"Ah!!"
Lucian's furious roar carried the weight of his vengeance and unwavering faith. The radiant barrage engulfed Thresh, obliterating even the spectral shield he had conjured in an instant.
Seeing this, Duke didn't hesitate to increase his firepower. Strike while the enemy is down!
The hiss of holy light tearing through the void mingled with the thunderous roar of his Gatling gun, weaving together a pure, destructive symphony of firepower.
Yet Thresh, pinned down by the overwhelming assault from both sides, showed no hint of panic—not that his skeletal face could express anything at all.
"Another little rat scurries out of hiding!"
Thresh swung his hook-chain with brute force, runic circuits glowing with malevolent energy lighting up around him. The chain plunged into the ground, carving a brutal arc across it like a plow.
Soul Warden Thresh – E Skill: Flay!
The sudden strike disrupted both Duke's and Lucian's rhythm. As Duke leapt backward, he saw multiple spectral chains splitting from Thresh's original weapon, arcing straight toward him. Without hesitation, Duke activated the Gatling's self-destruct function and tossed the weapon forward while retreating quickly.
Lucian, reacting the moment Thresh whipped his chain, sidestepped in a smooth slide—like a skateboard gliding across flat pavement. His blurred afterimages streaked through the air as he narrowly evaded disaster.
"Thresh!!"
Lucian's shout rang out as his extinguished twin pistols reignited. Sparks flickered at the barrels—these divine weapons didn't fire ordinary bullets, but rather, blasts forged from faith and will.
So long as the fire of conviction and the flame of will burned in his heart, Lucian would never run out of ammo.
"…And who might you be?"
Thresh turned his skull-like face toward Lucian. "You seem… vaguely familiar."
"You may forget my face—but you'll never forget what's in my hand."
Lucian lowered the arm wielding his signature weapon and raised another—a slightly smaller, but far more ornate firearm: a Sentinel's Relic Pistol.
"The scent of that repulsive light... even from here, it makes me sick."
Thresh sneered, disgusted. Lucian's forehead pulsed with rage. Gritting his teeth, he shouted back, "I'll make sure you remember—mark my words!"
"Lucian's too easily provoked…"
Duke sighed inwardly. But then again, it was understandable. Lucian had once fought with one pistol—until the day his wife, who was also his mentor and his father's protégé, was taken from him. Ever since, he had carried her weapon too, vowing to avenge her.
That refined, exquisite pistol? It had belonged to Senna.
And Senna was still trapped inside Thresh's lantern, endlessly tormented.
Thresh delighted in tormenting souls. Over the years, every spirit he had captured was thrown into his lantern—not only to suffer, but to entertain him.
"Oh really?"
Thresh chuckled darkly and lifted his head. "And how, exactly, do you plan to jog my memory?"
He was answered not with words, but a searing beam of holy light that tore through the darkness. The moment it struck Thresh, Lucian's cry echoed across the battlefield:
"I'll make you remember—with my light!"
"Ugh…"
Duke sighed, drawing his Ebony and Ivory pistols and charging forward. "Idiot teammate…"
"Truly hopeless…"
"Die!!"
Elsewhere, a Fear Knight and his mount were cleaved clean in half. The one called Pride gripped his mighty gunblade high above his head, roaring with triumph.
"No one can stand in my way!"
Whoosh!
His long tail lashed out, deflecting an incoming slash from another Fear Knight that emerged from the black mist. Then he opened his jaws wide and unleashed a blinding beam of light.
Zzzap!
The energy blast detonated, vaporizing the knight to ash.
Steam hissed off Pride's entire body. His glowing red eyes blazed so fiercely that streaks of crimson trailed behind each turn of his head.
"Damn… don't these guys know what fear is?"
Graves slid aside just in time to avoid a charging Fear Knight. As the knight thundered toward his rear, Graves casually tossed a smoke grenade behind him. Just as the cloud erupted, a red card from Twisted Fate whirled into the mist.
The card, imbued with Twisted Fate's magic, disintegrated into ash—then a flash of searing flame detonated in its place.
Jayce gripped his hammer in both hands and twisted his torso like a baseball batter. With a mighty swing, he slammed the hammer into a Fear Knight's chest. But the ground beneath them suddenly collapsed, and eerie skeletal claws reached up to drag him down.
"Don't lose focus!"
A sonic shockwave shattered the broken tiles. Riven wiped sweat from her brow and panted as she warned Jayce, "Just a little longer. Dawn is almost here."
"Well said!"
Graves gave a thumbs up, then immediately added, "But my weapon's overheated. If we don't cool it down, it's going to explode!"
"Don't worry," Jayce replied cheerfully. "I know a gunsmith back in Piltover. If your gear breaks, I'll take you there and get you something better."
"I still like the one my boss gave me."
"Gentlemen, now is not the time to relax."
Camille's leg-blade pierced clean through a Fear Knight's chest with the slightest force. As her armor's grappling hook launched behind her, she sprang back—but retreat was often the setup for a stronger attack.
Slash!
A fan-shaped wave of steel carved through the knight's throat.
Clink!
As the grappling anchor recoiled, Camille sprang off the floor, already targeting her next victim.
Duke had gone silent after his earlier attack.
One or two minutes passed after the light faded before Pride suddenly became even more violent, as if something had triggered him.
"What's going on? Can we reach him?"
After driving back another knight, Camille retreated to the center of the square, where Miss Fortune was stationed. After Pride began rampaging, Miss Fortune had used the communicator Duke gave her to try and reach him.
"No luck. Still no response from Duke."
Frustrated, Miss Fortune nearly smashed the device—but it was their only line to him.
The square was being swallowed by the creeping black mist. Their space was shrinking, turning the square into a cage meant to trap them all.
Splurt!
Blood splashed into the air, droplets landing on Miss Fortune's cheek. A sailor in powered exo-armor had taken a deep, bone-exposing slash to the chest. Before he could even fall, a whirlpool opened up, and Tahm Kench leapt out—swallowing him whole before vanishing again.
The knight, robbed of his prey, roared in fury and swung his massive axe wildly in every direction.
RUMBLE...
Suddenly
A thunderous storm of hooves echoed from deep within the mist. The heavy gallop rolled across the square like a tsunami. Camille turned instantly toward the sound.
"More Fear Knights incoming?!"
"No… no, that's not right!" Miss Fortune trembled, eyes wide. "All of the Fear Knights… they're already here!"
"If anyone hasn't arrived yet—there's only one left."
"Who?"
Just as Camille asked
The thunderous hoofbeats broke into the square. His arrival was like a demonic god from ancient legend walking the earth. Every soul on the battlefield felt a primal dread take root in their hearts.
"Hecarim."
Miss Fortune's voice quivered as she stared at the towering figure emerging from the mist and whispered the name that froze their blood.
She had heard his legend in shadow puppet shows, a distinct art form unique to Bilgewater. Only when every seat was packed would the puppet master dare perform the dark tales of the Shadow Isles.
Among those tales, none were more feared than the one about him
The Shadow of War — Hecarim!
The puppet master, with a chilling and cruel tone, would tell of Hecarim's horrors. Every year, on Soul-Eclipse Night, Hecarim returned without fail.
He was relentless slaughter. Unending wrath. A nightmare from which none escaped.
Wherever his hooves tread, only mangled corpses and shattered limbs remained.
Now, the Shadow of War had emerged fully from the mist. Black fog curled and dissipated around him as he came into full view.
Camille finally saw why Bilgewater feared him above all. Unlike the other knights, Hecarim was more monstrous, more twisted.
His upper body was encased in crude, menacing armor. An infernal visage was etched into his chestplate, eternally burning with unquenchable flame.
Four hooves, forged in iron and stained by countless deaths, merged seamlessly with the armor below—less like limbs, more like a natural extension of him.
"A centaur…?" Camille muttered, staring at Hecarim with a grim expression.
The pressure he exuded reminded her of her youth—her first true battle, that raw terror that shook her to the core.
Weapon raised high, the massive Hecarim stomped forward. The broad blade of his strange halberd ignited in flame.
"No one…"
He roared, and the other Fear Knights were instantly consumed by green fire, vanishing on the spot.
"…survives!"
They reappeared, arrayed behind him in perfect formation.
End of chapter...
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