Chapter 23 : Whisper

It was over, gone in a blink. Marcus looked far older than he had been moments ago. The younger Noxian gaped at him, at the man who had branded him as his son. Words died on his lips, what could he say? What could he hope to mend?

Gently, the former general's hands lowered, settling the Demacian's smaller hands upon her abdomen. There's a sorrowful glaze in the lone eye, studying the unconscious body of the woman between them. Slowly, as if hoping to memorize the contours of each individual's face, emerald appraised him. Purple veins started to crawl on paling skin startling the younger Noxian. His calloused hands grasping to the frayed clothing of the older man.

"There's nothing else you can do, Talon." He spoke, an odd tone laced in his voice. He smiled wearily, "I've chosen my path. Now, you must hurry home and tell your sisters."

"Why?" He knew the answer, already heard the answers. It was futile to ask, over and over. Were assassin's not keen minded men who dared not to ask for the instructions to be repeated? Maybe it was the shock, the sheer loss of what this action entailed. Anything to compensate the void that was being gouged out of him.

A shaky hand clasped his shoulder, an act that he will surely miss in the years to come. "Foolish boy, you know the answer already. Must you be quite the masochist to hear such words once more?" He lets out a soft chuckle, "You have an enemy to stop, best not to let the man gawk at our fatherly scene." He cocked his head to where Malzahar remained afloat, an annoyed crease appeared on the mage's brow.

"It's so kind of you to take notice of Marcus." He summons a voidling from the void, petting the creature as if in mockery of the Du Couteau's moment together. "You've finally accepted the void and at a price. Who knew you would commit to this vision so easily? Had I known it took so little to devour you, I would done so. But then, events must be made and people must be pulled to create this future." He summoned another one, "You may chosen this fate Marcus but that doesn't stop me from pulling more to the void."

Marcus staggered to his feet, gasping as more veins bloomed on his skin. "You were always a stubborn being, Malzahar." The former general brings out a blade, similar to the one Talon had strapped on his arm. "It's been quite some time since I've used this." He clasped the bracer holding the much smaller blade upon his right wrist. He fastens the belts, tightening it around his much thinner arm. "I trust you still know our drills, Talon. Forget them, and I will surely be disappointed."

"I'd rather perish than forgetting any of that rigorous training." There's a strained quality in his voice. Foolish, foolish Talon. There was no time for weakness now. Not now when everything is beginning to crumble around him.

Marcus assumes a familiar stance, a stance that Talon has honed so well. "Tonight might be the last night I'll ever fight beside you. Fight well."

"Yes."

The cursed man rushed towards one of the voidlings, easily shredding the legs off. It screeched loudly, bringing the desert's silence to an end. Deft fingers threw a barrage at the prophet but Malzahar dodged it with ease. Talon quickly stabs the other voidling, plunging his weapon deeper and unto deeper through the creature's thick hide. It cried in pain, vocals hoping to rouse whatever creature was left to listen in the wasteland.

Marcus ducks, evading a newly summoned voidling's attack. The younger assassin quickly plunges his blade on the new adversary, pushing the creature away from the general. Marcus uses the carcass and propels himself towards the mage, blade poised to strike. Malzahar releases a chuckle and glides away, only to feel daggers pierce his back.

Talon smirks behind him, with more daggers to throw. Marcus easily dragged the tip his blade across the mage's bare chest. The void mage's fashion did little to protect him, Talon thought in amusement.

Malzahar falls to the sand, curling inwards. HIs blood stained the ground, maroon with specks of purple pulsing. The hood falls down revealing wild chest nut hair and lips dribbling with crimson blood. "You've done well, both of you." He wheezed, pushing himself up. He swayed from side to side but it was nothing as Malzahar summoned more voidlings. "It'd be a shame for me to let you live after all you've done." He lets out a manic cackle and summons a wall of purple magicks.

Marcus pushed Talon away, taking the brunt. The older Noxian sagged, his lone emerald eye displaying all the exhaustion his still human body could take. "You're finally easy picking, Marcus." The prophet announced and a stream of purple magicks erupted from his mouth. This same stream assault's the general, forcing all the void's might through the general's own mouth.

Talon quickly rushed towards the mage, appearing at the prophet's back and dragging the blade across the man's jugular. Blood trailed down with much fervor, coating his clothed forearms and the void mage's clothing. Malzahar finally ceased his spell and his gloved hands pressed on the gaping wound. This gave the assassin a time to rush to his surrogate father's side.

"Are you amused now, Marcus?" Malzahar choked, blood leaving stark rivulets on his tanned skin, "You've planned this out now, did you? Ah, what does it matter, you will join me in the void nonetheless." He coughs out more blood, smirking at how the events played out to his bidding, "Soon, you too Talon, will join us. I look forward to that."

That will never happen. The thought echoed loudly, too tired to voice his sentiments. He glared at the void's prophet, noticing a growing lake of purple magics beneath the other man's feet. "Remember well Talon. I have the general." With a peal of dark laughter, the Shuriman falls to the void beneath his feet.

They waited with bated breath as the purple magick ebbed and flowed in front of them. Slowly, it shrunk in size as if appeased at the body of the mage. It grew smaller, and smaller until not a single essence was left to remind the individuals present that it had happened. The blood splattered sand would soon be covered by passing winds and Talon hoped they would be gone before another sandstorm were to come by.

Marcus pushed Talon away, putting a good distance between them. The younger assassin stared at him, hurt and hoping that the events would play out to his hand. "You and the woman have done enough, Talon. I've kept you long. Don't run for me, I'm more phantom than human." He gave a tired smile, "You've done well boy."

The compliment stirs nostalgic memories, of a younger brasher Talon and a much younger, proud Marcus who gifted Talon his first blade. His memories flit away, broken from the stream of remembering with Marcus's fluid movement of standing up. His lone eye was beginning to become blue, shining with the eerie light from the void.

"I must be off. You best get out of the desert. It's never too kind to strangers." He pats away the dust on his clothing and proceeds to walk away. Talon watched frozen, unable to find the right words to stop.

Stop walking, stop going farther and farther away. Don't go where I can no longer follow.

Sentences jumbled, tumbling all over the place. His lips are far too dry, far too numb to mouth his thoughts. He braced himself on the ground, propping himself to look at the fading figure.

"Father!"

The word is out of his lips before he could stop himself. He cried out, too loud for even his own ears to take in. Was it desperation? The sheer force tethering the Noxian to the edge. He didn't miss the figure of the former general pausing in his steps. He could hear the faint chuckle, before the man continued to walk onwards. He couldn't offer any more words, any more excuses to cease the individual from walking. The night loomed above them as Marcus walked on, leaving the marksman and the assassin with their chance at life.

He balled his fists, gritting his teeth in anger. Marcus was gone. Once more, towards a place that was far from could stand, could run after the man. Be berated, be brash like his youthful self but it's futile.

This time, he knew it was the final goodbye.

...

She had come to, moments ago. And yet she had laid still, afraid to temper the tangible moment that Talon deserved. The Noxian was human, that she already knew. Right now, he was as human as she could remember him to be, a broken man.

And so she remained motionless, afraid that any sound from her would break the moment left between them. But later, when the conflict has settled and the night was left to the both of them, what could she offer him? She couldn't find the right words if she'd provide comfort, that was not her expertise. Having no family to cling to, she knew nothing of these kinds of bonds. Her only kin, should she name one, was Valor and she only had a unique relationship with the roc. Maybe, if she had not been too spirited in her youth, she would have individuals to call family but now, there was none to fill the void in her life.

As the older man's footsteps faded into the night, the exhausted marksman drew in deep breaths. She could not stay silent, lying about like a corpse on the ground. There was no sound from the individual left within her reach, she couldn't even tell what was running in his head right now.

She pushed herself off the sand, wincing at the tenderness of her body. Golden eyes studied the smooth plane of her flesh, not a single line of purple remained. Cuts and bruises still colored her skin but she was more than happy to be rid of the etched magicks on her skin. The archer could not help the pang of disappointment that coursed in her. She couldn't even rise to thank her savior before he left. Gritting her teeth, she pressed harder upon the sand, hoping to set herself in a much comfortable position. Valor was quick to her side, nuzzling his beak against her cheek. She leaned into his nuzzling, eager to feel the warmth of her roc's presence.

She turned to the man crumpled on the ground. What should she say? She was not one to provide comfort, heck, it was she who sought for such frailties. Was that not how she and Lux became so close? She shook the thoughts away, she missed her mage friend dearly but now was not to think of such things. The marksman stood on shaky legs, each step lanced her body with pain. Was it pitiful when she collapsed by his side, her hand a mere distance from his crumpled form?

"Talon…?" And why is there so much hesitance in her voice, as if a mere whisper of name would break him further? It's enough to rouse him from his stupor, and slowly her unfurled from his position. He lifts his tired eyes to her own, much more exhausted than she remembered them to be. He stares at her offered hand but straightens himself, sitting down on the sand.

His lips are pursed, his face impassive much like how she met him the first time. Only there was quite a sorrowful edge on his features, a man without purpose. "It's not your fault." She whispered, and she hoped it would soothe him.

Quickly his eyes hardened, "How could you understand? You're merely a tool to the Demacian government. What can one who has lived off the luxuries of her country understand the loss of the general?" He spat at her, livid at the failure coursing in his veins. She was stricken, she didn't expect him to be so acrid.

With all the strength she could muster, she gripped the cloth by his shoulders. Her golden eyes shone with her fury, at the audacity of him. "It's not your fault, assassin. Wake up. Surely you could tell, this was what the general had planned from the start."

"Had you not taken the blow from the void mage, he-"

"Had I not taken it, you would have been the one to writhe in pain on the cold sand. Open your eyes, you had no hand at the choices of the general." She loosened her grip, letting the crumpled clothing slip from her fingers, "Had I any power, I would have tried to stop him from going."

He chuckled darkly, "Hah, true. Just to bring the both of us to the Demacian dungeons and report to your king. Sadly, you'd have only me to bring back as the prize of your journey. Well? Where are the shackles now, scout?" She gritted her teeth, eyeing the sorry excuse of the man she'd actually followed across Valoran. Valor was silent at their side, watching the whole exchange as any roc would but he could feel the tension of the two individuals.

The archer balled her fist and with as much strength as she could muster, she threw a strong jab at the assassin's face. Had Talon been aware of the move, he'd surely have caught her wrist before the attack. He doubled over, gingerly touching at the bruise blossoming on his cheek. He spat some blood when his teeth nipped his inner cheek. Brown iris regarded the woman before him, her eyes burning with fury as she held back her bruising knuckles.

"Wake up, Noxian. Surely, you're not limited to one objective in your life!" She clamored to her feet, swaying ever so slightly. She stared down at him, her annoyance at his antics bubbling over her rational thoughts. She was not one for outbursts but his current attitude would do no well for the both of them. "Stand, assassin. There's a long way back to the Demacian dungeons if you so choose to be held down." She huffed at him, feeling so frustrated at his pitiful display. "I'm sure your father would not have wanted such a fate."

It's the endearment that snaps his attention, and he too brings himself to stand. His height dwarfed hers but right now, Quinn was too frustrated to be intimidated by his shadow. "You have no ties called family, how could you understand?"

"I have friends I have called family, that you have slain, how could you understand?" She spat back in retaliation, "And if you want to rue your father's sacrifice then please, be my guest. I'll decorate myself with medals and fabricated tales of my journey as you rot in the dungeons. My, I didn't expect you to be quite the masochist after such an ordeal."

"Hah. So you're playing with this set of cards then, Demacian. I never knew you had it in you." He scoffed, seeing how she tried to choose her words with him. She let out an exasperated sigh, if he wasn't impassive or so downtrodden, Talon was quite the pain in the neck. Oh Quinn, how did you wind up to be with such a man? She berated herself mentally, of all the men in Valoran; truly.

"You're not thinking straight right now, Noxian. And I assure you, on a normal day, you'd have me by the tip of your blade for punching you." He chuckled at her statement, it was true. He'd stabbed her already at the bold move she'd pulled. "Now that you've come to your senses, what will you do?"

Yes, what will he do now? His task was done.

He pursed his lips, his fingers dropping from his cheek. She watched him intently, offering her forearm for Valor to perch on. They were silent, a gesture they've shared for quite some time now. Her brows furrow, she felt the tension in the air. She wasn't the best person when it comes to comfort and should Lux hear about what she did, the Crownguard girl would be berating her already.

She swallowed the rising bile, "Go home."

"Go home and tell them what happened." There's more strength in her voice, more confidence. A conviction that Talon was quite envious of; how does she manage to pick herself up so quickly? "That's the least you can do for your sisters and for the father who left to keep you alive. Remember, Noxian, unlike you, some of us are not lucky to have families at our side. " Her gaze softens and she nuzzles Valor, as if seeking for reassurance, "Now, come on. There's no promise of home in this wasteland."

She watched him for a moment and he gawked at her back. He takes one step away from the direction where Marcus had gone to. Another step to match the stride; it's hard for him to continue to an opposite path. He passed her, continuing onwards to a set of sand dunes they'd rounded hours ago.

It's only when the winds have erased their path did Quinn follow his steps, just to make sure nothing tied him back here; as there was nothing waiting for an assassin in the crest of the Shuriman desert.

…

Hours had ticked by as they both walked along the desert, dunes stretched onwards. The occasional sprouts of wildflowers and cacti were reassuring but could hardly provide any comfort. It would be best for them to get back to the village where they had stayed days ago. The large moon hung in the sky, illuminating their path and giving them vision of their surroundings. It felt too safe.

It was too quiet, too safe to be considered ideal. The desert was a cruel place to be and while the temperature was unnatural chilly, the desert was never a benevolent setting for any individual. Talon rolled his shoulders, wincing ever so slightly at his bruises from the night's scuffle. They were lucky to come out lightly injured from their fight with the prophet but much of the wounds had been drawn out by the general. Relishing on the events moments ago left an acrid taste on Talon's lips, one he'd like not to dwell on. Nonetheless, they'd best get to the nearest oasis or else they'd come upon one of the desert's beasts; or have they done so already?

The sand beneath their feet shook, the earth toiled with much pressure. It was a sensation they both were quite familiar with and had hoped not to repeat too soon. "Run." The word was quick from his lips but spurned their aching legs into action. Where should they go? There was no semblance of protection in the barren wasteland they were in.

Sand and earth erupted behind him followed by a strong cry that tore the desert asunder. The plane shook, and he fell to his feet. A shrill cry from the woman caught his attention and her roc flew to intercept a large claw from collapsing on them. "There's no use running." She rasped, her arrows dealing little to no damage on the Xer'Sai's rough hide. True, there was nothing her ammunition could do but merely decorate the rough carapace of the voidbeing.

The Noxian pressed himself, staggering for a moment before catching his breath. "The desert has a way of pulling us into a constant string of conflict, girl. Best be on your toes, it took all our strength just to fend it off." He steels his facade, there was no use on dwelling on the failure of bringing the general home. He had a task to accomplish, thus he could not die now.

The assassin brandished his blade, gleaming with the residue of the slain voidlings that Malzahar had summoned. Sloppy as he was, his steps were still nimble and dodge the cacophony of slams from the large claw of the beast. With a swift strike, he lodged his blade unto the joint of its arm earning a sharp cry of pain. He had to roll to the side to avoid being dragged by the sharp talons. He dug his heels, eager to jump and deal more damage, he'd strike the other claw to render it limp for the mean time.

A sharp tug on his tattered cloak brought him back, and he turned to the Demacian who had her eyes on their adversary. Valor's talons descend upon the creature's head, causing more of a distraction than damage.

"If you'd jumped in, you'd be in tatters." She cocked her head towards the voidbeing as it unleashed a fury of swiping attacks, eager to set a distance and intimidate the humans in its presence. "It looked quite agitated and pent up when you struck your blade."

"Sharp eyes." He complimented, for once. Quite uncanny for the situation and unusual for his demeanor, but it was worth the surprised look that flashed on the scout's face for a moment. The woman schooled her features quickly, hiding behind a faint blush that dusted her bruised cheeks, "I am a scout after all."

The large Xer'Sai released a shrill cry which tore the desert asunder. The strong screech caused the two individuals to fall to their knees. Talon looked around, eager to find a way out if the fight would ensue. It was best they try to outwit the beast. With their depleted energy and injuries from earlier battles, they were quite in a disadvantage; not like fighting the Queen of the Xer'Sai was an ill omen in itself.

Quinn winced at the volume, cursing mentally at the prospect of fighting more of the Xer'Sai brood now that its cry echoed through the night. The ground beneath her feet shook and she had to jump away as the queen clawed out of the sand.

A dark curse left the Noxian's lips. It's as if the brood had heard her thoughts. A wide blade gutted through one of the newcomers, spilling their odd colored blood on the sand. More skittered to the surface, encroaching what little space could be their safe haven. The marksman fired her arrows with swift precision, counting at the projectiles and hoping that she had enough to stave them off until the end.

Valor swooped down to deter one of the creatures, effectively marking Quinn's next target. She swiped at the nearby Xer'Sai, kicking some while avoiding their poisonous stingers. One of the brood had scurried behind her, unnoticed to the scout's normally keen senses. The moon's ominous glint alerted the Assassin and he dove to the side to plunge his weapon deep into the belly of the creeping one.

The Demacian had been surprised at his sudden move, and let out an exasperated sigh once she'd seen his skill. Once more. She couldn't help but think.

"You're open, Demacian." The dull note of his voice was a jarring difference to the man he was hours before. She'd have time to contemplate on it later. "Then I'll look forward to you keeping watch, Noxian." She shot down a Xer'Sai that was aiming to jump on him. "I've covered you as well."

He let a scoff slip through his lips before his gaze focused on the looming queen. "There's no use running in her territory. We'll need to take her down." She called out to him, her voice was a soothing refuge in the danger they are in. "We'll have to aim for the soft spots between the carapace."

He struck down one of the many minions, his blade was the best tool for the job. "Distract her for me then."

The scout nodded, taking down her fair share of the swarming Xer'Sai. If this continued, they would be too exhausted to deal with the Queen. He took his blades, throwing them in a practiced arc. The assassin couldn't hide the smirk that flit to his features at the anguished cries of the Xer'Sai. Swiftly, he pulled back the blades with the aid of a thin wire, keeping them around his forearm to do the maneuver once more.

He ducked low, dodging a stinger by a hair's breadth. He drove his prized weapon through his assailant, splatters of the alien's blood painted on his skin. He withdraws quickly, throwing his blades in the familiar move to finish the swarm.

The Demacian was doing her best to keep the queen distracted. She jumped along the large pincers of the creature, too many times a step too close to death. The scout cursed to herself, wonder why she never took Garen's invitation to try out mastering the sword. She takes one of her small daggers and stabs unto the soft flesh that peeked out of the joints. Rek'Sai let a shrill of a cry out, her clawed appendage slams against the small frame of the archer. She ploughs through the sand, rolling over the terrain with too few obstacles to stop her.

He rushed to the side, letting a pained grunt escape his lips as she barreled to him. They roll on the dirt, ceasing a good distance away from their adversary. He took a lungful of air, he pushed the woman to sit. She winced, her hand cradling a spot along her ribcage. She might have fractured some in that tumble. He shakily brings them up, Valor soaring above them as his eyes focused on his companion. The roc's gaze missed nothing, hoping only that the Demacian was well.

Her smaller hands pushed his away, not out of spite. She lets a pained smile lighten her features, her amber irises looking up at him.

"Thank you." She spoke between breaths. Pain coursed in her, tearing a gasp from her bruised lips. "Strike from the sky, Valor!" The marksman quickly doubled over, catching her breath while her faithful roc flew around the larger foe. She gulped as much of the air, wiping the sand that clung to her cheek. "I'll cover you. Aim for the spots that Valor has marked." The Noxian could only nod, rushing back to the beast. Quinn limped behind him, grimacing at the growing pain at her side. They needed to end this quick.

The Noxian jumped back as Rek'Sai's tail swiveled in front of him. Valor's talon had made distinct marks on the creature's carapace, he maps out the places where the covering gives way to soft skin. He fiddles with the few blades left for him to use, he'll have to make it count.

The scout falls into step beside him, a pained grimace on her face. They'll need all the luck the world can offer to survive this fight. Biting his lower lip, Talon dashes towards the beast, pushing all thoughts of pain into the deeper recesses of his mind. He could hear the loud thwack of arrows on the thick hide, catching Rek'Sai's attention as he slipped under the large claws.

He presses a nervous hand on the underside of her legs, tracing Valor's shallow cuts in the area. There. A quick stab of his blade causes the queen to bellow out in pain. He rolls to the hind legs, mimicking his earlier attack rendering this side immobile. Dark blood pools beneath his feet and it takes him a moment before he could notice the large tail heading for him.

"Talon!" An errant cry falls on his ears and the sharp sting of pain upon his abdomen staggers him back. He could feel something trickle down his legs, as his own lips were painted with an iron taste. He was swiped away, falling to his side a few meters from his target. His bare hand clamped on the wound, feeling his warm blood trickling between the gaps of his fingers. Gods, if there are any, he would not die here.

Quinn saw the assassin fall, stabbed by one of Rek'Sai's sharp claws. She cursed under her breath, rushing to a sprint to get to the man. He's bleeding, they'll need to stop that quick. She tightens her grip on her bow, it won't last too long in this journey. She spotted the wounds the Noxian had inflicted, they should aid her in taking the large Xer'Sai down.

She notches a few arrows, letting loose some that hit its mark. The Queen's attention shifts to her and Quinn vaults at the clawed hand aimed at her spot. She released a few more, grinning as each shot embedded itself on the open wounds. Valor dove in, distracting Rek'Sai as Quinn flits nearer.

She jams an arrow on the soft flesh, sliding to the open space to avoid the creature's claws. She takes out the last set of ammunition she had packed, loading them to her faithful bow. A sharp cry from the sky and Valor is falling from an attack. "Valor!" She couldn't suppress the panic at seeing the rock descend at such a speed. She rushes to the side, catching her friend with her outstretched arms. He's winded from the blow but all right; probably a slightly fractured wing but nothing that some healing potions can't mend.

The beast makes it way towards her. She can't leave Valor nor can she run fast enough. She lets out a flurry of arrows, some are fended off while some others are embedded to the wounds. It only aggravates the queen, hastening its movement before diving into the ground. This was it. This was how it was going to end.

Should she pray? She wasn't that keen on the religious beliefs but if there was a god or gods out there, she wished it was not today. Not yet. Not when she hasn't said-

Rek'Sai emerged in front of her, spraying sand and dust around. Her large claws make wounds on the sand, tainting them with her odd-colored blood. It's sharp cry renders the scout numb and the human could only embrace her wounded roc in reply.

Caleb. She thought to herself, I'll see you soon?

A claw rises above, its speed is frightening but Quinn doesn't hide behind Valor. She watches as the weapon descends upon her. She'd rather face death than run.

A guttural cry wrenches her attention and a glimmer of silver reflects the moon's glow. The blade stabs Rek'Sai's legs in a flurry, rending tissue and bone in its wake. The claw staggers as the Queen lets out shrills of pain. It swipes blindly, missing the assassin by meters. The Noxian plunges his blade continuously, drenching himself in the blood of the beast. It's only when he noticed the wrappings of his weapon had come loose and the blade lodged so deeply in scarred tissues did he cease. He stumbles back, clutching to the wound. A hand pulls him back, bringing him away from the thrashing beast, he's lucky to have survived.

Delirious from the loss of blood, he couldn't understand what had come to him. He staggered, still standing before a firm hand guided them away from the creature. Farther and farther, he wondered if the thing would follow them with the trail of blood he left behind. It didn't.

They worked up a dune, how they done so, he could not explain. He swayed, feeling his legs finally give in. A hand tries to take hold of him but with their arms cradling the injured roc, they could only do so much.

The recent scuffle had ruptured some of his innards. He knew how close death was this time, and he did not fear it. Ah, he had hoped to die somewhere more lavish than the presence of sand and the shifting dunes.

Fear was such a subjective emotion; like the copper taste on his tongue. He tumbled down the dunes, creating a red river on the golden sand. He falls unto his back, his glazed eyes focused on the gleaming surface of the mean. Dark spots dance in his vision, tearing at the edges of his sight. He could almost feel their gazes, the emissaries of death. Kindred.

The name had once dropped from Marcus's lips when he was but a lad. He had told of the nature of death and life but Kindred was both death in their personas. Something steps towards him; he had to angle his head to get a better view. Was it a mockery to see both these apparitions now? He blinks numerous times, just to check if the stories were truly real. Perhaps he was just too delirious that he's falling into madness.

The sounds of Rek'Sai's growls had long faded from the night. He didn't notice when it had ceased but thankful to finally be silence. Where was that blasted Demacian? He could only hope she was no longer in harm's way. A pained sigh escaped his lips as the white apparition stepped above him. "Quick", he muttered to himself. Yet he knew, the very spirit whose arrow now aimed at his heart, understood.

He closed his eyes, relishing the sweet darkness that would finally wash away his sorry excuse of a life. How idiotic had he become, welcoming death so easily. A few months back he would have clawed at life, every minute, every instance he could. The scars on his body should tell enough stories of his struggle with the end. Yet, here, right now, he was welcoming it; embracing the prospect of losing the fragile tendril of experience and future.

The sharp tug on the ethereal string was so loud on his ears. Soon.

As he lay bleeding for his death on the sand, everything else didn't matter. Marcus was gone, his mission was over. What purpose was he to live now that his master was swallowed by the Void? He could not return home to face the disappointment from Katarina and Cassiopeia. He vowed not to hear their sobs at night. No matter what the blasted woman said, he was a man with no purpose. What use was he as a blade?

As the dark loomed and the blood pooled around him, a warm body crashed upon his own. He coughed out blood, annoyed at the way this intruder had suddenly tumbled on his fragile form. Who was this insolent fool? He was too tired to move, he had accepted death.

Arms wrapped around him, he could feel the tangible warmth through the tears in his clothing. They shook, was that sobbing? He hardly cared, he could finally be released from his mortal cage and this perpetrator had ceased the act. He should know who this person is, but the thought evades him much like how he cared less about staying awake.

"Not this one." A voice so soft and broken fell on his ears. The limbs tightened around his body, pain was imminent but oddly, it was a comfort, "Not this one please."

A woman.

Wretched girl.

He groaned at the extent of his wounds, his tired sepia eyes opening to see the spectres. Wolf growled in annoyance at the newcomer, Lamb a patient one with her arrow lowered from its target. The inky darkness embodying Wolf came closer, its snout a mere snap away from the marksman.

What was she doing?

"Have you understood the merit of your actions, Girl?" The deathly being snarled at his protector. Her trembling subsided and her battle-stained face met the snarl of the creature. Had she not buried her face against him, he would have seen the anguish look. She must know of the stories about these beings as well.

"Death is inescapable, child." Lamb's soft voice was a cold comfort, the silver arrow glistened under the waning moon. "Shall my arrow pierce your heart as well?" With her cool voice, Lamb raised the weapon aiming at the scout's beaten form. She shuddered at the thought, tired eyes finding his own in the exchange.

And yet, she managed to square her shoulders, jutted her chin out in a form of defiance. Her own tired arms wrapping around his exhausted body. His fingers twitched, eager to find a place to tie himself too. He found the tattered ends of her clothing, bloodied in the recent exchange with the beast. There was no warmth in these fraying edges but he couldn't help but hold on to them; as if a semblance of his kinship with this scout was tearing away by these tattered ends.

"No, no one shall die this night." Her fierce eyes were shining with life. He was envious at the very spirit in them. She trembled at the weight of her words, who was she to defy death. Valor was at her side, wounded but well enough to aid the marksman should there be a need.

There was no need to drag the roc in this tirade, the Demacian surmises. She She could fight as much as she could, struggle for each breath but she could never win against such manifestations. Her tired arms loosened around Talon, what was she to do against a being to ushers the living to death?

Truly, how was she supposed to defeat death itself?

She kept her ground, her body in between the arrow tip and his own broken frame. Wolf, as he fondly remembered, snarled in annoyance at her actions. It was his task to tear the living breath out of a mortal but how could he when he had chosen the swift death of Lamb.

Pitiful. He could not help but think of the word in his mind. An assassin who succumbs to the call of death for losing his master. What good is a blade without the owner? He coughed on the iron upon his tongue, he wanted only the rest after the long string of battles. His journey was for naught and here he was bleeding on the sand like the broken man the he was turning out to be.

Wolf reared its head up, the mask on its head an image that would burn into both their minds. His hackles rose and with his infamous speed dove towards the pair. The scout squared her shoulders, eyes focused on the impending end.

"Wolf."

And with a simple call, the being ceased. Wolf grumbled in annoyance, his ethereal form swirling above Quinn. He was so close! Close to eating one human soul, so stubborn and annoying. The inky creature turned to its white counterpart,

"Lamb, I was so close, so very close."

"I know." Her chipped tone hardly gave away any emotion, "However, this one does not appear to thirst for death." Quinn turned to the Noxian, whose face was scrunched up in pain. Dried blood caked his lips, his skin was pale and breath much too shallow for her liking. "He doesn't appear to relinquish his grip on life soon."

Golden eyes trailed to the arm holding onto her wrist, how had she not noticed it? He gritted his teeth in annoyance, eyes straining to maintain open.

"Foolish girl." His voice was gravelly, hoarse in pain.

"Your actions amuse me, child." Lamb relaxed, bidding Wolf to her side. It was an odd spectacle, to see death reel its head back, "It appears, it is not yet your time." Wolf growled in annoyance but Lamb placed a hand upon his mask. Her touch was enough to pacify the beast.

"In time, we will come for you." The haunting voice was entrancing, grasping all of her attention. The winds shifted around them and with the blink, Kindred had vanished. She let out the breath she never knew she was holding and slumped against the assassin.

She was alive, they were alive. The realization hit her hard and she bit her lip to stifle the emotions. Her companion was silent, even in pain. Her body shook with sobs, of relief, of freedom, of the soft whispering promise of rest. And it was only his large hand on her back that comforted her.

They were alive.

...

In the far off corner of the Shurima desert, Kindred watched the turn of events. Lamb was never easily moved by emotion, her cold heart a reflection of death's circumstances.

Yet, she had stopped Wolf from devouring the Demacian; such an odd turn of events. There was a magic in the marksman that caught her eye.

"I see water." Wolf spoke glumly, disappointed at the loss of a meal.

"They are...tears." Lamb stared at the pair a little more, the odd way life pulled its pieces together always a treat to the white spectre, "Come dear Wolf, there are other places to hunt." With an excited yip, the spectres vanished into the night.

Bonus:

He paused once more, albeit just a short moment. Never had this boy called him by such an endearment. True, Katarina and Cassiopeia have a special place for him. His home was this child's home and how he had grown into a fine man. He lets a dry chuckle escape his lips as the void swallows him up. This is better, this is for the good. If he could manage the void as best as he can, while his children lived, this was fine.

He basks on the knowledge that Malzahar cannot read his thoughts, though he can't help but humor the mage as best as he can.

"You are strange, Marcus." The mage's voice flits to his ears, toying with one of his voidlings. The former general stands with a rigid posture, "It is the oddness of humanity that continues to make the world turn."

"Ah, so you still have humanity in you after invoking so much of the void." The mage is amused at this thought.

"Were we not humans before being engulfed by this plane?" He asks, his now iridescent eye surveyed their domain. All blank and spiraling, unlike the sweltering heat of the Shuriman desert.

"Indeed. But the void has great promise." He trails off, as if deep in thought. The mage was still too hard to read, "You're warmed by his words."

A chuckle, a warmer one if the emotions were to offer, "Indeed, he is my son after all." He lets a soft chuckle out, replaying the images of his children in his mind.

Ah, how fast they've grown.

Author's Notes:

Some of the parts of this chapter were already written months ago but it wasn't enough to count as a single chapter. I'd like to think The Script for making Flares and the long list of One Ok Rock songs I've been listening to.

I just wanted to show Talon in a very conflicted side knowing that he can no longer have the general back and so exhausted from his encounters in Shurima. There's only so much a man can do before he breaks. It's also a time for Quinn to make up to him. He was no longer the hero in the previous chapter but now the broken man that has taken his toll.

I also took some of Regis's attitude and put them into Marcus. My brother's been playing FFXV with me watching from the sidelines thus I can't help but use some of Regis's traits to impart a more fatherly Marcus.

I hope this sheds some light on Talon as an individual. I wanted to make everyone in the story, except the beasts and Malzahar for that matter, as human as possible.

This chapter was intended to be completed and published before the year ended. Unfortunately, I got so busy with work. I've been busy with programming work, writing work and learning Japanese through self-studying. Phew, that's a lot on my plate.

I can't help but reminisce how the ship has sailed. When I started writing Tainted Wings , there were less than ten fanfics of Quinn and Talon. It's been months since my last update I know but I hope you still enjoy this story as much as the first time you stumbled upon it.

Thank you so much for sticking with me. I hope you guys all the best this 2017!