Work Text:
Yone wasn’t sure what year it was.
At first this was a fact he could overlook. After all, he had been very busy. With Noxus attempting a second invasion of Ionia, Azakana had been running rampant. It also wasn’t like he hadn’t been keeping track of time in general. He had, just with his measure of time being the time between Azakana encounters, and not the more traditional measures. Without him, there would be nobody else to stop them. Nobody else to protect the people. It didn’t matter if he had once been diligent, obsessed with, even, about tracking the time since his undeath. It didn’t matter that he didn’t find it in himself to care about that anymore. What mattered was keeping people safe.
But it wasn’t really about protecting the people anymore, was it? If it had been about protecting the people, then he would be on the front lines fighting Noxus, just like so many others. Just like Yasuo was.
It was funny, really. Their whole lives, it had been Yone that had been the one to look up to, the one who was selfless, the one who calm, logical. Yasuo had been the one to strike out on his own, to be foolish, to be selfish, to be impulsive. He wondered, faintly, what his brother would think of him now. He didn’t know how long it had been exactly since he had encountered his brother, since they’d spoken - grâce à no longer knowing the year. It occurred to him that for all he knew, Yasuo could be dead.
He expected that idea to hurt him more. His death, his undeath, his hunt, it had all left him much more stoic than he had once been, but that was mere stoicism. This…
This was nothingness. The thought didn’t sadden him, but it also brought no joy. It simply just was. It was of as much emotional importance to him as the grass of trees around him were. As the time now was. As many things would be.
The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. Yasuo. Reckless, immature Yasuo was dead. Likely died quite quickly. He would have done something risky and paid the price. Despite any changes that Yone might have undergone, Yasuo was still Yasuo, and that meant that Yasuo was probably dead.
He continued on his journey. Azakana wouldn’t simply stop to consider such a situation, so he wouldn’t either.
—
He was in a city. The name didn’t matter.
When he was younger, before his death, he had disliked cities. They were too loud, too busy, too fast, too much. Now? Now he thrived in them. Where there were cities, there were people, and where there were people, there were Azakanas.
He strode down the street, not bothering to spare a glance at the people he passed, nor to make sure that he didn’t walk into them. He didn’t walk into anyone, and if he had taken even a moment to look at his surroundings, he would have realized that it wasn’t out of luck, or even out of the kindness of the strangers. It was out of fear.
They had every right to be scared. He was a sight to behold in all the wrong ways. He was tall, but gaunt. His skin was dull, with the only hints of color being around the injuries he had sustained in his last Azakana encounter. His hair had grown wild and unkempt, trailing far past his waist. His nails, too, had grown, now looking more like claws or talons than normal nails.
Even those weren’t the most striking aspect of his appearance, though. No, it was the long chain of masks that he had wrapped around him. Where they had once only been along his belt, they were now everywhere; hung around his neck, on his robes, even on his sheath there hung a mask. Although there was an issue of impracticality, he couldn’t bear to make himself part with any of them. The idea was simply ludicrous.
He reached a point where the main road split off into several side roads, and sensing a presence, he immediately turned onto one. The further back he went, the stronger it felt. He also started to hear voices.
“Please, Farai, please just listen to me!”
“I’ve listened quite enough, Tano. I’ve been doing nothing but listening for years. I’ve listened to every excuse you’ve made for coming home empty handed for years and I’m sick of it. I refuse to just sit here while you gamble away the last of our savings.”
“Please, I’m so close, please. Look, I know you’re upset, but this time is different, I can feel it.”
Yone should have left here. The presence was still there, but it clearly wasn’t an Azakana, nor did it appear to be any other kind of spirit. By all logic, he should have left and gone to search for an actual Azakana.
“You said that last time. And the time before that. And the time before that. I’m done, Tano.”
Logic hadn’t had a place with him in years. He had left it with his decision to continue to keep the masks. Or perhaps it had been before that. Perhaps it had been left with his corpse, or perhaps it had been when he had left Yasuo for the front lines.
It didn’t matter. Yasuo was dead.
“So what? You’re going to leave now?” Tano started laughing hysterically. “Do you know what that means, Farai? It was all pointless! If you leave now, if you cut me off now, it was all wasted. All that money was lost for nothing. You cut me off, you have to find a way to earn back everything that was lost.”
Farai now seemed slightly more hesitant in their conviction, but stood their ground.
“I don’t care. This ends now, before it gets any worse.” They started to walk away.
Suddenly, the presence that had brought Yone here in the first place started to fade. Cold, sharp panic surged through him. No. No no no. Whatever this was, whatever this presence was, he couldn’t allow it to dissipate. He had to do something, he had to stop it, he-
And then his mind went blissfully clear. He suddenly knew what he had to do, knew how to keep the presence from fading.
As the blade slit their throat, Yone felt relief. Even as the man, Tano, looking at him in horror, even as he called Yone a monster, Yone couldn’t help but smile.
The presence was still there, and would continue to grow even stronger that night when Tano took the last of the savings to the fighting ring.
—
It had been approximately one week since he had last seen an Azakana. More specifically, it has been one week and seven hours.
That was too long. It was putting him on edge.
He paced up and down the street of the small town he was currently located in. It was close to where the second invasion had started. There SHOULD be Azakana here. It shouldn’t have been a week since Yone had seen one.
He attempted to distract himself, instead counting his steps.
One
Two
Three
Four
Maybe he’d truly rid this area of them?
Five
Six
Seven
This thought brought little relief.
Eight
Nine
He saw a hint of movement out of the corner of his eye.
Ten
He turned on his heel and launched himself toward the movement, his blades cutting through the figure before he registered what they were.
The man, now dead, fell to the ground with a thud.
Yone sighed and started walking out of the town.
One week and eight hours.
—
His breathing was ragged, almost manic as he blocked a hit from the Azakana. He dodged a few more attacks, anticipation rising. As he struck the final blow he felt high, he felt alive, he felt-
Then it was all over, and it was all gone. As its form faded and a mask replaced it, he no longer felt the satisfaction he once had.
He had once been able to justify everything to himself by saying that he was protecting the people. When he realized that it was no longer for the people, he told himself that it was for ridding Ionia of Azakanas. But now, what was it? He delighted in the fight, he delighted in the slaughter, but now, as the fights got fewer and farther between, he felt no satisfaction in the fact that he was now closer to his goal than he had ever been before.
Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.
He needed to do something, needed to not think. He started to walk back towards the city he had left in pursuit of the now-deceased Azakana. It was smaller than the ones he usually liked to inhabit, but it was good enough for his purposes. He had felt the Presences while passing through. It would be enough, at least for a little while.
He had just made it to the outskirts of the city when he spotted a figure that instantly caught his attention.
Sword. Blue robes. Brown hair. It was unmistakably him.
But I couldn’t be. Yasuo was dead. Had died long ago.
Yasuo turned and spotted him, freezing. Yone wasn’t sure when he’d gotten closer, only that he could now hear Yasuo’s quiet “Brother?”
Yone struck first, attempting a slice to the throat. This wasn’t Yasuo. Yasuo was dead. It was a fact of the world. As true as the sky was blue.
Not-Yasuo dodged and parried, but Yone quickly recovered. He attempted to jab left, only to be once again blocked by Yasuo.
“Yone-“ Yasuo was starting to look panicked. “Yone, what happened? Why are you-“ Before he could finish, Yone managed to nick his unarmored arm with the edge of his blade. Yasuo hissed. “Yone, please, it’s me-“
“Yasuo is dead. He died in the invasion.” Feign left, jab right. His sword pierced Not-Yasuo’s abdomen. He then pulled it out and watched as blood started to trickle down and seep into his robes.
“No, I didn’t, Yone, please-“ he gasped, futilely attempting to stem the bleeding.
A mistake. It left him open to attack. Yone once again plunged his sword into Yasuo, but now through his stomach and I to his chest.
Yasuo’s eyes widened.
“Yone-“ his voice was pleading. “Yone, please, I forgive you, please don’t keep going down this path, please, Yone, you’re better than this-“
“You talk too much-“ Yone pulled out the sword once again, watching as Not-Yasuo fell limply to the ground, still clutching at his midsection. “For a dead man.”
“Brother-“ Yasuo said, barely a whisper.
Yone slit his throat. Likely an unnecessary measure, as Not-Yasuo would have likely died on his own quickly enough, but one he took nonetheless.
He allowed himself to look at the corpse for only a second longer before he continued into the city.
Yasuo was dead. This was a fact, and had always been a fact.