(Note: This does get a little dark by the end, so if that bothers you please do not read.)
(Also, I haven't written in a very long time, so please, any constructive criticism is welcome. If people want, I will continue to write the story of the Xin that wasn't saved.)
I have wondered what would happen if the lore was changed ever so slightly, Xin Zhao a staple to the Demacians was saved from gladitorial combat in Noxus.
Here is my take on what may have happened had that timeline not came to be.
He stood in the middle of the coliseum, breathing steady and even. How much of this must he endure? Did he have the will to go on? The crowds screams growing louder in anticipation of the coming battle. He looked to the gates behind which three hundred men stood waiting to come forth and battle him. Most of them were fresh out of the academies, but there were a few who wore the scars of veterans.
"Open the gates!" screamed a booming voice, the words rang throughout the arena.
The gates inched up, the competitors were readying themselves, some gripping their weapons tighter, and gritting their teeth. Others the fear was evident in their eyes.
The gates hit completely open and the mass of enemies moved toward the current record holder, who was still standing spear point in the sand, looking as calm and relaxed as ever, eyes scanning over all of them. Planning his attack quickly, carefully all of his moves had to be extremely calculated with this many opponents.
They fanned out as the exited the tunnel that led them to the sand filled pit, many feeling overwhelmed by the screams that still filled the arena. Circling their prey like a pack of wolves they began to inch in slowly, steadily advancing in.
Eyes closing ever so slowly, the crisp dry air of the arena filling his nose. The smells of the dried blood that has filled this ground seemed to fill his soul. Exhaling in a steady manner. His eyes opened quickly, it had begun.
He dashed forward seemingly appearing at his destination rather than running there, his spear spinning quickly. Two men died right there, throats slashed from the end of the spear, a few more wounded but not fatally.
In a quick response the men in the direct vicinity began to swing wildly at the man who was now right against them. Moving to the left and the right dodging the attacks, he gripped his polearm tightly. Stabbing a man through the chest then pulling it back with violent force, he thrust again, this time impaling a man's stomach. Once more he thrust but this time as he went through the man's chest he launched him in the air. Blood covered him and anyone that was withing five feet.
He winced as he felt a hot sensation slide down the side of his body, he had let his guard down and someone had gotten through. He knew better than to let his offensive mindset get the best of him. They had all closed in around him. Swinging his spear in a wide arch leaning backwards so he could hit in a fill circle. Bodies violently ripped apart through sheer force, others because the blade had severed them in half. Everyone being thrown back.
Dispatching many more while they were caught off guard, he know stood facing the last two, his body was burning from the wounds that he had sustained. He let out a feral roar and charged at the two. One turned to run but he thrust his spear forward and severed his spine. The last he thrust at with astonishing speed. The attacks that came with such furor seemed to be reviving his fighting spirit. The man blocked many of the attacks, but one got through slicing his arm with the side of the spear head. He winced, then it was all over.
Xin Zhao looked around him, the mass amounts of bodies all around the blood filling his nostrils. The screams of the near dead opponents filling his ears. This was the beginning of the end for him.
He walked back to his cell his eyes glazed over. He sat on the cold, hard stone floor staring at the walls that surrounded him. The horrific sights, the sounds, the smell of blood and other bodily fluids, all of this continued. He closed his eyes, only to see the face of a boy who couldn't have been much older than fourteen, a boy that just minutes ago he had felled without a second thought. His eyes jerked open, he couldn't bear to think about it.
He tried to sleep only to find that his dreams were becoming tormented, the faces of all the men he had slain to make it this far. What of them? It was the way of the arena though, he had to do it. This was his crutch, this was how he tried to justify it.
As the days turned to weeks, the weeks to months, the nightmares had only gotten worse, they still hadn't had enough prisoners of war to get him another fight. The boy that he had seen the first night still eating away at his sanity. His screams filled the halls of the prison every night, screams of one slipping into madness, one falling to the darkness that slumbers inside of all of us.
"Wake up!" A hoarse voice called to him from outside of his cell.
His eyes openening, slowly he sat up. A guard clad in all black armor with the insignia of Noxus on his chest stood in the hall.
Xin knew what this meant, they had finally found enough people to have his fight, what they thought would be his final fight, but they had thought that of his last one as well. The guard unlocked the door, as he did Xin sprang forward kicking the man in the chest. Caught off guard he fell backwards crashing into the wall behind him and slinking down. Wasting no time, Xin rushed forward ripping off his helmet, holding it in his hands he swung, and swung and swung again, until all that was left was a mangled face infront of him, the man died almost instantly from the first blow. He stood up still holding the helmet, then looking back at the corpse hit where the man's face had been once more before discarding his impromtu weapon, and heading towards the armory.
"Let's get this started!"