Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'

We are not now that strength which in old days

Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are;

One equal temper of heroic hearts,

Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will

To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

Ulysses (Alfred, Lord Tennyson)

There was a white hair on his head again, right where the last one used to be- on his forehead, slightly above his right eyebrow. It was a single line of snow against a sea of charred ash. He had pulled out the one that came before in a sudden moment of vanity, but now, he felt that he had deserved the sign of old age.

It was not because he had grown enough in his mind to be called wise, no. There were other people in the world that deserved the honor. He did not. The white in his hair was not a sign of wisdom for him; it was a sign of his regret.

He was still young- only thirteen seasons old- but already he had an insistent little hair on his head that reflected how much he felt he had grown tired of the world, of how much he had hated his life enough that he wished himself to be old and gone. It was a great amount of self-loathing, to be sure, and some would say that it was a disease that every teenager went through in order to become a mature adult, but this young man, this boy of thirteen years knew he deserved it. Unlike his peers, unlike those with imaginary slights, he had enough accountability left in him to know that everything was his fault, and his obligation towards it ensured that his guilt would be substantial.

But there is always one who would say Ah, you cannot measure guilt, and they would be right. Guilt is immeasurable simply because it is unique. One cannot say that 'my guilt is greater than yours'- simply because the amount of value one places on one's guilt is reliant on how much regret, how much sorrow and anger and nausea one feels. The simple fact that people see things differently, that people think differently, guarantees variance and confusion and perpetuates anarchy in the standard of human feelings and thought. After all, how much guilt should be felt? How much sorrow should one have?

But if there were a reliable measure for feelings then, he would be at the very peak- and it was all because of what happened to him three days ago- it was the singular event that would set everything in motion, the one moment of wholesale destruction that would result in the eradication of everything he loved and the creation of a void he would always seek to fill.

Thrust into fire and tempered by a callous world, he would turn into something like the greatest Demacian demon- an uncompromising, axe-wielding butcher- but that was not yet now.

Now… was different.

Author's Notes: As an advanced warning, the romance portion of the story will not begin until later (TBA). I don't have it in myself to force characters to frickle each other for my entertainment so you're going to have to sit through Darius' life (for better or for worse) until he gets it on with Riven in earnest. We're here for Darius, and contrary to what you may believe upon clicking on the story link, it is not just Riven that makes him what he is by 21 CLE when we are introduced to him as Swain's newly minted Hand of Noxus.

Darius is actually a great, understated character that many people make out to be nothing but dumb muscle. He is a General, first and foremost, and to become a General in a place like Noxus is actually an impressive achievement and hints that Darius possesses a greater intelligence than one would give him credit for.

You can't deny that given what we know of Noxus, Darius should have left Draven to die years ago because strength is all that matters in Noxus- but he didn't. He is a responsible Noxian, which is very odd if you take into account the Darwinist atmosphere that Riot gave to Noxus. And what makes him even weirder is that he literally bows out to give Jericho Swain the title of Grand General. Why? A man thirsty for power would go for it and fuck all, but Darius bows out, and he gives it to a handicapped, but tactically masterful General instead of giving it to Keiran Darkwill, the son of Boram Darkwill, a man who ought to have his allegiance and respect in the army because the young Darkwill is, as the Journal of Justice states, an excellent duelist.

Darius is intelligent, but he makes no great show of it and that is partially why I am exceedingly fond of him.

I have tried my best to infer what could have happened to him in order to make him what he is, and the end result is this fan fiction you are reading right now. A Shadow So Great is a work that has taken me months to plan, and as you may guess from the Published On Date, it is taking me literal years to write. It deals with mature themes such as violence, sex, contains excessive cursing and places League of Legends characters in a mildly realistic universe that I had to build from the ground up in order to supplement what lore we have that Riot has made available (Judgements, Journal of Justice etc.).

Much of what you will encounter here has basis in lore which I merely interpreted, but as always, everyone is entitled to their own opinion and their own version of the League universe.

All of this was written and planned before the September Dev Blog that wiped the Lore state clean, so treat this as an Alternative Universe. Anything from the New Lore (i.e. Azir, Rek'Sai etc.) will most likely not make it here, unless I can find a way to squirrel it in without breaking immersion.

Please let me know if there is anything to correct/tweak. Reviewing and faving is appreciated, as is critique in any form (ex: rabid frothing, international political debates, temporal concerns, etc.). If you have a question of any nature, please message me here in FFNet or hit me up on twitter (aleramicci) or tumblr (aleramicci). Note that queries pertaining to concepts that can be answered or inferred from the text may/may not be answered (ex: where is Riven etc.).

Thank you very much and I hope you enjoy my attempt at explaining how Darius became Darius, Hand of Noxus, Scourge of Demacia and Second In Command to Jericho Swain.