Somewhere, across the depths of time and space, across the ether of dimensions, a song was playing. A more proper backdrop for this battle, there was not.
Originally Posted by Ask Jarvan IV
Riven's sword slammed into Jarvan, the tip briefly finding purchase in the split made earlier, tearing down his chest for a a foot, the cuts forming a misshapen cross on his chest. The impact knocked the shortsword from Jarvan's hand and it clattered noisily onto the stone floor as Jarvan continued forward. Reaching the standard, his feet hit the ground and he slid back away from the standard, finally coming to stop *** feet back. Hefting his lance over his shoulder once more, he turned to face the Exile.
He had been hit hard. His head hung, face shadowed. Blood dripped steadily from his wounds, hitting the ground and pooling beneath him. His breathing was strained, ragged. One would think him a man on his last legs. That thought would be cast off instantly when he looked up.
His eyes were fixed on the warrior rushing at him, clear as day and burning with defiance and determination. They flashed to the standard for a moment, locked on the Demacian flag fluttering in the breeze before returning to Riven as she drew near. For the sake of those who looked to him, those he stood to protect, he could not lose. The thought shined in his eyes, and burst forth onto the battleground, fierce and unrelenting, as the prince let loose a scream that sounded nearly inhuman, seeming to shake the arena as it came out in one single word as he leapt at her.
The fires of the underbelly of Noxus were fierce. They burned hot, belching black smoke into the sky from endless sources as the Noxian War Forges churned and produced the strongest weapons in all of Noxus. From this burning cauldron of might, a blade was forged from the mighty material known only as Blackstone. So rare was this ore that almost the entire supply from a single exclusive merchant was used to forge one sword. The material was all but unbreakable. So strong was it that magic itself was used to shape the stone into a blade, as no amount of heating and hammering with a traditional forge could chain it to its will, and more still was used to infuse it with a mighty enchantment; to harness the very willpower of the wielder and bring it against those that would stand against him. For weeks the weapon was crafted by the most talented weapon-smiths of Noxus. It was the only one of its kind ever produced, and as such, upon the commissioning of the weapon, it was deemed that the weapon, a truly massive and iconic blade, only be given to the strongest spirit of Noxus, to carry on her might into battle.
From the depths of the Noxian slums, against all odds, a girl, believed to be an orphan, had trained for years with the best instructors the military could offer her. She fought to master a form of combat that many deemed hilarious and outlandish. The tiny thing desired to wield a blade nearly as large as she was. Despite the jeers, the girl had persevered. Her determination flew in the face of all logical expectations. She trained night and day, slept only when exhaustion took her body and will from her. Over time, the girl grew into a young woman, and with this growth, she bloomed into the single most beloved symbol of the Noxian Ideal. To be strong, to show others that she was capable of overcoming any doubts placed upon her, no matter the cost to herself. The single little girl, raised by the military, raised by Noxus itself, grew to be capable of fighting and defeating warriors with twice her experience, and could easily take on uneven odds, and come through victorious.
And then, she was called to the home of a Noxian General. There, the general, surrounded by others from the High Council, bestowed upon her the mightiest blade ever forged by Noxian hands, a Blackstone Runeblade. From there, it was decided that the girl would take command of a company of troops, train with them, learn their strengths, and then, head overseas to battle in Ionia...
The rest was known.
The destruction and devastation the young woman was forced to endure changed her in every way one could imagine. But the one thing that remained among it all, despite all that had happened, was her ferocious willpower, and her determination, and as Riven charged toward Prince Jarvan Lightshield the Fourth, there was nothing but steadfast resolve flowing through her veins. Her eyes burned with a mighty green glow.
As the man shouted, so did Riven, as she charged her blade with quite literally everything she had. As the prince descended, he would descend into a storm of emerald green arcs of power. The downward force and golden light of the lance was intercepted by the full might of Riven's runeblade and a truly massive erupting burst of her Ki Strike, the full might of the weapon slamming home with every ounce of vitality Riven had left in her body. The Prince wanted to fight all that Riven had? He wanted to try and test her willpower against his own? He would get every single ounce of it, with nothing held back. Nothing.
The blade's runes burned with a light so bright it was all but blinding, as and the power of Jarvan's lance pushed forward, the prince would see the mighty weapon begin to crack, green light erupting from the spider-webbing fractures. The ground beneath Riven's feet cratered with the force of the Prince's blow, his Cataclysm striking with all the thunderous force that was expected, the arena of rocks forming a barrier that most could not escape without summoner intervention. But in the middle of it all stood Riven, lacerations opening upon her body as her own power tore her apart from the inside out, the bones in her legs all but fracturing from the strain, even despite her blade's attempts to keep her upright, all to prove a point to the Demacian Prince.
She was not just some rookie upstart that he could crush with his seemingly invincible might. She was the hope of a nation, just like he was. She fought to change everything, and bring true strength and wisdom to a homeland she loved, despite how black it had become. Few could say they loved Noxus as much as Riven, and even less could claim they loved it more than she did. And as the prince watched, Riven's blade crackled with all her remaining power as she swung it, a massive maelstrom of green erupting from it as she unleashed the maximum power of her Wind Slash at close range against a no doubt stunned Prince.
With all the strength of a hurricane condensed into a single slash, pushed onward by Riven's own will, the strike would aim to slam into the prince with, everything... Never before in an arena fight had Riven actually aimed to hit anyone with the full power of her ultimate ability for fear of killing them. However, if anyone could take the full might of the strike, it would more than likely be the Prince. The force was so massive that Riven herself would not be capable of standing as it completed its unleashing, and regardless of the result of the attack, regardless of the power of the Cataclysm, Riven would be thrown backwards, a sickening wet crack sounding as her all but lifeless body was thrown into the very rock walls the prince had created with the force of his blow, a messy red stain decorating them
Riven's blade was utterly destroyed by the power she had unleashed, leaving only the standard remnant in its place. Her white tunic was completely covered in stains of red, and a trail leaked out from her mouth and onto the ground, staining the arena floor in a crimson shade. Her breathing was nearly non-existent. Her vision was dark, blurry. She had given her all to try and defeat the prince. Everything. The outcome at this point was irrelevant. Her body was battered and broken. Her legs were effectively shattered, as well as her entire ribcage. Shock alone seemed to dull the pain from the multitude of skeletal injuries, and the host of internal injuries to her vital organs. To top it all off, she was certain she had a severe concussion. The only thing that moved were Riven's golden eyes, slowly trying to make sense of her surroundings, along with the very uneven attempts for her to breathe with shattered ribs, and a pierced lung.
If Jarvan was not defeated, it didn't matter. Riven was in no shape to claim any sort of victory, other than a personal one for not standing down, and for facing the full might of the prince with, literally, everything she could offer. She merely wondered...had she done enough...?