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Repairing What is Broken
“My spirit is not lost.”
Even though my sword is now broken, I still feel its entire weight heavy in my hand. For a while I thought I was lost, disillusioned by my comrades and superiors. What I was ordered to carry out was not battle, it was slaughter. I will never become ashamed of being victorious because I am stronger. However, true strength comes from will and not mercilessness. It is the ones I was brought here to conquer who taught me how to how to make my country more glorious than before.
The orders were simple, leave no one alive. The Ionians are well known for never giving up; I had thought perhaps someplace within these defeated armies I would find worthy opponents. I found myself instead fighting the crippled and weak. This was not the glorious battle I had trained so hard for. This was barely considered war. The sword which I had so graciously received was being used as an executioner’s weapon, not a warrior’s. Terrifying machines of steel and fire blew away any that could be considered opposition, and we were to wipe out the stragglers. That is until the stealthy sabotage of our war machine. The metal beast roared like a dying animal as explosions from the inside prompted the evacuation of its operators. The groaning of the tumbling giant punctuated the silence as we scrambled within formation, readying our weapons and mettle alike. The peeking of Ionian standards in every direction alerted us to the imminent ambush, and the caption released a falcon to order support.
The bird flew itself past the horizon and I set my sights onto the coming enemy. With a stern grimace I held my great sword ahead of me, ready to prove who was stronger. The clashing of weapons and armor echoed around me as I made my first move. I swung my sword forward in a deadly arc immediately slaying the unprepared and knocking back all else. Focusing my attention on their strongest looking soldier I leapt forward again, my sword weighing down upon his equally heavy shield. Perhaps believing me disabled, he attempted to slash at my side. Lifting my body and blade as one I sprung into the air, the adrenaline coursing so thick through my body that the entire battlefield seemed to occur in slow motion beneath me. Words could not express my horror as I saw the Zaunite poison began to rain from the sky. I fell back to the earth, knocking my enemies away as I smashed the skull of my opponent into the earth. A haunting whistle filled the air before I heard the explosion. Friend and foe alike screamed in agony as a gaseous acid filled the air with the smell of burning flesh. This is not the support we were supposed to receive! Didn’t the generals know we were still fighting here? It was at that moment I realized they did not care if we were still alive or not, the largest mass of the enemy forces were upon my unit’s throats, and they didn’t wish to fight that.
For the first time since I can remember, fear overtook my senses. I continued to use my skills the only way I knew how, fighting relentlessly as I tore a path into the enemy. My recklessness caused me to receive multiple punishments, weapons of all sorts bashing and shearing against my armored body. Beaten severely, I continued to hear the death cries of my comrades. Instead of fleeing, the Ionians stayed true to their path, and continued to kill every last one of us. “It’s all over.” I thought to myself, “My allies are dying, and soon so shall I.” An explosion to my right shook me to the core and I held my sword in front of me to protect myself. The deadly chemicals stung at my skin as they drifted past my, and all the soldiers in that direction began to choke and drop dead. I saw my last chance at life and ran as fast as I could, holding my breath. I didn’t dare gasp for air until all went black and I lost my consciousness.
Awaking groggily, I briefly imagined that the whole thing was just a bad dream. The desolate landscape around me quickly brought me back to my senses. Inside I was a turmoil of emotions. My own people betrayed me. Every one of my comrades was a strong Noxian soldier, determined to win. But instead of allowing us to prove our strength in battle, high command decided to eliminate the threat before it could even contest them. They circumvented the fight all together by using us as sacrificial pawns. Fueled by anger I slammed my weapon against the most solid object I could find, battering the imaginary foe relentlessly until my weapon fractured into multiple pieces. Gasping for breath I slowly slid off the sundered and dissolved pieces of armor; they were dead weight now. The tip of a spear had broken off in my armor, and I winced in pain as I pulled the point of the spear out of my body. I could see my reflection on the spearhead, lightly splattered with my own blood. My face was hardly recognizable beneath the faceless Noxian helm. I tossed the helm away in disgust and gently ran my fingers through my hair. My whole life seem dedicated to a lie. I wasn’t sure who I was anymore. Picking up the hilt of my jagged blade, I left everything else behind.
Aimless roaming led me to a downed Ionian soldier. For a moment I began rushing forward to stab him with my blade, but stopped and reconsidered what I was fighting for. His head turned towards me as my actions alerted him to my presence, but he was clearly unable to see due to the severe burns on his face. “Friend, is that you?” He rasped. I said nothing… He smiled and continued talking anyways, “You must still be pretty healthy to be running around like that.” Between fits of coughing blood he is determined to speak to me, “You’d better watch out for the scavengers; the Zaun will surely send out their death spiders to make sure no one is alive.” I took a look at my sword casually before finally responding, “My armor is disintegrated and my sword is broken. I have no tools left to fight.” The man chuckles as if my matter-of-fact statement were an old joke. “One only needs will to fight. In the end the strongest will determines victory.” The dying man’s words filled me with a strange sense of resolve as I stand over him and watch his life fade away peacefully. I did not know who I was, but I did not wish to die. When an eight-legged metal monstrosity comes skittering loudly towards me, I face its cold red gaze with determination. It raises its sharp hind legs and prepares it venom as it gauges my life signs. Allowing it no more time to react I dash forward, feeling protected by my valor as its legs gouge into my back. Releasing a fearsome yell, my burst of energy seems to stun the creature, leaving me time to position my sword and thrust it upwards into the spider’s belly. With a rattle and bang, the spider’s red glare fades away and it crumples to the ground.
The Noxus I believe in is no a lie; it is warped by weak-willed cowards who rely on scheming and treachery instead of true strength. Someday when I am no longer broken, I will return to my home redeemed and show everyone that true strength is will and courage. What is broken can be reformed. The blade will be whole once more.
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so to who anyone is following my stories:
What do you think? Better or worse than the ealier one? Feel free to bring up any difference or similarities you deem noteable.