How Legends are Made 1 (JJK/LoL)

How Legends are Made 1

97 AN: Howling Abyss, Freljord

Ryze stood at the northernmost edge of the world, a gaping chasm that imprisoned terrors even gods feared. A century after his quest began, he was at his journey's end. The magic of the World Runes flowed through him despite his utter loathing for them. The raw mana they exuded was enough to change him, make him more than mortal, an archmage with one foot into the realm of gods.

The Rune Mage stood at the edge of the world and held the five keys to unlimited power for one last time. They were beautiful, utterly breathtaking even. Five gems bound in Petricite pyramids, the only way for Ryze to hold them for an extended period without being driven mad with power.

They sickened him.

Yet still they beckoned.

With them, he could forge a new era. He could guide the fledgling kingdoms into an age of peace and prosperity like none other. He could see it now, harmony among the nations and peoples as far as the eye could see, a world where no one would go hungry, where no injustice would go unpunished, where–

Ryze flinched back as though struck and the World Runes fell into the Abyss. He shook his head as he walked away.

"The only power I truly have… is the strength to let go."

X

Void

The Watchers saw all. They were there before Runeterra began, before all but the eldest celestials came into being. They would persist long after the stars burned out.

They saw.

They saw, but could do nothing.

The bonds of the Forgelord were absolute, should have been absolute. Would have been absolute, unbreakable even to the gods of the Void, had it not been for the Third Sister. Her enchantment entombed the Watchers, but also ate away at the bridge, weakening the Forgelord's work. One day, the bridge would fall and the Watchers would be among mortals once more.

Yet, today was not that day.

And so the five World Runes fell. They passed the Watchers and crossed the Void into the space between worlds. There, they scattered like birds into cosmos unknown.

Each World Rune traveled aimlessly through the space between worlds, until one met a soul, all but expended and ready to fade. The probability of this meeting was infinitesimally small. The probability of that World Rune meeting this specific soul even more so.

And yet, the probability was not zero and so, in the space between worlds, the Rune of Domination found a master.

X

Yasunori Kaname

I rolled out from beneath the car we’d been working on. “Sato-san, the brakes aren’t looking too bad. They don’t need to be replaced.”

The grizzled, old mechanic looked up from the hood. “Is that right? Good, saves us some time. While you’re up, get us some dinner, will ya?”

“Alright, will do. Is that teriyaki place good?”

“Fine, you know my usual, Yasu.”

I took some money from the register and headed out. It’d been three weeks since I started crashing on his couch and things had fallen into a routine.

Sato’s Auto Shop was located in Kabukicho, the red light district in Shinjuku. Because of this, the car was a bit of an oddity; we mostly worked on motorcycles and scooters, stuff that had better maneuverability in the crowded streets. It was also why the shop wasn’t really doing all that well, one more reason to be grateful to the old man for taking me in.

He didn’t bat an eye. When I stumbled in, fresh from mom’s funeral, he just nodded towards the sofa and that was that. I owed him; the least I could do was pick up some of the labor that his old back couldn’t handle anymore around the shop and fetch his takeout orders.

I turned the corner to that izakaya nearby. They had the best damn teriyaki in Shinjuku, with portion sizes that reminded me of American diners, not a Japanese hole-in-the-wall. Come to think of it, those portion sizes were probably why they were also poor.

I sighed as I strolled by an alley. Just inside the shadows cast by the buildings were four boys, closer to young men, really, with dyed blonde hair and makeshift weapons. Two idiots with bats. One with a bike chain. Another with a box cutter of all things. They saw me and grinned like hungry sharks.

I had no idea why this kept happening. Kabukicho was the worst neighborhood in Tokyo when it came to violent crime rate, but even so, it was like every two-bit thug was attracted to me. It’d gotten to the point that I was now pretty sure I was in a gangster or martial arts manga, kind of like Great Teacher Onizuka or Baki the Grappler.

These idiots that seemed to spawn like RPG mobs weren’t the only clues. For starters, I didn’t look Japanese. I was tall, about five-ten at just fifteen years old. I had broad shoulders and a natural athleticism that intimidated people and kept me tailed by the staff whenever I entered a halfway-reputable store.

The anime-style, bright red hair and yellow eyes probably didn’t help, either. My hair wasn’t just ginger-red, but red like fresh blood or rose petals. I kept it cropped short to draw less attention, but that only made me look like an army recruit.

And the eyes, I’d heard everything from “mad dog” to “homeless serial killer.” They had a way of making people uncomfortable. A girl I briefly dated said her father wanted her to break up with me because I reminded him of a mad dog. It wasn’t like I wanted to glare at people; I just… appreciated people very intensely…

I had no idea why I looked like this. Mom swore she’d never been dicked down by a gaijin so it wasn’t like I could blame this on being hapa. Some people got bubblegum-pink hair and a bright, cheerful smile that belonged in toothpaste commercials. I looked like I fashioned cement boots for a living without even trying.

Then there was the thrill. I was an adrenaline junky, more than I thought was possible. It wasn’t quite bloodlust, I didn’t enjoy causing suffering necessarily, but I loved fighting.

I could feel it welling up inside me. It was a shiver of excitement that surged up my spine like an electric current. Even now, as my fist crashed into one thug’s face, I could feel a hungry grin forming on my face. It didn’t matter that these boys were a few years older than me. If anything, that made it better.

I hadn’t been like this in my past life. I was decently athletic, but I’d never been a brick shithouse of muscle and brawling instinct like this. Nor had I enjoyed violence. I boxed, but strictly for exercise, or to defend myself as a hypothetical. I could count the number of times I’d fought someone in the ring on one hand despite over eight years of experience.

But the biggest clue that I’d been reborn into some kind of manga world wasn’t physical. No, the biggest clue was the dream.

I wished I could describe it better, but that was all I really had. It was a recurring dream I’d had ever since the first time I got into a fight. In second grade, I stopped a few bullies. Nothing big, just shoved them around a bit to make a point.

One of those bullies called his big brother and I felt that thrill for the first time. I punched out the older boy's teeth and realized that if I fought people who were older than me, then I could do it guilt-free.

Ever since then, I dreamed of inky blackness and something red. It wasn’t a color, not really. It was more like a feeling, a pull that was at once alluring and scared the piss out of me. It made me feel excited, and that feeling carried over when I awoke. Every morning, I woke up absolutely wired and ready to get into another scrap.

It bothered me at first. There was something obviously supernatural about me. Maybe it was ki, or some other magic karate bullshit. Or maybe my mom fucked an oni and didn’t know it. The only assurance I had that I was human was that I ate normal food, no hankering for blood or whatever.

Over the years, I learned to roll with the punches. It was just the way things were. I was bigger than kids my age. I was stronger. I healed noticeably faster. Not enough to act like I was the Japanese Wolverine, but bruises I had would last a day or two, not a week. I was pretty sure I healed from a bone fracture in about that time, too.

I laughed as I snatched a metal bat and cracked it over another thug’s shoulder. His collarbone broke with a dull snap, causing him to cry out in pain. I smashed him on the head with the butt of the bat, not just to be a dick, but so I could move him between me and the guy with the boxcutter.

That gave me enough time to kick the second guy with the bat. The bike chain raked across my shoulder at the same time, but it only made my adrenaline spike. I caught the second swing and yanked him in.

Not two minutes later, I strolled out of that alley humming a carefree tune. It was how it’d always been. People kept picking fights and I kept winning them, to the point that hardly anyone questioned it anymore.

Fifteen year old kid taking out multiple high school seniors? No problem, it’s just that Yasu kid being a freak of nature again.

Wanna be the boss of Kabukicho’s underground? Beat up Yasu. Short of the legit yakuza, he’s the scariest fucker around.

I didn’t have any cool, shonen-y nicknames, but I did have a reputation that kept all the street-toughs coming my way. It was honestly more of a nuisance than anything at this point.

I arrived at the izakaya and picked up our order with no other incidents. The owner was a bald man in his mid-forties. He had a heavy scar over his right cheek and the hint of tattoos I could see beneath his sleeves and collar. I asked him once; he said it was the “legacy of a misspent youth.”

Yakuza? Biker gang? Either way, he’d seen some shit, enough that he didn’t pay my appearance any mind. Just one more reason this place was my favorite teriyaki joint.

Now that I thought about it, there were a lot of these “retired gangsta” types around. Maybe it was just how Kabukicho was, but I took it as another sign that I was in a gangster manga. They tended to be pretty chill, the chips on their shoulders sanded down by time and experience. It was nice interacting with some tough guys who didn’t feel like they had to prove shit to anyone.

I returned in good order. I had a takeout bag in one hand and my shitty phone in the other so I kicked the door open.

“Yo, Sato-san, I’m back,” I called softly.

Silence greeted me. Before Sato-san inherited this place from his grandfather and turned it into an auto shop, it used to be a wholesale warehouse for grocery stores and retailers in the area. That said, it wasn’t a big building, especially after a section of it had been opened up to make a parking garage for the cars and bikes we were working on.

I looked around the building with more caution now. Silence wasn’t normal. Even with just the two of us, there was always the clanking of something or other, or the TV covering a baseball game I never cared to pay attention to. The old man wasn’t much of a fan either, but he did like a bit of ambient noise while he puttered about.

I set my takeout bag and cellphone on a nearby shelf and picked up a heavy wrench. Now that I was looking, the door that led into the back office and the apartment upstairs was open. It wasn’t supposed to be; the old man said it drew in flies and the stink of motor oil.

I saw pictures torn from the walls and tool cabinets shoved aside, as if someone was searching for a secret safe. I kept my footsteps quiet. That was a benefit to living in a converted warehouse. The building’s structure was brick and concrete so it was much easier to avoid making noise.

I began to hear voices through the walls as I headed upstairs.

“You think this is enough to pay off your debt, old man?” one said, a man, definitely older. “Where’s the rest of it?”

“That’s all I got,” Sato-san said with a cough. Someone punched him. “I can’t give you what I don’t have.”

“You’re a tough old man, huh?” a third voice mocked. I drew closer, keeping my footsteps quiet. “Took your lumps like a man. Look, gramps. Normally, we’d call the ass-kicking we gave you a down payment on the loan. We can’t, y’know? We’re getting squeezed from our end, too.”

“Not my problem. I still can’t give you what doesn’t exist.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have borrowed from us then. Oi, Shuichi, how much was it again? Ten million yen?”

“Twenty, boss,” yet another person said. That was three in there at least. “I bet you can’t even recoup half that even if you took this fucking building.”

“Ooh, right,” the boss said. His voice dripped with false sympathy. “Twenty mil, and all to pay for your wife’s hospital fees. She croaked anyway, right? Cancer? What an ungrateful bitch, eh? All that cash and didn’t even bother sticking around.”

“You leave her out of this!” Sato-san shouted. Hina-san, his late wife, was just about the one thing that could really set him off.

I groaned internally. I hadn’t wanted to just barge in. It wasn’t like I wasn’t invincible, just tougher and stronger than most people my age. I was pretty sure I could take three guys, but if they were collecting multi-million yen debts, they had to be a cut above those punks from earlier. They were also a lot more likely to carry firearms, as rare as they generally were in Japan.

Still, I had to go in now. I could hear Sato-san thrashing around as the three men beat him. He was old, in his seventies. It was why I stuck around to do the heavy lifting around here.

I quit trying to sneak around and ran into the living room. Three men turned at the noise. They looked like stereotypical mobsters. One even wore a white suit and a neon-red, collared shirt, with an honest-to-god pompadour and a cigarette in his mouth. I picked that one to hit first. He was in the middle so he was probably the leader.

I aimed for the head. I could worry about concussions and brain damage later. But he heard me coming and turned, getting his hand up in time. My wrench met his forearm with a dull thump.

“Who the fuck are you?” he snarled. He kicked my stomach, not hard enough to hurt, but it pushed me back a step.

“Oh, shit, it’s that red fucker,” the guy named Shuichi shouted. “He’s been beating up our–Gah!”

I almost laughed. Sato-san wasn’t idle and had tackled the shorter man into the wall. For a man in his seventies, he could be pretty spry when he put his mind to it. He’d probably be bitching about his back all day tomorrow though.

I didn’t let that chance go to waste. Abandoning their boss, I stepped towards the two, wrestling men and smashed my boot into Shuichi’s temple. His head knocked against the wall and he was out cold. I turned back to the other two men. If I could keep myself between them and the old man, then–

There was a loud crack and a searing pain went through my other foot. I’d never been shot before, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out what had happened. My leg buckled involuntarily. I tried to stand, but I just couldn’t put any strength into my knee.

The third man took two steps forward and swung at my face with a pair of brass knuckles. He was not a teen punk, but a big, burly fellow standing a good six feet tall. He struck with the kind of viciousness that was absent in school gangs, the kind that came from a man used to wetwork.

His fist collided with my face. For a moment, I felt the metal rings dig into my cheek before the sound of my jaw popping out of its socket filled my ears. I blacked out as my head whipped to the side like a speed bag.

My teeth scattered across the floor. My vision was swimming so much that I couldn’t tell how many I’d lost.

Still, something pushed me onward. The surge, that inexplicable thrill of the fight, forced me to drive my head into his gut and shove him to the ground. I couldn’t move my right leg much, but I managed a mount anyway and drove my fist into his eye.

The fragile bone of his cheek shattered beneath my fists. I landed two more hits. He was screaming now, or maybe that was me. I couldn’t tell anymore.

I heard another gunshot and felt the cold fire in my gut as their boss finally kicked me off his lackey. He had an ugly sneer on his face that revealed a false tooth, garishly gold like the rest of his jewelry.

“So you’re the ‘red fucker,’ huh? I’m sure all your little buddies got a cute name for you, but that’s kiddie shit,” he spat. He kicked me onto my back and pointed his gun at me. “See this right here? This is real power. No one gives a fuck how mean your right hook is.”

I spat on his shoe. Leather loafers in a fake, snakeskin pattern, the gaudy bastard. “Fuck you, bitch.”

“Who are you supposed to be, kid? You his grandson?”

“H-He’s not,” Sato-san groaned. He was on the ground cradling his arm. “He’s got nothing to do with this, Genji.”

“Now, see, old timer? He became my problem when he barged in,” the boss thug said. “No one chose that for him; he did this himself. And a real man ought to take responsibility for his own actions, don’t you think?”

“The shop. I-I’ll give you the shop. Leave him alone.”

“I can’t do that. Can’t have him thinking dear ol’ grandpa will bail him out of his fuckups. That’s how you get spoiled kids,” he laughed. “Besides, like Shuichi said before he took a nap, this shop’s worth fuck-all.”

He crouched down and grabbed me by my hair. “It’s not like we’re happy with the way things are, either, kid. Don’t go glaring at us like we’re the bad guys here. The Inagawa-kai have been pushing into my turf, see? And us working men? Even we’ve gotta kick something up the chain.”

“Time... We just need time…” He knew he was grasping at straws.

“Oh, you had enough of that, Sato-san. But hey, thanks for taking him in. The powers-that-be have been introducing me to a new kind of business,” he laughed and put out the stub of his cigarette in my eye. “Did you know? One kidney can cost over twenty million yen on the black market. Just about enough to cover your loan with us, eh?”

“Please… He’s got nothing to do with this. He’s just a kid. Just kill me and–”

“I’m going to kill you anyway. This dump? I’ll just hook the next fuckup to rent it. But you? You’re going to die. This kid though? He looks like the healthy sort, probably worth a fair bit.”

I hated this. I’d always had a bit of a pissy streak, but never before had someone’s voice grated on me this badly.

I was a punk. My mom was a whore who taught me no different. She tried, but she taught me what she could, to be mean and fierce and take what I could, when I could, because time wasn’t my friend.

I didn’t even bother applying to a high school. It wasn’t mandatory and no school in the district would take me, not after the last time I got expelled. But I liked to think I had my pride, for whatever that was worth. Having the man who took me in beg for my sake?

No. No fucking way. I’d rather die.

I wasn’t thinking. Reaching down, I grabbed a screwdriver from an upended shelf and slammed it into the crown of Genji’s foot. It went in with all the spite and rage I felt. If I was going to die, I was going to make damn sure to cripple this fucker.

He howled with pain and leapt back, which only tore the puncture wound wide. He stumbled onto his ass as I twisted it for all I was worth.

I slowly got to my knees, ignoring the shooting agony in my right leg and gut. The edges of my vision were tinged red. Not metaphorically, literally, as if a crimson fog was starting to roll in. 

The unnamed lackey, the one with the brass knuckles, didn’t let me recover. He’d gotten up from the beating I gave him while his boss was monologuing. He put himself between me and his boss and decked my head with an uppercut that I knew cracked something.

I stood anyway. It should have been impossible. Manga world or not, I’d never been this strong. I ignored the bullet wounds and ringing skull and got to my feet. For a moment, I thought I could do it. I’d kill these two and… and I’d figure things out after that.

Two more gunshots rang out. One hit my chest. The other…

I saw Sato-san slump forward out of the corner of my eye. I crashed to the ground again. Blood poured out freely and my vision was fully shrouded in crimson.

X

I was dreaming.

It was easy to tell because I’d had the same goddamn dream every night since I was seven years old. Inky blackness. Something red.

Except, there was something different this time. The void retreated and my world was lit by a crimson moon. The light revealed an altar, atop which stood a familiar monument.

It floated there, hovering just a few inches above the dais. It was black, with twelve, ancient runes etched onto its face. At a glance, it looked like an ornate, double-sided ax that had been placed head side down. Laughably impractical, but no one sane would ever use it as an axe anyway.

I recognized it. How could I not? League of Legends was my addiction in my past life. I played so many games that it was practically a part-time job. I read every short story, watched every cinematic, and joined every livestream.

Every time I loaded up the queue, every champion I chose, this was one of five symbols I saw without fail. In the game, it was just one of five rune paths, neat ways to customize the playing experience or counter the enemy team without changing the core styles of each Champion.

In the lore, this was so much more impactful. This was Domination, one of the five World Runes. It was the Runeterran equivalent of an Infinity Stone, an object of limitless mana and potential.

Suddenly, things began to make sense. The persistent dream. My stupid hair and the ridiculous way I seemed to intimidate everyone around me. Call it instinct or prescience, but if I was connected to this, then maybe people had reason to be nervous.

I thought back to the very first night I had this dream. I beat up an older kid. I felt the thrill of the fight. Or rather, the thrill of victory, of dominating my opponent.

Each time I achieved something, from building my first bike to making the local high school gang kneel before me, I felt like I was proving my own existence. It was a heady validation that left me grinning like a loon.

I recognized now that all my life, Domination had been a constant companion. The way I fought. The way I chafed at my teachers. I hadn’t noticed. It was only now, as I stood at the edge of death, that the rune fully revealed itself to me.

Touching it meant certain death. Tyrus, Ryze’s teacher, dusted himself trying. Literal millions had died in the Rune Wars. Civilizations had collapsed and maps had to be redrawn because of these things. Not even the celestial host was a match for them.

But… But I was about to die anyway. What was the harm? What could I possibly lose?

Death?

Been there. Done that.

With a feral grin, I stretched out my hand. If I was tied to Domination, then that’s what I’d do. I’d dominate. That Genji fucker. The world. Even the World Rune itself if need be.

X

When I next opened my eyes,the walls were bleeding.

Really, gangster manga? Martial arts shonen? What the fuck had I been thinking? Clearly, I'd reincarnated into a manga about supernatural horror.

On the plus side, I wasn't bleeding even if the walls were. I felt quite energized, just like waking up in the morning. The World Rune had healed me, just in time for whatever this was.

The walls dripped red. That poor fluorescent light was waging a losing war against the darkening shadows. The furniture creaked ominously as unintelligible whispers trickled through the walls.

Some time while I'd been out, that Shuichi guy had woken up. The three men were seeing it, too. They huddled back-to-back, trying to cover every corner.

“W-What the fuck is happening, boss?” Shuichi muttered as he looked around like a frightened rabbit.

“How the fuck should I know?” Genji snapped. “This has to be a trick.”

The third guy tried to say something, but could barely groan incoherently thanks to the bearing I gave him. But before I could take too much vindictive joy from it, the bleeding walls pooled on the ground before them.

It was some freaky shit. World Rune or not, I was sure I wasn't the one doing that. I glanced towards Sato-san, but it wasn't him, either. The blown out hole in the back of his skull told me that.

Then, out of the pool rose a man… thing. It was tall and gangly, like Slenderman if he was made of blood and clothed in shifting shadows. It turned and I saw its head morph until the old man's face stared back at us.

The men panicked, as anyone would. Shuichi shrieked like a banshee and stumbled back. He tripped over the upended coffee table but decided that was a good enough hiding place.

The other two were no better. Knuckles decided his paycheck wasn't worth this paranormal shit and tried to bolt. I couldn't blame him. This was obviously supposed to be my introduction to the supernatural side of this reincarnated life and even I wanted off this ride.

But, no. The thing that wore Sato-san's face did not let him run. It raised one hand and pointed with a spindly finger that still dripped blood. Its claw landed out, spearing Knuckles through the chest like a heron spearing fish.

Genji lost it. More gunshots filled the air. He emptied the clip, all the while babbling incoherent apologies and half-remembered prayers. Who knew? He was a disillusioned Buddhist.

The bloody fiend waited. It stood there, head tilted inquisitively, until Genji's gun clicked empty. Then, slowly, almost like a lover's caress, it ran its finger down his chest, splitting him open, spilling his guts onto the floor.

It then stalked over to Shuichi and opened the sniveling coward's head like a can of fruit. As his brain leaked out, it finally turned to me.

At first, I wondered if this was Sato-san's grudge given form. These men mocked his father's store. They spat on his late wife's struggle with cancer. Men had killed for less.

But if it was his grudge, it was a grudge without a hint of self-awareness. Sato-san was gone, and he’d left this thing behind. I saw not a flicker of emotion or thought. Behind those eyes was only a deep malevolence towards everything. It raised its hand, clawed finger poised to skewer me as well.

With strength I didn't know I had, I surged to my feet. I hadn’t even noticed but I could see through both eyes now. At some point in my dream, the rune had healed me. The spear of hardened blood impaled the brick wall as I leapt aside.

The fear that had settled on me like a weighted blanket was burned away. Supernatural adrenaline filled my veins with lightning. My heart pumped a mile a second as my vision tinted red. The hesitation and fear were replaced by rage at the thing that wore Sato-san's face.

I was sure that barging in here only made things worse. Maybe they were always planning to kill him, maybe not. I didn’t know. What I did know was that my bullheaded attitude was what made Genji pull his gun.

I… I fucked up. I couldn't change anything. At best, I showed up to die with him. I was disgusted with myself.

I launched myself forward with an angry shout. If I could not save him, then I at least wanted to let him rest in peace. He deserved to be buried beside his wife, not live on in this mockery of his pain.

My fist met the blood friend's face. To my surprise, it was launched from the impact. Bullets could not stagger it, but I somehow made it shriek in agony.

I didn't stop. I wasn't some magic martial artist or exorcist. At best, I was a punk brawler who didn’t know when to quit. If I stopped punching, if I gave it even a second to recover, I knew I would die.

I didn't know how long I kept at it, but Domination's influence was strong in me. The more I fought, the more I proved myself. And the more I stood above this thing, the stronger I became. 

Until eventually, the floor gave way. Sturdy concrete was no match for magical strength. We crashed to the first floor, landing atop a motorcycle I'd been fixing in my spare time. The screech of contorted metal joined the friend's, but I didn't care. I barely noticed as I punched away.

At this point, I wasn’t really myself anymore. Somewhere between the fall and the heady fog of validation that filled my mind, I checked out. I had an out of body experience and became a punching machine, pounding a rhythmic beat into the fiend’s skull.

Finally, with a final shriek of agony, it died. It left behind an eerie silence. The warehouse settled in the stillness and I paused, unsure of myself now that the time for violence had passed.

Blood pounded in my ears. Electricity coursed through my veins. The high was there. It would wear off eventually but I couldn’t just turn it off like a light witch. Breathing heavily, I sat there over my mangled bike and the pool of blood that had been the fiend.

I felt it then. The blood stirred once more. But rather than regenerate, it coagulated into a pure, crimson marble. It sank into my chest before I could react. My body grew hot and I knew instinctively that Domination had claimed it, a prize for this pyrrhic victory.

I knew, I didn’t know how I knew, but I knew. This was Dark Harvest, strength gained through every victory. With it, I could make a wish. I was the conduit. I could shape, if not the World Rune itself, then the way it manifested in this world.

And so, I wished. I wished for strength. Whatever setting I’d reincarnated into, I knew that this wasn’t the end. I knew that I’d stepped into the supernatural world.

For once, I didn’t want the strength to conquer. Beating up high school gangs meant nothing. It was domination, but of the pettiest sort.

No, I wanted the strength to protect. I did not fear defeat. I feared loss. I feared that my own stupidity would get other people hurt. I feared that someone else would have to pay for my mistakes.

Above all else, I wanted to be a shield for others so that no one else would ever have to beg for me like Sato-san did. The bead of power was expended. Deep within my soul, I heard a response:

“So be it. You who seek to shield the defenseless, grant me my oblivion and, until my eternal rest, my shield shall be yours. Joraal, the Darkin Aegis, answers your summons.”

Author’s Note

Long chapter, but I really wanted to get to the part about Joraal so I could talk about the premise the commissioner gave me.

If the first section sounds familiar to you, that’s because it is. It’s the exact same introduction as Legendary Tinker, in which Ryze drops the World Runes into the Howling Abyss. The premise is that rather than Inspiration, we follow Domination, and into a different world: JJK.

Just as Inspiration presented itself in a way that generally matched the power system of Worm, Domination will adapt to JJK and present itself as a curse technique. This means that Yasunori will not be a tinker, and may not progressively unlock all the twelve lesser runes within the Domination path.

Instead, he immediately gains Dark Harvest. He will gain power from meaningful victories and use this power to bridge the gap between Earth and Runeterra, bringing forth various Darkin weapons.

Why Darkin? Because the commissioner really wanted Darkin. It’s why I chose Domination. I feel that their general theme aligns very closely with this rune in particular.

I’ve been binging JJK for this and I realized that Darkin are unfortunately hilariously overpowered compared to sorcerers. I’m going to try not to make this too stompy, but I’m not sure where this will go, especially since the entire plot of JJK takes like six months.

Animal Fact: Male stick insects are not only smaller, they look so different from their female counterparts that scientists have confused them for entirely different species and genus on occasion.