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League of Legends: A King's Pride A Riot-please-forgive-me-for-writing-this fan fiction by Bloodscale

To Sun-Wukong, rules are like skulls: Existing only to be broken by him.

--

Wukong swam in terror.

He had failed. Failed his ideals, failed his purpose. There were so many stronger than him, so many so much more suited to be the best. It had been obvious to anyone but him, and they had long laughed at his naïve attempts to prove himself. He needed to hide his shame. Hide away. None could be trusted. He was alone. All alone... An unnatural darkness had beguiled his mind and senses. All he could see was shadows, and he lashed out against each of them in blind panic.

Of course he did not see the only one he should have been afraid of, the one that had crept into his mind, poisoning his thoughts and now sought to rend his body. Without warning, the blackness spat out a creature that was as horrifying as the entropy that had spawned it: sanguine blades like giant splinters seemed to emerge from a barely formed body made of sheer terror. The nightmare had no legs, not even a face, only cold, merciless eyes, lightless flames in the amorphous darkness that was its head.

With superhuman agility, Wukong threw himself aside before the wicked blades could cut him in half. Another blow aimed at his legs and he barely managed to avoid it. Why persist, whispered a voice inside of his head, you are a failure, a weakling. You'll never be a worthy fighter.

A single tear ran down his face and into his dark fur. It was right. He was useless. Trash. He broke to his knees with a sob, his fingers letting go his beloved battle staff. At his motion, another voice suddenly flared up. Do not listen to him! You are a legend! Rise and fight! The monkey recognized it as his Summoner's. He felt Nevlamas urging, begging him to stand up, but he refused. He lounged for the peace of death to escape his pitiful existence, if only for a short time.

Nocturne towered over him in triumphant glee. The Eternal Nightmare lunged out with its blades and prepared to decapitate the Champion kneeling in front of it. Wukong closed his eyes and gratefully awaited the strike that would come as inevitable as the darkness growing in his heart.

It didn't come. He had died countless times in his life and he knew how it felt, but he waited in vain for it. Opening his eyes again, the monkey looked at the backside of a heavy golden shield. The towering protection burned with an inner fire that had blocked off Nocturne's weapons and held the creature itself at bay. Then, after only a short moment, the shield was drawn back and its wielder stepped into view.

It was a woman with long brown hair, armed with a golden sword that was just as massive as her shield. She wore a shining armour in the same colour, bearing the emblem of the sun. He recognized her: Leona, a valiant lightbringer and fierce protector. As it seemed, she had noticed the fight and was all too willing to safe his life. "Run", she said, eyeing the horror in front of her suspiciously. When the monkey didn't react, she grabbed him by the shoulder and roughly pulled him to his feet.

She is right, Nevlamas said quickly, I do not believe you to be in the condition to fight as of now. The Summoner's words further stung Wukong's pride, but he couldn't have agreed more. He picked up his staff and got ready to run.

"Go!", Leona cried out: "I will protect you!" Even while she spoke, a flare of light began to flicker around her blade. With a determined, wide swing she forced their opponent to back away from her and then used her momentum to stab at the darkness all around them.

A ray of sunlight burst from her weapon. The light blazed a trail through their surroundings, pushing back the shadows and opening an escape route. Wukong took his chance and dashed towards the opening. His flight became another nightmare, as he felt invisible hands reaching for him from everywhere alike, clawing through his fur and filling his veins with ice, but Leona's light safely guided him out of Nocturne's area of influence.

The outside world greeted him with bright sunshine and a tranquillity that seemed to mock him. He found himself amidst a great, dense forest - a part of the legendary landscape that was known as Summoner's Rift. The Monkey King managed to stagger a few more steps before collapsing. The entire world seemed to spin around him. He felt weak, a feeling that he wasn't used to and that he hated with all his guts.

Behind him, the battle went on. The sphere of darkness there shifted rapidly, sometimes becoming brighter, sometimes darker. Battle cries of both Nocturne and Leona continuously poured out from inside it.

As he laid spread out on the forest's cool, moist earth, Wukong's senses slowly returned to him. He shook his head, his tail twitching in distress. What had that thing done to him? He was a happy, even frivol creature - and a proud one at that. How could the Nightmare have disgraced him like that? The more his mind returned to him, the more embarrassed he felt. This was just wrong. This was wrong!

An inhuman death cry rushed through the glade and the darkened area vanished, as a last flicker of light told the world who had won the fight. Wukong heard armoured footfalls approaching and sat up as a golden blade was rammed into the ground beside him. Leona gave him a warm smile while her gloved hand came down to pad his shoulder. "Thank you", he mumbled grudgingly.

"It is alright", she said: "I had to witness friends getting killed just because they were weak before. I will not allow it to happen again." He grimaced. Because they were weak? First Nevlamas and now her... didn't they even notice how much those words insulted him?

"Can you go on from here without me?" the woman asked and he nodded. She reached for her sword and pulled it free before hoisting her shield and turning to leave. "This fight is not yet won; others might need my aid, too. Take care", she said as she disappeared down one of the paths through the wood. A moment of silence followed.

Well, Nevlamas voice murmured meekly in Wukong's head, I suggest we simply forget this little... episode. I will bring you back to safety. The monkey felt his magic reach out for him and allowed it to take hold of his body. A blue aura embraced him while Nevlamas prepared to take him away. Honestly, the Summoner said, forget it. It defeated you today, but you will defeat it on your next encounter. No one may win every fight. Not even you.

"That's not the point", Wukong answered reluctantly: "I could learn from a defeat, but what that thing back there did was just - this isn't right at all!"

A nearby brush rustled faintly and he went silent. Slowly, to avoid startling whatever lurked in the thicket, the Monkey King reached for his staff. "You'd better hurry up, Summoner", he mumbled while his fingers closed around the golden ornaments covering the read and silver shaft of Doran's masterpiece. I do what I may, came the answer, I am trying, but... watch out!!

Too late. A bolt of lightning broke free from the trees and crashed into Wukong before he had even gotten to his feet. He jumped up and swung his weapon at whatever it was that attacked him, but was taken by surprise when it simply dove beneath his blow and tackled him again. He still didn't know what he was facing, but it obviously was even quicker than him. He felt it touch him only slightly and pain suddenly rushed through his every muscle. Something smacked against his ribcage and he was thrown back and to the ground, the impact knocking the wind out of his lungs.

The strange lightning remained were it was for a moment, eventually coming down to rest on Wukong's torso. It flashed brightly, blinding him for a moment. When his sight returned, the thing on his chest had transformed into a strange little creature, cowering there and staring down at him like a hawk would eye its prey. It was barely three feet tall and wore a purple, tight-fitting attire in the characteristic style of Ionian assassins that covered its entire body, revealing only its abnormally large eyes and a strip of fur around them. The monkey at its mercy recognized it... no, him: Kennen, Heart of the Tempest, another Champion participating in the current fight. This cannot be, Nevlamas exclaimed in shock, they assured me that little devil was far away! Wukong didn't respond. He was so tired...

"No fighting back?" asked the tiny assassin, his voice merely a hoarse whisper: "But trying to run away from me? I am the wind! Nothing escapes me! Still, I would have expected a far worthier enemy." He snorted. "No one is here to safe you now, weakling."

These words brought Wukong back to life. He bellowed in frustrated fury, helplessly crying out against his fate even while Kennen's hand came down for the killing blow.

--

Many miles away, at the centre of a building pulsating with arcane power, a circle of five magicians stood, lost in deep concentration. The chamber around them was cloaked in twilight, almost hiding another group of people watching the ritual from further away, and completely concealing the Summoners' faces beneath their precious purple robes. Each of them was staring into a shining orb levitating between their raised arms; it was easy to forget that these men were fighting a fierce battle there and then.

One of them, a remarkably small figure, suddenly groaned in pain and stumbled backwards. Two of the adepts supervising the ritual stepped into the light and grabbed the tiny wizard by the shoulders to prevent him from falling, thus risking to disturb the concentration of the other mages. Like Kennen, Nevlamas was a member of the Yordle race, a dwarfish people with big heads and small bodies, and so they had no problems keeping him on his feet.

Once the moment of weakness was over, the Summoner got back into the circle while his adepts retreated into the darkness again. A male of his race, Nevlamas looked like a humanoid rodent, covered in sand-coloured fur. His cloak hid this however, and only the two bulges made by his ears betrayed his inhuman nature. Few would have seen it, but the apprentices knew their master and noticed the occasional twitch these bulges made. They had assumed his momentary weakness to be a result of the traumatic death of his Champion, but these nervous twitches were a clear sign that something was really wrong. But what ever it was, they wouldn't ask him about it. Summoners were esoteric, enigmatic people and usually kept to themselves. As most of his colleagues, their master disliked having others poke around in his privacy - fact was, Nevlamas wasn't even his real name. He had his own way and his own trouble. As long as the hooded Yordle didn't call for them, they'd keep their distance.

And good grace, the Summoner himself would've done the same if only he'd been given a choice! He clenched his teeth in barely restrained frustration while he wove his hands in complex patterns, calling Wukong back from the dead. The monkey had been right: being defeated wasn't their greatest problem. Not by a long shot. A Field of Justice was a reality for itself and followed different rules than the rest of Valoran. There, death was neither permanent nor dramatic. No, the real problem at hand was what had been happening inside the Monkey King's head. The surge of feelings Nevlamas had felt as he had shared his last moments had spoken of something could only be described as a full-fledged trauma; as it seemed, the humiliating encounter with Kennen had been too much for his already weakened psyche - facing Nocturne had, after all, been an unspeakably horrifying experience. Nevlamas dared not think of the possible results for him and his favoured Champion, but a little, persistent voice in the back of his head told him that consequences would be dire...

--

One week later...

Nevlamas banged his hands against the ritual chamber's door frame like a child having a tantrum. He bit down on his lips until they bled to prevent himself from shouting out all the death threats running through his mind. He noticed his partners in the past battle throwing contemptuous gazes in his direction (which was downwards) as they passed by, but at that moment he just didn't care anymore.

His behaviour was not the reason why they turned away from him. This match had been a crucial part of an ongoing dispute between them and a rivalling group of Summoners, and they had just suffered a crushing defeat. A defeat that would cost them all a lot of influence and power. A defeat, caused by the total failure of a single Champion: Wukong. But they all knew the Monkey King was capable of doing much better than he had today. So, there was only one possible explanation for this disaster: Nevlamas had hindered him with his incompetence, resulting in this shameful loss.

That was what they thought at least. After all, they didn't see what he had seen. During the past week, the Yordle Summoner had led his Champion trough an unprecedented failure streak. Wukong had not recovered from his clash with Nocturne and Kennen. Whatever it had been that once had made him such a fearsome fighter - it was gone. He was, in one word, broken.

To those close to Nevlamas, the trouble he was in was obvious. Brenn Lightstorm, a Demacian Summoner and old friend of him, had already gone as far as telling him to drop the monkey as his favoured Champion, but that was a step the Yordle refused to do. Despite his recent failures, he still... liked Wukong a lot. Liked. Hah. A bitter smile flashed over his muzzle as he realized how much he tried to avoid using the word 'love'. A male loving a male was complicated enough; but when those two were Summoner and Champion and members of completely different species - no way. Even if they both were of the same profession, the idea of a monkey breeding a Yordle was just...

His heartbeat stopped for a moment, only to commence a second later, at a much faster pace than before. The proud king, ravaging one of Nevlamas' kind for his pleasure, the little furred creature beneath him wriggling and moaning in delight... That idea was just hot. And maybe, given he would make sure it was the right Yordle Wukong would make his, it would also remind him that his place was at the top... The little Summoner's angered expression melted away, leaving behind a twisted smile. Excitement and arousal flew hotly through his body, making his fur stand on end.

The adepts waiting outside were more than surprised to suddenly have a three feet tall whirlwind of purple robes rush past them.

--

Near the Institute of War there was a small grove, untouched by human influence. It hid an even smaller clearing at its core, a peaceful spot of land, including a tranquilly burbling stream and a group of tree stubs to sit on. Two legends had chosen it to be their place for meeting and training. Both were currently present, though most would've recognized only one of them.

There could be no doubt that the impossibly slender primate restlessly scurrying up and down the meadow was Wukong, the Monkey King himself. There was not a bit of his appearance that wasn't utterly unique; from his smooth fur to his emerald eyes, from his willowy limbs to his slim chest. He looked as if he was only skin, fur and bones, but the grace with which he bore his armour betrayed just how strong and swift he really was. Although he carried it as if weightless, his attire looked ridiculously heavy on his sleek form. Black boots and knee caps were the only things covering his legs, although the latter disappeared beneath a long, stiff kilt made of a strange metal attached to a splendorous piece of armour protecting his loins - and only them. It bore images of demonic visages and red and golden scale patterns, the same style visible one his giant bracers and single shoulder pat. His chest remained naked, except for a piece of tiger fur and a woollen scarf. The armour was truly as unique as its owner.

The other figure was different, however. He was a male human, old for a member of his short-dated species. He might have been well beyond his forties, but he still carried that strange mixture of wisdom and youthful energy in his narrow eyes that was as typical for the Ionian people as his sharp, wolfish features. He had traded his battle suit for a brown monk cloak, enough to fool a careless viewer, but a sharper eye might have noticed his hip-length chin beard - or the massive sword at his side. His name was Yi, last blade master of the Wuju Style, teacher, mentor and close friend of Wukong and currently deeply unsettled by his apprentice's behaviour.

The youngster - he still called him like that, despite said 'youngster' being far older than any human would ever be - marched in circles around the stub his master sat on, hands trembling in agitation. His flexible tail was swaying behind him like a cobra searching for something to attack. "It just isn't fair!" the monkey ranted: "How am I supposed to win against anyone when they all may bring their crazy toys to battle!?"

"I am certain that some would call your own tricks just as 'unfair', friend. In the League, we all fight with everything we have. And now please sit down. I cannot focus with you strolling around like that."

"And I cannot focus with that little nut-head's turrets scorching my pelt! I had him, master, I almost had him! And just when I was about to finish him up, I was of course shot straight in the back by one of those bloody contraptions!"

"Telling me about it will scarcely change it. Stop grieving over past mistakes and mediate with me, so you may learn from them instead."

"Learn from them? But how could I learn when everyone tries to...." Wukong continued rambling, but Yi blanked it out. A part of him tried to feel convinced that this wasn't his friend anymore, that whatever had happened the past week had twisted the monkey into a completely different person, but sadly, he was too old and too wise to truly think so. The pouting, enraged ape drawing circles around him had always been a part of Wukong; the recent events had only brought it to the surface. Pride, he though and shook his head in grief, pride was a foe against which the art of Wuju offered no protection.

He knew very well that no one, not even the Summoners calling him to battle, would ever have called Wukong a megalomaniac. It took more wisdom than what a Summoner possessed to understand that the monkey's hubris had put on the mask of another trait: ambition. He didn't believe he was the best, he believed that one day he'd be the best, no matter what. His place was at the top, but his journey was only beginning. This was what made him the fair sport and good loser everyone knew: if someone proved stronger than him, that someone was another obstacle to pass, another challenge he'd eventually master with his vast capabilities and endless enthusiasm. A light-hearted, optimistic, mischievous fellow who enjoyed life and saw a new adventure in each passing day - all this he was because of his ambition. Yi had long worried what would happen, should it ever break away.

As it seemed, something had humiliated him so much that he gave up hope to ever be the best. His purpose was gone and a frustrated, ever-complaining brat was all that remained. So far, so good. But how to solve this misery? Yi pondered, still in light meditation. For a moment he considered asking the League for help, but he quickly disposed of that idea. Summoners were impatient, greedy people. They'd search for a quick and effective solution, disregarding any consequences. No, he'd have to help Wukong himself. The first step would be to make him mediate with him, so...

Just as the old man opened his mouth to speak, Wukong suddenly spun around as if startled and he shut his mouth again in confusion. "Yes, I can hear you, quit shouting already", the monkey said, seemingly talking to himself: "What do you want from me? The next failure? Another embarrassment?"

He went silent and Yi sighted in resignation. His apprentice was talking to a voice in his mind. So the League was already acting. "Yes, I remember him, count on that," another pause followed as Wukong nodded pensively: "Right, right. I see. Go on."

Yi frowned. Remembered him? Remembered whom? Who could be so important that the League would ever care to...

"What!?" All of the sudden, Wukong cringed heavily enough to make a small jump, his face displaying blank shock. After his acrobatic show, he quickly turned away from Yi, unsuccessfully trying to hide that his furless cheeks were flushing brightly. "No wait, I didn't say that I don't like your idea! It was just... unexpected", the monkey continued, now talking to the trees at the clearing's fringe: "Actually, I think it sounds great, really. When do you want me to - now? Don't you think I should have some time to think all this through? No, no I don't want to drop out of this." He shook his head. "Alright, fine, I'm in. I'm on my way to the Institute right now. Please tell me more."

And with these words he left. It seemed he had completely forgotten his master, who was left behind to ponder what just had happened in deep worry.

--

Brenn and Nevlamas entered the twilight of the ritual chamber side by side. Brenn, a jovial, stout human whose long, black beard was the only thing visible beneath his hood, inspected one of the rune-covered pillars that marked the fringe of the actual summoning circle and uttered a satisfied grunt.

"The adepts have prepared everything?" Nevlamas asked and, knowing that his friend wasn't going to answer anyways, softly brushed over another pillar with his hand. The hum of magic instantly filled his ears and the Yordle nodded: "The stage is set. Perfect." He chewed on his lower lip with his rodent teeth for a moment before continuing: "Are you certain that you wish to do this, Brenn? I will not blame you if you do not; it is dangerous after all..."

"Dangerous?" the human said, louder than necessary: "If we're lucky they'll just banish us behind the Great Barrier, but I bet they just gonna rip off our heads." Then, seeing Nevlamas' expression, he laughed heartily: "It's okay, kid. They won't catch us. Duels happen all the time and I told them to leave us alone."

Of course he was right. While it required the concentrated work of dozens of Summoners to awaken a Field of Justice - which basically meant lifting a mirror image of the entire landscape into another reality - it took only very little effort to maintain it afterwards. And although the League had long assumed the habit to settle any quarrel in teams and under strict supervision, duels fought by only two challengers were still too common to cause any suspicions. No, they wouldn't be caught. No one but Brenn would ever know what was really going to happen during their 'friendly sparring'. And Brenn himself - well, for a Demacian he was quite the pervert. A perfect partner in crime. Of course, Nevlamas would never have asked him if he weren't. But he needed a second Summoner to deliver Wukong his prey, and none he knew was better suited to keep this dirty little secret.

"I think we might as well begin, then", the Yordle stated and Brenn grunted his agreement. They stepped into the summoning circle.

As Nevlamas began his chant, he felt the magic he drew from his surroundings rush through his body and claw at his self. He abandoned himself to it, allowing it to sweep him away. Then, once he had become one with the energy flowing through the world, he sent out a call. Wukong, he beckoned_, Monkey King_. Somewhere far away, a vague presence stirred at his words. That was all he needed. With a carefully measured spell, he reached for the presence and tore it away from the corporeal world. After that, finding the Field of Justice was a child's play.

As the spell slowly faded, he was no longer himself.

--

The Institute of War was a colossal building, hosting hundreds upon hundreds of inhabitants. Alongside rooms used for sleeping and meeting, training and summoning, it also included resting chambers for champions to safely store away their bodies while they fought in the League.

A bed had been prepared for him, but Wukong, as always, chose not to use it - much too soft and artificial. He did like the dim silence in the room, though. For a being as feisty as he was, places like this were the only ones where he could actually calm his mind and awaken to emptiness. He sat down on the ground and crossed his legs.

Using a simple breathing technique his master had taught him, he focused his mind on the flow of air through his body. He tried to stop thinking, but trance came slower than usually. Despite all his efforts to calm down, he was still thrilled by what he was about to do, and the results of his eagerness weren't easy to ignore. He thought about undressing to give his growing erection more room, but he didn't want to be caught sitting on the floor naked and hard like a rock. Finding a quiet corner to get rid of the problem wasn't an option either - Nevlamas would call him soon. Well, he'd have to wait until he met Kennen, then. A small grin flashed over his face, revealing a pair of razor-sharp eye teeth. The thought somehow helped soothing his urges. He hadn't felt at ease like this in weeks; was Nevlamas plan actually working? Even Wukong himself had thought it to be completely insane, and if he called something crazy...

This time, he delved into meditation without a problem. He retreated to his inner core and took his essence with him, turning his warm flesh and blood back to what it had been before his time: solid stone. His soul and his body were barely connected anymore. It was of course possible to summon a Champion without such preparation - even against their own will, actually - but the process would be much easier this way, for both of them.

He was still in this state when Nevlamas found him. At first, it was only a soft touch, like fingers running through his fur. Soon however, the almost intimate feeling became much less pleasant as the Summoner more and more engulfed him. Then came the worst part. Wukong felt as if he was being torn to ribbons. The entire universe around him seemed to collapse, breaking into bits and leaving him helpless and without orientation. He gasped for air, but something had closed around his throat like a vice.

And then, all of the sudden, it was over. He was still feeling a bit dizzy, but there was a world around him again - however, it wasn't the same as seconds before.

--

While he strode through the jungle of Summoner's Rift, Wukong reconsidered the plan Nevlamas had explained to him. It was actually quite simple: he would face Kennen and the Summoner in control of the Yordle would shut of his magical power. Wukong would then defeat him and take his revenge - what in the present case meant as much as 'rape the crap out of that annoying hamster'. Oh boy, the thought alone was enough to make him hard again! He wasn't particularly interested in males, but he came around. A lot. Even back in the time before his journey to the north, he had gotten bored of breeding females all the time and had had his fun with quite a few of his monkey brothers... Needless to say, he had always been the one taking turns. After all, his place was at the top. Ah, he would enjoy Kennen. That bastard would learn not to mess with him!

Wukong grinned his broad monkey grin as a memory of Nevlamas' explanations flashed through his mind. Kennen is not going to be informed of all this, of course. We'll simply tell him that you challenged him to a duel, the winner of which will be allowed to do to the loser whatever he wishes while remaining in Summoner's Rift. He will be bound by oath then and, once you have bested him, either lose his honour or... endure your treatment. The Summoner's voice had trailed off, leaving the rest to Wukong's vivid imagination. Time wasn't a problem either: hours in Valoran meant days on a Field of Justice; all in all they wouldn't be done within less than two weeks - without the need to drink or eat. Anticipation made him increase his pace. He couldn't wait to stuff the little Yordle's ass with monkey cock!

Good grace, how eager, Nevlamas' voice resounded in his head, and this time it was no memory, if your thoughts get any more interesting, rest assured I will catch fire.

Wukong burst out in his infamously shrill laughter. "Thanks", he said happily: "It's been a while since I last got to fuck anything, but I promise to make up for it all!" He laughed again. Then, feeling relieved, he began talking again, this time with the careless tranquillity Nevlamas knew of him: "Hey, Summoner! Would you do me a favour?" The mage didn't hesitate. What ever you wish.

"Could you tell your friend not to block Kennen's powers outright? It will be so much more fun with a challenge", his grin became wider: "It will also be much easier to make him my bitch if he knows he's been fairly bested."

Do you always speak like this when you are aroused? There had been a notable pause before Nevlamas' answer. Wukong could almost see the little Summoner blushing hotly and felt his amusement rise even more: "You mean when I'm horny because I'm about to fuck a little slut into submission? You got it!" This time, there was no answer at all and the monkey bared his teeth in triumph. How irresistibly cute! For someone with a mind as dirty as his, Nevlamas sure was easy to embarrass. He was like a teenager, having the wildest sexual fantasies only to be completely dumbstruck when they became reality. Maybe he'd tap his ass too, fuck some experience into that little Yordle...

He reached down to lazily stroke his rock-hard erection before moving on.

--

Nevlamas' pulse thundered in his ears like hammer and anvil. His knees almost gave way as blood left them to flood his body with heat. Wukong's last thought echoed through his mind again and again. He wanted him, too? The legendary Monkey King desired him, a puny rat? He could barely believe it, but the lust with which Wukong had thought of him was unmistakable. Runes of magic, what would he have given for the chance to submit to it, if only once!

His unity with his Champion wavered and forcefully reminded him that he was not only a Yordle, but also a Summoner - and Summoners weren't supposed to be inattentive while they conjured the most complex kind of magic there was. They weren't supposed to be submissive sluts either, but he couldn't help it. Something about Wukong just made him want to serve; but no, he couldn't afford any further distraction. He would offer himself to the monkey later... but calmly.

You being silent is quite a nice change,, but what about my request? Wukong suddenly said, and his voice alone was enough to make Nevlamas moan with desire. "Of... of course", he stuttered: "I shall tell my friend to leave Kennen as he is for the moment." As promised, he delivered Wukong's wish to Brenn, all the while secretly cursing that his mind was far away from his body, unable to sate its growing needs.

--

There was one thing Kennen and Wukong had in common: they both always made sure to strike first. Kennen on his part had long learned to seize the smallest of opportunities, and when he spotted his opponent between the pine trees, he knew that moment had come. The Monkey King just sat there, his legs crossed, oblivious to his surroundings.

He never saw the shuriken Kennen threw at him, but he surely felt it as it hit him in the back and cut through skin and muscle before getting stuck somewhere beneath his ribs. Wukong jumped up and bellowed in pain, but Kennen gave him no time to adapt. He used his throwing star as a channelling point for his own magic, sending a mighty bolt of lightning against the metal blade and directly into Wukong's body. Thunder washed through the forest and the monkey dropped dead. A few last sparks of electric energy drizzled from his fur as he stopped moving - and vanished.

"Impressive", said a gleeful voice behind him and Kennen spun around to see Wukong walking towards him, slowly spinning his staff and in perfectly good health. A mirage! He had been fooled by a simple decoy! "That looked pretty painful just there", the grinning monkey continued: "Good thing it wasn't me!" Without a warning, Kennen sent another shuriken flying and Wukong's grin disappeared; as did the rest of his body. The Yordle cursed. Another mirage? Stars of Ionia, how many of those could he bring up?

The answer came from everywhere alike. At least a dozen Monkey Kings suddenly appeared among the trees. A quick glance over the shoulder confirmed to Kennen what his instincts had already told him: he was surrounded. The Yordle's eyes flashed from one to another, fruitlessly trying to make out the real one. It was impossible. They all looked the same. "Well, aren't we spoilt for choice?" one of them asked: "Which one of us will you try out? This one? That one?" Their shrill laughter made his ears ring.

But Kennen still had an ace up his sleeve. "I am an assassin of Ionia", he said loudly. He forced himself to slow down his speaking, trying to buy himself time. He could feel power gathering inside of him as he secretly prepared a decisive spell: "and my mission is to kill Wukong. And so I will, no matter how many of you there are."

"Just try to stop me", the monkeys answered, and Kennen struck. With a cry of release, he sent out his pent-up force as a single, slicing maelstrom of flash and thunder. The entire forest flared up with light for a moment. The figures around him were caught by the outburst; no matter if they were mere distractions or not, they were all burned to ashes.

It lasted only a moment, tough it felt like hours. The trance of power left him and he stumbled, drowsy and exhausted. And while he was fighting just to stay on his feet, the real Wukong jumped down from the tree tops.