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Kassadin phased into the waiting room of Summoner's Rift, ignoring the other champions, who looked at him in barely concealed disgust. He was extremely aware of how unpleasant his presence was but didn't mind. He wasn’t here for friendship, after all.
To be honest, he didn't really understand how the League of Legends worked. His teammates talked amongst themselves and discussed their strategy, but Kassadin just listened, his mind far away, not paying much attention. The Nether Blade pulsed in his hand, reacting to his thoughts of the void.
He stood in silence as another version of himself settled in his body. No matter how many times he did this, it was always uncomfortable. Having another you’s memories. Knowing he wasn’t doomed in every reality was a small comfort, though. He looked at his new form in a mirror, trying to decipher what it was supposed to mean. This kind of thing didn’t exist in Shurima. He remembered living alone in a cold castle, and he remembered people being scared of him. He remembered... being friends with a yordle? Weird.
As for his appearance... well, he was still somewhat blue. But a subtler shade this time, like a corpse. He looked down at his hands, inspecting his new, long, black, and well-kept nails. His outfit was still long enough to completely cover his legs, and covered nearly all of his chest except for a deep, V-shaped cleavage that - somehow - looked more revealing than being completely bare-chested. And most surprising of all, the top half of his face was uncovered, revealing sinuous gold eyes and a haircut he never thought would fit him so well, with a white streak parting the smooth and perfectly styled black locks falling around his pointed ears. The Nether Blade still pulsed ominously, but with the addition of a green eye and decorative wings, it actually looked kind of cute. He really, really liked it.
Kassadin’s teammates were mostly silent, waiting for the match to start. His unusual appearance attracted quite a few stares, and he hoped the mask went high enough to cover the light wash of purple that darkened his cheeks. He wasn’t used to this kind of attention.
The match started, teleporting them all to the Summoner’s Rift. Kassadin realized he was so distracted by his change of looks that he forgot to check who he was up against, but it would be fine. Probably. He was the first of the team to leave the fountain and floated straight forward, ready to fight whoever was unlucky enough to be his opponent.
Kassadin felt his presence before even seeing him and instantly knew who it was. The familiar pressure in his temples that urged him to fight. Kassadin didn’t know whether the slight shake in his core was from his anger or his blade, perhaps both. Oh, how he would enjoy ripping this particular enemy apart.
“Show yourself, Malzahar.”
“Heh heh... it’s been a long time, Kass.”
The prophet stood in front of him now, and Kassadin realized that he looked different as well. Some sort of colorful god, not quite Shuriman, but somewhat similar. His face was technically uncovered, but gold replaced his entire lower jaw, making him look more like an ornate relic than an alive human. It was so long since Kassadin saw Malzahar’s bare face that it made his heart skip a beat. He looked completely different, yet had the same alluring tilt in his eyelids that made so many people fall for his lies, the same sharp nose and smooth skin and mischievous grin that he used to look at so closely for hours all those years ago before it all went wrong. Kassadin cursed his feelings, knowing they probably would reflect poorly on his fighting abilities.
“Like what you see?” Malzahar attacked another minion. “Because I do.” He never took his gaze off of Kassadin, who tried his hardest not to show his discomfort. It was just a matter of waiting for more of his powers to be unlocked so he could kill the prophet and get at least a few seconds of peace.
“Are you trying to burn a hole through my mask with your eyes?”
“It’s just so unfair how I’m here, baring my face for you again, after all these years, and yet, you keep teasing me looking like that.”
Kassadin snorted in disdain.
Malzahar continued. “Though I have to say, it really is fitting. While I’m a world-destroying god in this other life, you’re...” Malzahar gestured condescendingly with one hand. “Still pretending to be human. Just like you do in this universe.” He chuckled, several inhuman voices overlapping with his. “It’s very becoming on you.”
It was very Malzahar to both swoon over him and insult him in the same string of words. Ramblings of a madman. Kassadin sighed deeply and tucked a stray lock of hair behind his sharp ears, trying to repress his memories.
“You know,” he continued, “you would look even more handsome if you just accepted that you’re not one of them anymore.”
“And I am supposed to believe that I’m one of yours? Do not insult me.”
Malzahar shrugged. “Believe whatever you want, kudu. You know I’m right.”
Kassadin hates Malzahar. He hates how Malzahar always acts so smug around him, as if he truly was untouchable. He hates how even after all he’s done, he still can’t bring himself to kill Malzahar outside of the Rift, because Kassadin can still see the human beneath the monster, because he desperately wants someone to do the same to him. So he keeps killing Malzahar in this little game and telling himself that when the time comes, he’ll have the courage to plunge his blade through his ex-lover’s stomach.
In the end, they both really are sand from the same desert.
“Hey, Kass?”
Kassadin snapped out of his thoughts and narrowed his eyes at the other man, who was slowly and gradually floating towards him. Malzahar took this as enough of an answer and continued.
“Would you miss me if I were gone?”
“You have been for years now.”
“I meant dead.”
“...You must be truly mad if you think you still mean anything to me.”
“Oh? Not to defend my own sanity... but I know I do.”
Though he wasn’t ever capable of doing it, not even before the void claimed him, Malzahar’s gaze was sometimes so intense that Kassadin wondered if his mind was being read.
“And why is that?”
Malzahar was at an arm’s length of distance now. His energy shield crackled as it deactivated.
“I’m all you have. And you’re all I have, too.”
Something about this felt different from their regular banter. Was that a hint of melancholy, hidden just under the lull of his words? Kassadin was nervous, his blade weighing heavily in his hand. His heart raced in his chest. He was so close now. It would only take one strike. Why couldn’t he do it?
Malzahar touched his bladeless hand. It felt warm against his cold skin. His face was way too close for comfort, Kassadin thought, so he looked the other way.
“You know what I think about when my mind isn’t filled with all those whispers and visions?” He raised up his other hand to trace Kassadin’s jaw through the mask. “You.”
“I... why are you doing this?”
Malzahar laughed condescendingly before answering.
“Why are you letting me?”
Oh, there it was. The smug, asshole Malzahar that Kassadin knew so well. It seemed like he was back in his comfort zone, getting even touchier, one hand shoving a lock of hair behind his enemy’s sharp ear, the other pressing against his chest. Testing how far he would be able to go this time. Kassadin kept his hands to himself, nails nearly puncturing his palms. He hoped the racing of his heart and the blush in his cheeks weren’t too noticeable.
“Do you feel lonely today? Ah... but that’s probably how you feel every day, isn’t it?”
Malzahar floated a little higher so he was eye level with Kassadin and wrapped his arms around the vampire. He leaned sideways to place a kiss in one of Kassadin’s ears.
“You know I can help you. It would be just like old times…”
Malzahar pulled the mask down slowly, taking care not to frighten his lover, just like approaching a hurt animal. His other hand cupped Kassadin’s cheek softly. Teasing him was one thing, but they hadn’t seen each other face to face in years. It was intimate, and Malzahar cherished the moment. He didn’t know for how long the man would care to humor him.
Kassadin must have noticed the change of atmosphere, too, because the wrinkles between his eyebrows softened as his anger morphed into surprise. His eyes were wide, casting a soft yellow light on Malzahar’s cheeks. He felt like he had something to say, but it was stuck in his throat, together with the million other words he should have said to the man in their past.
His face was completely uncovered now, and Malzahar traced Kassadin’s thin lips with a finger, trying to comfort him. He breathed in.
“Why are you trying to fix things?”
Malzahar actually looked hurt for a split second, and it made Kassadin’s heart twist with guilt.
“I can’t answer that.”
Kassadin was baffled. For the first time in his life, he considered that maybe Malzahar was just as nervous as he was.
Kassadin can’t forgive Malzahar for what he did to his family, his people. A monster who rejected humanity.
And yet, they stood like that for a while, and for a moment, it really did feel like the old times. As if they were on the last air bubble inside a sunken ship, where all their sins and all their mistakes became irrelevant, where all they had was each other and the vague sense of impending doom.
Kassadin wanted to close the gap between them so badly. He leaned forward but stopped himself out of shame. It seemed that Malzahar was waiting for this, though, because he fiercely pulled him closer into a kiss. Years of repressed feelings and sorrowful yearning seemed to melt away as they kissed, and Kassadin felt like melting along with them. He hugged Malzahar’s waist to keep himself grounded, to remind himself that all of this was real. He had missed this so much, they both had, their old love for each other reigniting so intensely and so suddenly that it was hard to believe they were ever able to stay apart.
However, it wasn’t quite so simple. Malzahar took everything away from him, something he repeated over and over like a prayer in his mind, something to anchor him. His home, his family, even himself. All lost. All of them swallowed by the dark purple tendrils of the prophet's resolve, until even the lines of human morality started to spiral into each other like vials of ink spilled onto sand.
Kassadin was dragged back to reality by a coppery taste in his mouth. He pulled away, only to see Malzahar, flushed and wide-eyed, staring back at him. A small drop of blood trickled down his gold-plated chin.
“...Did you just bite me?” He panted.
He was mortified at his own involuntary actions, but if Malzahar’s surprised smirk was any indication, he probably wasn't in much pain. Kassadin raised a hand to wipe it away.
“Sorry, I-”
The prophet grabbed his wrist, his expression morphing into one of mischief. “No can do, kudu. You’ll rip my face with those nails~”
Kassadin rolled his eyes and braced himself for another round of senseless teasing.
“What a mean-looking face. And here, I thought I had managed to soften you a little…” He pouted, looking up at Kassadin through thick eyelashes. “But then again, you’re the one who wounded me. Have you no shame?”
“You won’t let me help you.”
“That is not true. I merely don’t want you to use your hands.”
The vampire furrowed his brows in confusion. This prompted Malzahar to hook a finger inside his mouth and behind his lower teeth, forcing his mouth open. Kassadin threatened to bite his finger and snapped back as soon as his mouth was free.
“You’re mad.”
Malzahar laughed in retaliation. A drop of blood fell from his chin and rolled down Kassadin’s chest, and he couldn’t deny that it was somewhat enticing.
A few tension-filled seconds passed before he gave in, figuring it couldn’t get much worse than kissing his rival’s lips. Drawing Malzahar closer by his hip and tilting his head upwards with another hand, Kassadin got a closer look at the wound. It was barely even visible, but the deep red liquid stood out against the gold underneath it, still dripping.
He licked the blood pooling on Malzahar’s chin first, slowly going up. His eyes were closed, yet he could feel the prophet’s gaze on him. He savored the taste, convincing himself that the only reason he was enjoying this so much was because this particular universe made him a vampire.
The prophet kissed Kassadin again, trying his hardest to feed him more blood. He was smiling through the kiss, clearly enjoying this more than he should be. Kassadin’s senses worked against him as the sheer intensity of the act mixed with the sharp taste of the blood surrounded him in a drunken haze, tainted as dark as the void itself.
Kassadin broke the contact first, gasping for air. Malzahar was looking quite pleased with himself, though his face looked even dirtier than before. He opened his mouth, but before he could make any witty remarks, Kassadin interrupted him.
“Shut up. I don’t want to hear it.”
Malzahar wiped some of the blood on the back of his hand.
“I wasn’t going to say anything weird…”
“I doubt it.” Kassadin cleaned his mouth on his collar. “Satisfied?”
He beamed with delight. “It’s enough for now.”
The void walker backed off a little, pulling his mask over his nose and mouth again. He saw a flash of disappointment breaking Malzahar’s facade, but he, too, backed off, putting his shield up once again, another barrier separating them.
The game continued as usual, except that they both kept to themselves under the pretense of playing it safe. Kassadin answered each of Malzahar’s longing gazes with annoyance, or by pretending he wasn’t looking. It was useless, merely damage control at this point. Would this even change anything? Or would they just go back to how they were before, enemies pretending they didn’t crave each other’s touch? He was so certain about his future. Stop Malzahar, destroy the void, and die a noble death. The possibility that it could ever be different was dizzying, and the blade in his hand angrily prickled his skin, making its dissatisfaction clear.
They broke out in a clumsy fight, neither too sure of who started it. As they were used to this, the longer it went, the easier it got to go through the motions. Kassadin half-expected the prophet to taunt him, but it seemed like he had his mind on something else, his brows furrowed uncharacteristically.
The fight was over as suddenly as it started, the void walker’s blade piercing Malzahar’s chest. Everything seemed to stop as they stared wide-eyed at each other. As the prophet dissipated into purple smoke, relief flashed across his face.
He didn’t come back for a long time. Being alone with his thoughts wasn’t a foreign concept to Kassadin by any means, but he still itched for something to break up the infernal debate and guilt that weighed heavily on him, more so than usual. He was about to head towards another lane when Malzahar hovered into his field of vision.
“Missed me?”
He released a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and hoped that the truth wasn’t too easy to read behind his grimacing face. Malzahar was always disgustingly good at reading him, though.
“You want to know what I was doing?” Malzahar tapped a finger against his chin. “Hmm, void prophet stuff. You wouldn’t get it.”
Kassadin groaned. “What are you even talking about?”
“Your ears look so cute like this, Kass", he dodged. "Did you notice that? When you blush, they do too.”
He still had the self-restraint required to not cover his ears with his hands like a child. At least he wasn’t completely gone yet. However, his restraint wasn’t enough to stop him from staring at the tree line as he avoided Malzahar’s sharp eyes.
He flinched as something brushed against his earlobe, hand snapping up to grab the prophet’s wrist. When had he gotten so close? His grip was so hard that had Malzahar not been wearing his metal arm guards, his skin surely would have bruised. It didn’t seem to stop him, though, and his free hand rested on Kassadin’s chest, fingers tentatively dipping inside his coat to rest right over his heart. He pressed on, massaging the cold skin, feeling the lethargic, unnatural heartbeat that Kassadin seemed to acquire after messing with ancient artifacts for too long.
As the grip on him weakened, Malzahar moved both hands to mess with the taller man’s ears. He even tilted sideways to kiss one of them. It was weird, but then again, Malzahar was a weird person. The weirdness of it didn’t stop it from feeling good either.
Malzahar’s lips were still against the shell of his ear and Kassadin felt shivers as the prophet muttered a “How cute…”
Kassadin was starting to feel antsy, and his breath was coming a bit short. The prophet’s kisses echoed loudly inside his head. His face felt warm from the treatment, and his ears were surely flushed by now. Malzahar bit down lightly and Kassadin held back a noise that got stuck in his throat.
He pulled away with a final kiss and admired the sight of Kassadin’s wonderfully widened eyes.
“My team beckons me.”
“Oh.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it again, in clear hesitation.
“Kass… can we continue later?”
He was smirking smugly, but his eyes betrayed him. He was afraid of being forgotten by Kassadin again. The silence dragged on, and his answer cut it like a blade.
“Yes.”
What is more guilt to a man who has lived with it for all his life, anyway?