Hey there fellow Summoners! For whatever reason this, admittedly odd, idea popped into my head. I haven't been able to work on anythign else until I got started with it. I don't know if I'll keep working on it, or if this chapter (and the second sice it's almost completed too) will be the only entries. Let me know if you like it, or if you have any questions or criticisms. Enjoy!
Summoner Cobb (OC)
Chapter One: Statistical Supremacy
The heavy thump of metal sliding into flesh, followed by the squelch of blood spattering across the ground, gave Orianna a brief pause. While the feeling that coursed through her Hex-Tech brain couldn’t quite be classified as human fear, it was enough to warn her from becoming reckless. Fear represented the possibility of failure. She had been designed to succeed in the League, therefor failure was to be feared. Almost as though he was trying to encourage that notion, Darius brought his massive ax down, splitting a Minion in two.
Just as fear was meant to keep her wary, confidence was an exemplification of the possibility of success. She was designed to win on the Fields of Justice, therefor she should pursue victory. Confidence meant that the Hand of Noxus was pushing further and further out of position, and soon, Orianna and Caitlyn would be able to punish him for it. Seemingly, her Summoner felt the same. Silent orders urged her to harass Darius, to force him either forward and into combat or out of the lane entirely. The Ball moved with such synchronicity to her own thoughts that they could have been one being in two bodies. Rocketing forward, it slammed into the hulking mass of armor and muscle that was her opponent.
If looks could speak, Darius’s eyes at that moment would have said plainly and simply, “And now I’m going to kill you.” There was little in the way of doubt that he had a possibility of succeeding. Even with Caitlyn at her side Orianna could not match the ax wielding psychopath in a toe to toe fight. If the Clockwork Girl died, her laning partner would be forced back or she too would fall under the massive blade.
Just as Darius moved close enough to try to grab her, a shadow covered the lane. The Hand of Noxus had just enough time to turn and face this newest threat before Shyvanna tackled him to the ground. While an ordinary human would have died from such an assault, Darius was only winded, and, despite his predicament, there was still a slim chance for him to escape. Even with his ceremonial cape ablaze, and several trickles of blood issuing from the cracks in his armor, he burned Ghost and made a hasty retreat. However, Orianna had planned for this.
“Pull,” she commanded, her voice as flat and uncaring as ever. The Ball responded, unleashing a shockwave that yanked Darius backwards. A fireball erupted from Shyvanna’s gaping maw, charring the Noxian soldier’s armor and singing away the rest of his cape. Before recklessness took the place of Orianna’s confidence, she noted Darius’s laning partner and brother charging toward the four embattled champions.
While Draven could not face all three of them, even with The Hand of Noxus at his side, he might give his brother a chance to escape. In that moment, Darius seized his opportunity and made another mad dash toward his tower and the Glorious Executioner. Caitlyn must have had that contingency in mind because the wounded champion’s first step was into a fresh trap, the Sheriff of Piltover had just thrown to the ground.
Darius let out an animal howl, not in pain, but in rage. The frustration of being caught, captured and left to the whims of a dragon, had evidently frustrated the Hand of Noxus beyond coherent thought or communication. In response, Shyvanna snapped her head forward and took Darius’s head from his shoulders.
“First Blood,” the nameless announcer proclaimed. Draven, his smile turning sour, came to halt at the base of his tower, unwilling to risk feeding a fresh meal to the dragon. Unable to do anything more constructive, he raised his middle finger to the trio, spitting on the ground in contempt.
That first skirmish dictated the rest of the match between the Noxian and Piltover representatives. It was the fourth in what had been planned as only a single match. However, both sides had been accused of cheating, backstabbing, bribing, and throwing during the course of the first, and so a rematch had been requested. Over the course of two weeks the match had been subsequently repeated, with similar results.
Rematches did nothing to concern Orianna. Unlike her fellow allies and enemies, she had no need of rest, nor did she wish to find a way to “unwind.” Every moment she found herself within a match on the Fields of Justice was a moment she enjoyed. She enjoyed it because she had been built to be a League champion. Therefor logic dictated that participating in matches was a good thing.
While enjoyment was a simple enough emotion to understand, confusion, without become a complete tautology, was enigmatic by nature. And it was confusion that she felt when she read the letter that had arrived from Piltover, addressed to her, and from her father. Though Corin had written her before, it was rare for him to do so while she was in the midst of a series of matches. The timing of the letter was no as disconcerting as its contents, which were perplexing to say the least.
My Dearest Orianna,
I want you to remember that I have always been proud of you. There is nothing in Valoran that I would not give to see you happy. Every day I see you, in the League and as my daughter, makes me love you even more. No matter what happens next, remember that. You are my daughter and I love you.
Unsure what to make of his letter, Orianna gave it to The Ball for safekeeping. When she had the time she would give the matter further contemplation. She would also have to write her father to see if he could grant her insight. Yes. Knowing what her father wanted, what he’s tried to tell her would make her happy. Because she had been built to obey her father and doing so was a good thing.
I went back and did a little Retcon to include Orianna's name at the begining of chapter one. It's not really important for that chapter (her POV should be a little obvious) but it comes up more later. I've also added a list of who will be making appearences. Fair warning: This chapter is pretty violent and a little gory.
Chapter Two: Calculated Violence
In the bowls of Piltover, a small group of men moved toward their Zeppelin with unwavering confidence. They did not have the most powerful weapons, nor were they the most competent when it came to the art of killing. However, what they lacked in physical lethality, they made up in intimidation. Two of the six were leaders of Piltover’s less than reputable crime syndicate. Though these men had once ruled over the city state with an iron fist, and had even brought it to the brink of destruction, they now were forced to live in hiding. Caitlyn had systematically arrested and eliminated nearly all of the crime lords before joining the League, and had ensured their downfall.
Despite their newfound status as underdogs, rather than rulers, the old fears and promises of vindication that had once gripped the city were hard pressed to be forgotten. This was why, even though they were in the slums and ghettos of Piltover, and despite the near total darkness cast by nightfall, they strutted through the streets unafraid. However, they were not alone.
Just out of sight, only far enough away not to be caught in peripheral vision, a pair of luminous eyes tracked the group. They honed in on their every movement and step, appraising their strengths and weaknesses. They watched for reaction time, level of alertness and overall competence. Behind those eyes lurked a cunning thrill, the calm patience of a killer waiting for the moment to strike.
It waited until a nearby rail car passed overhead, casting the street in a strobe effect. For a few, brief moments when the light from the rail car would wash over them, the men were blinded as their eyes struggled to adjust. The approaching assassin had no such weakness.
Though it made all the sound of a cat’s whisper, with the train car barreling by overhead, it could have stomped to its targets without being noticed. The killer’s first strike executed the rear guard before he had a chance to so much as realize he’d been attacked. The man next to him had a moment to register a feint glimpse of movement at the edge of his vision before a trio of razor sharp blades ripped into his throat.
Whether one of the men had managed a death rattle before their bodies’ failed, or one of the remaining targets had simply sensed something was wrong was soon irrelevant. Though he had time to gasp in horror at the two mangled corpses that were only just falling to the ground, the assassin’s next victim never saw the blow that cut his head from his shoulders. The man next to him, the last of the goons hired for protection, had just enough time to draw his Hex-Tech Revolver.
Before he had an opportunity to aim it, let alone use the weapon, five, claw-like blades slipped between his ribs. As with the others, he died before he hit the ground. Of the two crime bosses, one managed to turn and face his attacker. It could have been years of living on the streets that let his eyes lock onto his would be assassin, or maybe the killer in question had strayed into the light for a moment too long. Whatever the case, the crime boss was rewarded with a glimpse of his own demise, death in the form of three long blades arcing through the air. Then, he too fell, his throat and chest a mess of blood and gore.
The last of the assassin’s victims backed himself into a corner, putting his back against the cold wall behind him. However the killer had stopped hiding. The rail car had finally passed and the crime lord seemed to be adjusting to the darkness, staring at the hooded figure that approached.
His eyes seemed to find the killer’s left hand first, evidently taking note of the blood stained claws that scraped against the nearby wall. As the assassin moved nearer, the crime lord’s eyes fell on its other hand, and the blade talons, three, foot- and-a-half long blades mounted to a wrist brace. Fear etched into the man’s visage as clearly as if he were drawing his emotions on his face.
“You?” he asked, his voice both shaken and incredulous. “Do you think we won’t get you for this? Do you think we won’t find both him and that little toy in the League and rip them apart for this? They’re dead! Both of them…”
The sight of the killer lowering its weapons, letting both the formidable claws and the three-pronged, wrist-blade dangle from its wrists like oversized bracelets, was enough to cow the criminal into silence. For a moment, he looked as though he thought his threats had finally reached his would be murderer. If the killer could have forced its metallic lips to smile, it would have. Instead it whipped two short, claw shaped knives from its belt and promptly rammed them into its mark.
“I know,” the killer responded in a flat tone, its voice garbled and muted as though was speaking through a thick cloth. It left them there, pinned to the wall as death slowly took the crime boss. The theatrics had not been necessary, but they had been fun. They’d been fun because the killer had been designed to invoke fear and to slaughter, and fulfilling that purpose was a good thing.
Chapter Three: Fabricated Emotions
The first thing that Corin Revek noticed as he climbed the stairs to his workshop was the smell. Something unfamiliar and faintly metallic that was little more than a hint wafted through the stale air. Admittedly he should have been staying home more often, but he’d wanted to see Orianna’s matches.
The intrigue surrounding the matches, whispers of outside influences and accusations of foul play, had kept all of Piltover on edge. That many of the fingers pointed toward his home city state only served to pique Corin’s interests. There were even rumors that the Piltover crime families had tried to sway in favor of Noxus. Their attempts had supposedly been thwarted by assassinations and threats from an unknown interloper.
Shaking his head as though it would clear the thoughts that rattled around in his brain, Corin opened the door to his workshop and the metallic scent hit him just a little harder. It was coupled with what was beginning to be a regular odor. The smell of burning metal and smoking wires had once again become the mainstay for the Reveck home. However, they weren’t coming from the famed inventor as of late. Instead, they came from his houseguest, his latest creation… his daughter.
“Mk, I’m home,” the inventor called. At some point he realized that he should have given his creation a proper name. However, he didn’t know what it should be. Techmaturgy Artificial Consciousness Mk II didn’t seem befitting. And, most times, it seemed crime enough that he’d given her consciousness at all. Why give her any reason to introspect in the first place?
As usual Mk, as he’d come to call her, did not respond. She seemed content to stay in her room, a steady stream of light smoke and the sound of metal on metal issuing from the door. Knocking first, Corin pushed Mk’s door open to let her know he still cared for her. At times he worried she might think he didn’t, that he’d only created her as an experiment or to seek fame. Even more terrifying was the prospect that she might discover why he’d been forced to bring her into existence.
As he’d come to expect, Mk was sitting in the corner of her room, surrounded by dozens of her creations. Her actual function had necessitated the need for creativity, but he’d never suspected that she’d become quite so inventive. Often times he wondered what the true purpose of each device was, if they were anything more than aesthetic. Certainly many of them appeared to have a very dark and violent aspect to them, but Corin had never wanted to pry. He preferred to give his daughter her privacy so she could develop on her own.
“What are you working on?” the inventor asked mildly. He directed his question at the hunched form sitting in the corner. From where he stood, Mk could have been any young girl, not quite a teenager, but also no longer a child. She wore her favorite faded green parka, and black capris pants. Why Mk had been drawn to those remnants of Orianna’s was beyond Corin’s guess. As was the device she held in her metallic hand so he could see.
Though the object itself was worth taking a look at, Corin’s eyes were drawn to the metal claws that dangled from Mk’s wrist. Though they’d been a necessary addition to her form when he’d created her, the inventor had never liked the sinister looking blades that adorned each of Mk’s fingers. At the moment, they hung from her wrist, enabling her to work on her creation without the long blades interfering. None of that explained the trace spots of reddish brown that look suspiciously like dried blood.
“Have you been out?” Corin asked, trying to keep the alarm from his voice. Instantly, Mk’s hand withdrew, concealing the device and her claws. By then, it was too late. Corin Revek knew she’d left, but it still begged a question. “What have you done?”
“No,” Mk responded quickly. The initial shock that she’d spoken, for he’d never given her a voice box, was replaced by the awe that she’d lied. It was obvious to the point that he wondered why she would bother trying to hide it.
Without another word, Mk stood and faced her father. Corin had to suppress a gasp, but he could not keep his eyes from growing wide. While his second daughter had made slight alterations to her form before, wrapping her feet in cloth so that they would not clank with every step had been her first, he could not have expected something so drastic.
Where once there had been a young woman’s face, metallic in nature but still beautiful, Mk had exchanged it for something more terrifying. Like her previous face, it was made from gleaming metal, though it lacked the illustrious polish. However it was not human. Instead Mk replaced her visage with that of a large cat’s skull. The artificial girl had gone through great lengths to ensure accuracy, making every gleaming curve follow what a natural feline’s might if the flesh were peeled away. Gleaming fangs grinned at Corin from a gaping mouth that could never hide behind lips. A gaping hole marred the front of her head, where her nose would have sat. Within the two gaping eye sockets, Mk stared unblinking at the inventor with tubular, goggle-like eyes.
“What have you done to yourself?” Well aware that his voice was shaking with panic, Corin placed a hand on his daughter’s face. It was almost as though he couldn’t recognize her anymore, like she’d been replaced.
“I like it,” she replied coldly. The inventor kept himself from jumping at the sound of her voice. He quickly found its source: a small box that hung from her neck like an afterthought. “It’s more fitting to my… purpose. Don’t you think?”
The cynicism in her voice, the way she gazed at the blades adorning her fingers made it all too clear that Corin had failed to keep her in the dark. She knew why he’d created her, why she had been born to kill. From the way she had addressed him, the calculating intelligence in her voice combined with the ingenuity he’d given her had grown into more than just a soulless machine.
“Mk, whatever you think, whatever you might be scared of, you’re my daughter first…” Corin tried to reason. He was cut off as Mk brought her bladed hand to her gleaming fangs. From the small speaker that hung from her neck a soft rasping noise emanated. It took the inventor a moment to realize that she was laughing.
“Daughter?” Mk asked, her voice revealing tones of bother loathing and envy, neither of which Corin had ever intended her to feel. “No, she’s your daughter. She’s the reason you made me. That’s why she has a name. That’s why you talk to her and let her out.”
“Regardless of why, you have to know that you’re my daughter and I love you.” It hurt Corin to have to say it. As though somehow being forced to say it meant that she didn’t know. His eyes stung at the notion that Mk thought so little of him. “Mk, I-“
“Stop it!” his daughter shouted. “Stop lying to me! I know about your debts. I know you created me to pay off the Piltover crime bosses. I know I’m nothing more than a monster! SO STOP LYING!”
The sudden silence that filled the room could have been thunder. Mk’s words had left Corin’s ears ringing, the pain from her accusations distracting him from the physical harm to his body. Whether from some instinctual reaction or just a need to lash out, she had buried all five claws on her left hand in his heart. From the way she froze, Corin knew she hadn’t done it consciously. But that didn’t change the facts.
“Father?” Mk asked, her voice suddenly small and quiet. She pulled her hand away, the inventor’s blood staining each claw. His vision fading, Corin felt his body begin to fail him. He wanted to say something to her. He wanted to tell her that it was going to be okay, that he forgave her and that he was sorry for lying to her. He wanted to tell his daughter that he loved her. But he couldn’t. His voice wouldn’t work. “Daddy?”
As Corin’s vision went dark, the floor seemed to tilt, his legs giving out from under him. His last thoughts were of his daughters: Orianna and Mk, the pride and joy of his life. The last thing his dying brain could register was a pained and heartbreaking scream that issued from Mk as the full realization of what she had done hit her.
A/N: I put a lot of effort into getting the emotions of this chapter to feel right. Any feedback on how I did would be greatly appreciated. Thanks again for reading!
Whoohoo! 500 views! I love the upvotes and the views, but I'd really appreciate a post letting me know what you think. Do you like it? Do you hate it? Does it have any redeeming qualities? Any feedback would be greatly appreciated! Thanks again for reading, chapter four should be up pretty soon!
As Promised, chapter four! Any advice, feedback, questions or commetns would be greatly appreciated. Thanks for reading, enjoy!
Chapter Four: Quantified Pain
With a single swing, the Hand of Noxus decapitated a wave of minions. This late into the match both he and his brother were becoming problematic. Orianna meanwhile was left to defend her inner tower alone. The rest of her team was contesting dragon and might not be coming to her aide at all. Somehow she had managed to be there at each of Darius’s deaths, and the clockwork girl knew that the hulking mass of armor and muscle had recalled each incident. It was evident by the way he paced impatiently between his minions.
Even standing under her tower, Orianna knew he would attempt to kill her. He would wait until she had burned her spells and then pounce. However, her Summoner seemed aware of this as well. Stay behind the tower, Cobb commanded silently. He was the same Summoner who’d chosen her for every match against Noxus, and they had learned each other’s habits and strengths.
As soon as Darius charged, Orianna would unleash her full combo on him. At the same time, Cobb would hit him with an Ignite as the tower blasted away at the Noxian. Between those three sources of damage, Orianna might be able to at least push the Hand of Noxus away from her tower. So late into the game, and as well fed as he was, it would take a great deal to bring him even to half health, let alone finish him off.
The moment came, and Darius let out a feral roar. At the same time his Summoner used Ghost and the hulking brute charged forward. Before he could get too close, Orianna let The Ball fly. It slammed into Darius with enough force to dent his heavy armor. However it failed to prevent his massive axe blade from slamming into her shoulder, ripping through steel like a knife through butter. Using the momentum from that attack to bring his blade upward, Darius sought to split The Clockwork Girl in two. Before he could, The Ball rippled with energy, yanking The Hand of Noxus backwards and away from Orianna.
His eyes alive with hatred, Darius set forward again, ignoring the punishment from the tower. Before he had closed the gap however, an alien and unrecognizable warning sounded within Orianna’s head. At the same moment, the tower ceased firing and the minions became still. Evidently, Darius heard the same alarm for he paused in his charge.
“Attention Summoners and Champions. Due to outside influences, this match will be terminated and declared a draw. All champions, return to your Nexus.” As the news reached his ears, Darius turned to glare at Orianna, a mixture of frustration and genuine exhaustion evident on his face. He let out another shout, and delivered a punishing kick to a nearby minion before stomping away.
Upon returning to the Halls of Justice, Orianna was greeted by a small crowd of both champions and Summoners alike. They had gathered around one of the many viewing orbs, typically used for spectating matches. However, instead of a match in progress, or even a replay of the previous, there was a picture of a Piltover alleyway. Within the ally lay several bodies, mangled and mutilated beyond recognition.
“Looks like someone took out a pair of crime bosses in Piltover,” a voice near Orianna commented dryly. The Clockwork Girl turned to find Caitlyn standing next to her, looking as weary and jaded as Darius had. “I have to go back for the investigation.”
“They’ll be suspending the match until you can get back.” So used to hearing his voice inside her head, Orianna didn’t register that Cobb was speaking until he was also standing next to her. The young Summoner stood next to Caitlyn, his purple robes marking him as part of team Piltover. “Stay safe out there Cait. And I’m not just saying that because we’re friends. I’m saying that because you’re our best AD Carry and if you get killed by some crime boss-“
Caitlyn rolled and her eyes and pushed Cobb away before he could finish. While a slight smile played at the sheriff’s lips, she seemed too worn down by the back to back matches to be in the mood for humor. Without another word, she waved them off and made her way toward the Zeppelin platform.
“Catch some R&R Orianna,” Cobb said, as he absently watched Caitlyn leave. “When they get this sorted out, we’ll be right back at it.”
Once her shoulder had been mended, Orianna made her way to the courtyard. The Halls of Justice had a great many areas for champions to practice, relax, sleep, or just waste time, but the courtyard and its garden were always her favorite. The serenity she found there was often enough for her to go over the day’s events and look for areas to improve or simply a place to observe the world as it turned.
While she normally would have been left alone, Orianna found one of the few champions in the League with whom she could relate standing stock still in the courtyard. Though many would have been surprised that a hulking colossus such as Blitzcrank could be so gentle, The Clockwork Girl was not surprised to see him gently petting a small bird that had landed on his iron-plated fist. Though the Great Steam Golem had no lips, and therefore could not smile, he had a way of tilting his head that seemed to convey the same emotions.
Complacent to sit by him silently, Orianna sat on The Ball and let her mind wander. Often she tried to emulate Blitzcrank. Where she had to work at being human, his demeanor seemed more natural. There were times when Orianna had gone to him in search of advice, and frequently, the two could share stories on their interactions with humans in and around the League.If there was someone to talk to about the circumstances surrounding the Noxus and Piltover tournament, it would be him. And it was as she considered how to phrase her question to Bllitz, and whether or not it would be worth it to spoil the quiet of the evening, that a League courier arrived with a message from Piltover.
Where the previous letter had been from her father, this one was from the city itself. It only took her a few moments of reading for Orianna to understand what the letter was. Formally, it explained that her father had been murdered and had left all of his belongings to her. However knowing what the letter said, and understanding what it meant were two different things.
At first, her mind tried to deny what the letter meant. Perhaps it was a trick, a Noxian tactic to draw more champions away from the League. However with the matches suspended that didn’t seem realistic. Even as she convinced herself that the letter was the truth and that her father had died, she still wanted it to be wrong. That was a first. She’d never sought to deny herself the truth. Another first was the sudden pain that seemed to plague her mind.
Pain was a source of information. It told her that something was wrong. However she already knew something was wrong. Her father was gone. She’d never see him again, or hear his voice, or listen to his sage advice or… Orianna realized that her mind wasn’t functioning the way it normally did. Instead of a rapid series of computations, it was churning out half-developed theories and unwanted facts.
Possibly sensing her discomfort, The Ball attempted to protect Orianna in a sphere of energy. However, that did nothing to ease the pain that had consumed her mind. Her father was gone, the reason for her existence, her purpose and the only thing she’d ever cared for…
Before her mind could spin into an endless loop, Orianna felt a gentle pressure on her shoulder. She turned to find Blitzcrank’s hand there. For some reason, something her mind couldn’t comprehend, having someone there with her eased the pain, even if only slightly.
Unlike humans, she couldn’t cry, but for the first time since her creation, Orianna wished she could. As her mind slowly sought to cope with the sudden loss, her sorrow was replaced by a slow anger. Though she’d fought in the League for some time, The Clockwork Girl had never actually wanted to hurt something. But has she held the crumpled letter in her hand, she knew what it was like to want revenge. She wanted to find whoever had taken her father from her, and break them into as many pieces as she could.
ah, loss, one element that ive never really appreciated even artistically throughout these years. yet even such experiences have value, to diversify our sense and expectation, and to provide a foil for the highs aswell.
but even so, as events pass from possibility to immutability, it is how one continues to act that counts in the end, to let go of the futility of changing the past, as surely there are no real points of no return. what future will be made then? or remade perhaps? thats the question.
regardless, if theres two things i love, its orianna, and good stories. so having something with both must make it, double good.
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