowing for further advancement with a swiftness that rivalled even the most mobile champions. The Maven of strings glided effortlessly, her aqua-blue hair, which faded into a mirage of vibrant yellow, whirled about as she moved. Sona could not communicate directly with Janna, but via summoner telepathy she was able to link important conveyances that Janna could interpret and follow. It was still far less difficult for Sona to simply follow Janna’s command and watch her movements. Even without a direct telepathic link, summoners that have fought alongside one another for extended periods of time often developed a extrasensory perception, where one could anticipate the movements and actions of the other. It was rare and exciting to witness a complete synergy between two champions, and this was a synergy that Sona and Janna were known to possess. It was as if they movements were entwined, their spirits reminiscent of phoenix-forms barrelling through ash-waste, breaking through on the winds, being carried to the coveted vaults of eternity, where the splendours endured for lifetimes, and the sea blazed red under the dying sun.
Janna fluttered graciously at the sight of Sona, who had made her way just in time.
‘You really do possess perfect timing, Maven of String,’ she said, still in awe of the fact that her presence was requested no less than a minute ago. Sona was apt to provide her long-distance telepathy to whomever was capable of receiving it, and often it fell to the job of the allied summoners act as her relays, but Janna was well attuned with the Maven’s thoughts. Without further ado, the pair of Champions progressed into the enemy jungle, not needing to take the necessary precaution of first scanning for enemy activity, as they knew that at least half of the enemy team was still in a state of resurrection. Moments passed where not a sound was heard as the pair of spell-casters glided noiselessly across the field and progressed upward once passing onto more stable land. The banks were dug deeply to allow for cover and obscuring movement, and there were multiple patches of long-grass present near the watermarks. It took months and even years of frequent summons for a champion to become fully acquainted with the terrain of Summoner’s Rift, and the most advanced champions were able to navigate the land with ease. Summoners were often more intimately familiar with all the niches and quirks of the field, and this foreknowledge helped to some extent, but ultimately the fog of war impaired a summoners ability to impart this knowledge. Tools existed that allowed for observational enhancements, such as specialized wards that boosted a summoner’s sigh on the field. These special items acted as secondary eyes for both summoners and champions alike, and the team that had wards was granted a significant tactical advantage.
‘I can see the lands up ahead,’ said Janna, with one arm raised to her sky-blue eyes, making a bridge across her forehead to block out the sunlight. Her lengthy gaze revealed enemy movement up ahead amid an oncoming wave of enemy minions, and without much thought it became apparent to her that a swift attack was necessary. ‘We must eliminate this threat before our position is revealed,’ she explained. Sona nodded in agreement, and plucked from her Etwahl a devious symphony that energized her for combat, and as well provided Janna with enhanced combat abilities. With renewed vigor, the champions descended upon the moving shadow ahead. The unknown champion was ruffling about unseen amidst a congregation of heavy ferns and dense tall-grass which shifted and swayed as the champion moved. Janna immediately spun forth a vortex of wind that sucked up loose earth, gaining more and more momentum as it developed. Under its own volition, the swirling wind rushed forward once it had attained a size capable of causing significant damage, and then it ripped across the grass with frightening speed. Sona stood and watched in awe as the powerful effigy of elemental air tore through the loose brush, tearing through plant life and tossing it in every direction without resistance. Janna smiled in satisfaction at her work, as the tornado crashed into the enemy location and revealed its occupant – Tryndamere, the barbarian king. The warrior was caught up in the whirlwind like a loose sock clipped to a clothes hanger. He had no time to avoid the attack, and within moments was airborne, shooting up into the sky in a state of complete confusion. He yelled, but his voice was masked by the torrents of wind circulating about his heavily muscled form, and as he went higher and higher, he began to physically prepare for the impending fall damage. Janna laughed as the barbarian crouched into a fetal position while still in the air. While Tryndamere was still mid-air, she whipped up another strong bolt of air energy, projected it from her staff, and gave the command for Sona to discharge her most potent barrage of deadly music. Before she could even process the command, the Maven was already strumming up a truly horrific arpeggio of devastation. The sound waves erupted from her instrument with such force and with such quickness, that their peak raced past Janna’s staff attack, and unloaded on Tryndamere with a crushing force that was impossible to anticipate or avoid. To add to the onslaught, the air disturbance created by Janna was laden with ear-splitting white-noise that knocked tryndamere back several feet after he landed flat on his face. Sona and Janna stood for a moment at his crumpled form, checking to see if they had fully incapacitated him or not. It was not uncommon for such a heavy barrage of synergy magic to render even the most stalwart champions disabled, but Tryndamere was a highly resistant champion, and was able to shrug off the majority of the attack somehow. Still clutching his ears from the pain of Sona’s sonic blast, the barbarian rose to his feet, slowly, and hefted forth his two-handed sword.
‘My blade thirsts for your blood!’ he bellowed, pointing at Janna. Apparently the whirlwind had annoyed him far more than Sona’s debilitating Etwahl, and so, with less than a moment of notice, he hurled his considerable mass at the hovering air-spirit, and attempted to decapitate her in one swing. With keen perception Janna anticipated the attack and glided effortlessly to the side to avoid it, causing Tryndamere to slice nothing but empty air. In anger, the Barbarian heaved outward with a grunt. The swing was so quick that Janna was unable to fully evade it. With a wall of force, Tryndamere’s blade sunk into her torso. It was quick thinking that prevented her from being cleft into two parts, as prior to the strike she had projected upon herself a powerful shied that was capable of absorbing minor amounts of physical damage. Tryndamere’s brute strength combined with the force of his hit made quick work of the shield, causing Janna to panic. Jets of blood wept from where the barbarian’s blade had struck, and as if acting on instinct alone, Sona quickly reacted by strumming from her Etwahl a song of serenity, providing for Janna a potent healing effect. Despite her injury, the Zaunite Air Avatar was far from incapacitated. In stride with her determination to stay conscious, Tryndamere was far from ceasing his onslaught. Though he was alone, his heightened combat abilities and fearsome weapon made it possible for him to fight multiple enemies at once. This caused many champions and summoners alike to fear him, and it was a reputation rightfully earned.
‘You!’ he exclaimed as Janna sulked away to recover from the wound. ‘Your trifling heals have annoyed me long enough!’ He shot Sona a steel, vicious gaze with his piercing blue eyes. Sona stood in fright as the barbarian singled her out. She wasn’t sure if she should retreat, or attempt to rescue Janna, who seemed to have vacated the premises altogether.
‘It looks like your friend has deserted you, bah!’ said Tryndamere, looking around as he spoke. He clearly showed no pity for the lack of teamwork exhibited by the casters, but it did not occur to him that he was being fooled all along.
‘If you only planned as well as you swung your sword,’ said Janna, who was now floating well above him, ‘then perhaps you would not be blinded by your own ignorance.’ His mouth now gaping in surprise, Tryndamere dropped his sword as Janna unleashed a gust so potent as to rip the skin from his bones. In all but seconds, the Barbarian king was sent off into oblivion upon an invisible stampede of wind-fury. The attack drained Janna so badly of her magical power that she sunk to the ground, gasping for breath, looking visibly exhausted. Tryndamere was knocked so far off the field, that his body was never recovered. Instead, the link between summoner and champion had to be terminated, and a new summoning ritual using his last known position was undertaken.
‘That Janna, always abusing her powers,’ said a random spectator from a bench in the middle of a crowded Zaun street. All available civilian space within the over polluted city was crammed with people from all walks of life. Shimmer junkies watched the League events from their drug dens beneath the busy streets, and their minds were turned to mush as the applied the mind-altering narcotic whilst League events were broadcast on their crystal screens. The city of Hextech evolution was well known for its technological extremes and exotic rituals of hedonism and necromancy, usually for the benefit of experimental science, but more often than not it was due to the pursuit of mindless self-indulgence. And the crystal viewer nodes were oversaturated with direct lines to the League of Legends transmission center, communication pathways flooded with indescribable bits of clandestine data traversing untold distances at rates rivaling the speed of light, enhanced by techmaturgical breakthroughs made possible by the dedicated visioscopic engineers in Piltover.
In reality, Tryndamere’s airborne form soon reached an impassable barrier along a system of virtually projected walls on the outskirts of the Rift, practically a void-zone, an out of bounds area not design to support biological forms in any way. As the fields of justice were contained within a bubble of alternate dimensional space, there was no way of accurately monitoring the location of those within. It was a place of haywire magnetics and impossible physical laws bending the underpinnings of the space-time continuum; activities considered child’s play to advanced summoners who would often pass the time by observing particle transmissions occurring across distances far too miniscule for the average person to observe. And this was the case across all of Valoran – Summoners dealing with boredom. They would go weeks, sometimes months without their requisite adrenaline rush gained by League battle participation. Alternatively
And then the sky died. Where there was brightness, sunlight, and cottony white clouds, there was now a flood of matte blackness consuming all colour, leaving all variations of shade muted, lifeless. A third spell-caster entered the arena, this one burning with the unknown energies of Icathia. It was Malzahar, clad in thick purple and blue robes, and he had by his side a mechanical companion skittering about on four limbs. Sona froze with terror.
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