New short story! Finally an update to the Pentakill story!
Pentakill Part 2
Those were his songs. Requiems for the dead, requiems for the soon to be dead, he would sing. The Howling Marshes are a scarcely visited location. Not much was known about it, and no one dares to know more about it. They are home to various monstrosities and creatures from long forgotten eras, most notably that of Karthus. The Deathsinger, the Lich. His tower stretched to the heavens and was deceptively unguarded. No one dared venture into the Marshes, all that could be heard were the requiems constantly sung by him.
Large, metal boots imprinted the ground, exploding the gunk and mud that made up the marshes. They belonged to a giant of a man, a beast fully encased in metal. Mordekaiser, the Master of Metal, the King himself, was now in Karthus’ territory. Strands of blue hair floated down next to Mordekaiser’s helmet, he kept a woman in a sapphire blue dress propped up on his shoulder, holding her in place with his one hand while his other wielded his mighty Morningstar. A large leather strap stretched across his chest, attached to a large leather bag on his back.
The sounds of groaning an moaning echoed through the swamp. In a moment, dozens of undead rose from the shallow depths. This was replaced by hundreds now surrounding the Master. Mordekaiser looked about and took another step towards the tower, causing each necromantic minion to hurtle themselves at him. This proved to be useless, a shield of steel shards erupted from his body, slicing each foolhardy creature close to him into ribbons. The woman rested delicately on the shoulder, watching the shrapnel pass over her head by mere inches. She rested at ease on the armored shoulder.
Mordekaiser bellowed out in his deep voice, “Lich! The Master of Metal demands you grant him audience!”
The woman looked at Mordekaiser and pouted her lower lip. The iron man groaned and punctuated, “We intend no harm!” He glanced at the woman who smiled back at him and nodded in approval.
A deathly chilling voice filled their minds, “I will not grant you and you alone audience, oh great and most powerful master of gold. But…” The door to the tower swung open, the voice continued, “You said we. I am curious, bring her along.”
Mordekaiser stepped forward and pushed open the door. The moment he stepped through the door he was directly in front of the lich. The entire room was enveloped in shadows, anything that looked of interest quickly blinked out of existence. This was his realm now. The only source of light was from a single slit in the brick window. Dressed in flowing black robes that stretched across the floor, sanguine hems outlined his robes. The glowing eyes of the lich brightened, he mockingly bowed towards Mordekaiser and the aqua haired woman with golden ends, “So nice to see you in my home, Mordekaiser. Do not get comfortable.”
Karthus cricked his head upwards, his face in an eternal smile, “And you bring the Maven with you? How interesting! Have you claimed her soul, then?” Karthus raised a bony finger, “Do not answer that. Come, Sona Buvelle, show me why I should not have the both of you extinguished right now.”
Mordekaiser snorted and moved forward, only to have the robes of the lich bind him to the floor. Karthus glanced at Mordekaiser, “My house, my rules. You cannot hope to defeat me here of all places, ‘Master’. Do as I say, or I will sing you your requiem.”
Mordekaiser chuckled. He glanced at Sona and let her off his shoulder. Sona dusted herself off and walked around to the back of Mordekaiser. The sound of a zipper unzipping could be heard. A strange, metallic instrument was drawn out. A large bird skull decorated the front of it while the metal crested into metallic wing-like shapes. She slipped the straps over her neck and stood in front of the mighty lich. Karthus rolled his hand, “So? What do you wish?”
Sona strummed a few notes to Karthus. The lich’s unnerving glare did not dissipate, after all, it was hard for a skull to make any facial expression. “The point, please.”
Sona frowned and strummed a few, more aggressive notes. It was as if she was demanding him to do something. Karthus placed a bony finger against his chin, “It has been a while since I have bothered to listen to music. I forgot the reason until you started your playing. Your living aura is already disgusting me, we are done here.”
Sona played more notes, eerily, haunting to most except to Karthus. He nodded, “That is the melody of my Requiem. Do you seek death?”
Mordekaiser grunted, “She wishes for you to sing, lich.”
Karthus stared at Sona unnervingly, “Is that truly your wish?”
Sona nodded and strummed more notes. Karthus spread his arms and tilted his head back, “I was asked of many things in life, and in death. This shall be the first request I enjoy in centuries. Prepare yourself for death, mortal, this will be the last you feel the warmth of your soul ever again.”
Karthus started to sing. His song could rend entire teams of champions asunder, his voice was powerful enough to be heard throughout hill and dale, inviting death to all who heard it. He was Karthus the Deathsinger, and he sang his dirge of death. Karthus glanced at Sona, who was smiling at the lich. Her aqua hair slowly shifted to a brilliant sanguine color, her sapphire dress twisting into rich obsidian. She strummed her notes. They sounded more electric, more vibrant than before. Karthus did not stop singing his requiem. The longer he sang his requiem, the more deadly it became to those hearing it. On the fields he was allowed only a few verses, this time he would sing the full mass.
Sona played her notes to accompany Karthus’ requiem perfectly, note for note. A wild strum sent out twin sound waves, slicing Karthus’ robes that had bond Mordekaiser. The iron man rose to his feet, cracked his knuckles and held his right hand out towards the only source of light within the lich’s tower, a single slit in the brick. A crack of lightning raced through and struck Mordekaiser’s fist, the energy winding itself along his arm. Within moments, the energy stretched from hand to hand and formed a blood red guitar. Mordekaiser started shredding on his mighty axe.
Karthus’ requiem grew in strength from Sona and Mordekaiser’s playing. The lich was actually surprised. His song was meant to sunder the bodies and souls of the living and the dead, not to be aided by either. Karthus abruptly stopped singing, staring at Sona. He asked, “Why do you hasten your death, Sona? If you play much longer, my song will rip you and the tin man apart.”
Sona looked at Mordekaiser and strummed a few notes. Karthus snapped at her, “What is it you say, fleshbag?” Mordekaiser grunted, “You cannot understand her words, lich. You are no longer alive.”
“Your point being?” Karthus crossed his arms. Sona frowned and looked at Mordekaiser. The metal man sighed, “She wished to speak to you, because of your requiem. Your song, she has heard it on the fields many times. She wants you to join our band, Pentakill.”
Karthus stared at Mordekaiser, tilted his head back, and hoarsely laughed. His head snapped downwards, “Join a band? I am a lich, I am death incarnate. I sing for those who have died and are dying, my audience are all the legions of the ****ed. Why would you possibly think I would sing in a band? That is a stupid reason to seek death so earnestly. Get out.”
Mordekaiser looked at Sona and nodded his head. Sona sighed and bowed her head. She curtsied towards Karthus and gracefully stepped towards Mordekaiser. She played a few loose notes by mistake, this time Karthus could hear something. I only wished to help, his soul cries so. Mordekaiser shrugged his shoulders, “Maven. Come, let us leave.”
Karthus snapped his bony fingers, the two disappeared from his tower. Karthus shuffled over to a table, a large magical tome and crystal scepter rested there. He scratched his chin, “Now that? That is an interesting reason…very interesting.”
In giant, open space pavilion in Noxus, the stage was set. Mordekaiser stomped into view, raising his fist above the screaming fanatical audience. Slamming it into his guitar, he ripped out a series of chords that tore through them, making them beg for more. Mordekaiser raised his fist once more, lightning crackled and several explosions went off in consecutive order. Two lines of flame stretched to create a pathway, one that Sona gracefully walked down with instrument in hand. She readied her delicate fingers, and was about to strum a note when the audience screamed. A thick, heavy cloud of death fell over the entire crowd and stage. A commanding, hoarse voice bellowed, “MOVE!”
The crowd parted. Karthus, in all of his blackened glory, made his way through the audience. He was wearing an ivory mask this time, his hood drawn up over his face and his robes flowed a lot looser than usual. Mordekaiser swung his ax up on his shoulder, glaring at the incoming lich. Mordekaiser pointed at him, “What do you want, lich?”
Karthus cackled, “You interrupted me during my hours, I can do the same.” Mordekaiser raised a hand that crackled with ghastly energy. Only because Sona patted his arm did he not smite the lich where he stood. Sona looked at Karthus and motioned for him to come up on stage. “Buvelle, you truly are a fool seeking death.”
Karthus flung his arms open, his robes slid off his torso. He ripped the mask off, showing his skull was painted red with white tribal markings, and scant amounts of flesh clung to him. His long, silvery hair flowed down his back, his knuckles cracked with tendons and loose muscle. He was wrapped in leather straps on his chest and shoulders, dirty cotton bandages hung loosely off his forearms while his black robes made up the lower half of his body, held by a single skull belt. Karthus stretched his hand out, a microphone and a stand appeared out of thin air. Karthus looked at the crowd, “I am the Deathsinger, and I am now a part of Pentakill! Scream in despair, foolish mortals!”
The crowd looked at one another, somewhat confused. Karthus stepped forward and yelled a chant into the microphone, “HAIL! HAIL! PENT-A-KILL! HAIL! HAIL! PENT-A-KILL!” The crowd started chanting to the rhythm of Karthus’ chant, “Hail…hail…Pentakill. Hail. Hail. Pentakill. Hail! Hail! Pent-A-Kill! HAIL! HAIL! PENT-A-KILL! HAIL! HAIL! PENT-A-KILL!”
Karthus shot a look back at Sona, “Mortals are so easy to manipulate.” He snapped his fingers, “Now then, Maven, Mordekaiser, keep at a one eighty five tempo in four four time. Try not disappointing me.”
Sona smiled at Karthus and bowed towards him, strumming two notes, Thank you. Karthus looked back at the crowd and gripped the microphone tightly. Mordekaiser leaned over and loudly muttered, “Do not kill them, I need them to sustain me more than I need their deaths.”
“You worry too much, Mordekaiser…” Karthus adjusted the microphone a bit, “I know everyone who has ever died, I know everyone’s final moments, I know everyone’s final breath. Not one of these mortals are fated to die this day. I sing requiems because they are needed, I can sing other songs as well.”
Karthus pointed at Mordekaiser, “Start us off, use the aforementioned tempo and beat, and I will sing after a few bars in.”
Mordekaiser nodded and started strumming. Karthus snapped at Sona, ”Wait five bars and then come in, follow Mordekaiser’s lead, improvise as best as you can.”
The Master of Metal ripped into his guitar, wailing riffs out. Soon enough Sona joined him. Karthus tapped his heel on the ground, tilted the microphone forward, and sang in crystal clear pitch, for once, not his requiem or his dirge of death. He sang to commemorate the dead, rather than to lay the dead to rest. He sang in memorialization, reminding the living the past lives of those who came before, and all the while they screamed for more
The concert brought in far more people than the venue could hold, and it could be heard further than the boundaries of Noxus. It was said that even the Institute could hear the concert. No one was safe from the growing power of the greatest band.
A powerful voice, one chock full of centuries of blackened wisdom, screamed in the final throes of the concert,
“LET THE HEAVENS WEEP! LET THE PEOPLE MOURN THE LOSS OF THEIR INNOCENCE! LET HELL ITSELF CLAMOUR IN ENVY OF THE GREATEST BAND EVER CREATED! ALL! HAIL! PENTAKILL!”