"So this is the Shadow Isles?"
Riding the spectral currents of the Night of Lost Souls, Marcus arrived at an island shrouded in perpetual death and darkness. The very air seemed thick with malevolent energy, creating an environment perfectly suited for the undead to establish their eternal residence.
The moment his feet touched the cursed soil of the Shadow Isles, the aura of death emanating from Marcus intensified dramatically. Countless ghosts wandering the island's desolate landscape suddenly sensed what felt like a gateway to the underworld itself, causing them to swirl together into a massive vortex that rushed directly toward him.
"The power of death... unfortunately, this particular force is completely useless to me," Marcus observed with analytical detachment.
As the vast horde of lost souls gathered around him, he managed to absorb a fragment of this world's death magic. However, he understood that true dominion over mortality already belonged to established entities in this realm.
The Kindred—Lamb and Wolf—served as this world's authentic death gods, coexisting with the very concept of mortality itself. Every living being would encounter them at the moment of their passing. Those who accepted death with grace would be guided to eternal peace by Lamb's gentle arrow, while those who fought against their fate would be hunted down by Wolf's savage fangs and torn apart for their defiance.
Together, they functioned as both shepherds and executioners, judging every soul that departed the mortal realm.
Even so, some spirits inevitably slipped through their divine oversight—like the countless undead trapped on these very Shadow Isles. These were the forgotten dead, abandoned by death itself and left to wander in eternal torment.
Clop, clop, clop...
As more souls flowed into Marcus's grasp, the sound of galloping hooves echoed from the depths of the Shadow Isles, growing louder with each passing moment.
"Their souls cry out for liberation!" a thunderous voice bellowed.
A spectral centaur wielding a massive halberd burst from the shadows, his entire form wreathed in the corrupting energies of ruination.
"Hecarim? I didn't expect him to be the first one I encountered," Marcus muttered with mild disappointment. "I assumed it would be Thresh."
He slowly raised his skeletal hand and gently pushed toward the charging centaur. A concentrated beam of dark energy shot from his palm and struck Hecarim with devastating force.
Soul Punch
The attack sent Hecarim flying backward just as quickly as he had charged forward. The moment the spectral assault connected, the ruinous power that had corrupted his form began wavering, unable to withstand such overwhelming force.
"You're all dead already—stop trying to frighten people for entertainment," Marcus remarked casually.
He pressed his power down upon the fallen centaur, and void energy began extracting traces of death magic directly from Hecarim's supernatural essence.
As his power was systematically drained away, visible cracks appeared across Hecarim's spectral body, making him appear increasingly fragile and unstable.
"I warned you long ago that the Shadow Isles aren't your battlefield, Hecarim," another voice called out from the darkness.
A skeletal figure dressed in warden's garb emerged from the shadows, carrying a lantern that pulsed with imprisoned souls.
Thresh—the mysterious guardian of the Shadow Isles and a sadistic jailer whose cruelty was legendary even among the undead.
"Greetings, guest who brings death," Thresh said with careful politeness.
Despite his typically tyrannical nature and preference for torturing the souls trapped within his lantern, Thresh wasn't completely ignorant about power dynamics. He understood exactly what threats he could afford to provoke—and which ones he absolutely could not.
Facing Marcus, whose very presence radiated the essence of death itself, Thresh doubted that any of his usual methods would prove effective.
"You're much more reasonable than your companion," Marcus observed with approval. "Take me to see your king."
"As you command..." Thresh replied with servile obedience.
He raised his soul lantern to provide illumination and began leading the way forward, showing no desire whatsoever to engage in combat.
As they traveled through the Shadow Isles, Thresh provided detailed commentary about the bizarre landmarks they encountered.
"This was once a great library," he explained, indicating a crumbling structure where ghostly figures endlessly copied text with phantom quills. "Those scribal spirits were the island's record-keepers. Now they document only the torments they endure."
They continued forward until they witnessed a massive specter wielding an enormous axe as it pursued a group of weaker wandering souls.
"Those are the Ironbound—determined spirits and among our most powerful undead," Thresh noted with professional interest. "They feed on the wandering souls that only manifest during the Night of Lost Souls. Mmm... these beings make my favorite prisoners."
His voice remained emotionally flat as he spoke. Since few living creatures ever set foot on the Shadow Isles, Thresh had limited opportunities to practice his torture techniques. He could only experiment on these stronger spirits.
As for the weaker wandering souls, they were too pathetic to provide entertainment—useful only as fuel for his spectral lantern.
The pair continued their journey until they spotted a man carrying a shovel approaching the Ironbound warrior.
"His name is Yorick," Thresh explained with obvious mockery. "A shepherd who protects wandering souls—supposedly a kind-hearted individual here on the Shadow Isles. Hahahaha..."
When discussing Yorick, Thresh's laughter carried genuine amusement. The idea that genuine compassion could exist in this realm of death and corruption struck him as absolutely hilarious.
In this place saturated with evil, murder, and decay, there somehow existed a benevolent soul who maintained good intentions while protecting the dead. The irony was simply delicious.
However, compared to this misguided shepherd, their so-called king represented the most pathetic figure of all.
The Shadow Isles' transformation into this cursed wasteland was entirely the result of that individual's actions—yet everything had been done for love of his beloved queen.
They passed through numerous locations bearing the twisted marks of ruination, each site serving as a monument to the catastrophe that had befallen this once-blessed land.
"The king awaits just ahead," Thresh announced.
Looking toward the ruined structure before them, Marcus nodded with satisfaction. He could sense the source of power that had created the Night of Lost Souls—the very foundation of the Shadow Isles' corruption.
At that moment, the Ruined King Viego lay sprawled among ancient ruins. Beside him rested a two-handed great sword radiating malevolent magical energy. In a pool before him, a beautiful woman's form was submerged in the mystical waters.
"Fortunately, magic exists," Marcus thought to himself with dark humor. "Otherwise, given how long he's been soaking her, the poor girl would be horribly bloated by now."
He approached the melancholy monarch slowly and deliberately.
The instant Marcus drew near, Viego rose to his feet with supernatural speed as black mist poured from the gaping wound in his chest, adding an aura of terrible menace to his already imposing presence.
"Be still," Marcus commanded quietly.
At the sound of his voice, the dark fog surrounding Viego immediately dissipated, and even the ruinous power flowing through his undead form was forcibly suppressed.
"She is your queen, isn't she?" Marcus asked, though his tone indicated certainty rather than curiosity. "Let me guess what you thought after witnessing her assassination."
"Did the world suddenly seem gray and lifeless? Did your heart die along with hers?"
Marcus felt no inclination to mock Viego's devotion. The former king deserved admiration for his dedication—a ruler who had not only married a commoner seamstress but elevated her to be his only queen.
Even after Isolde's death, he continued striving with every fiber of his being to save the woman he loved.
In response to Marcus's words, Viego gripped the Blade of the Ruined King more tightly as destructive power and the black mist of lost souls erupted from his heart with renewed intensity.
"Enough. I'm not interested in your love story, but your power is quite impressive," Marcus declared.
Without warning, he raised his hand and struck Viego with tremendous force.
Caught completely off-guard by the sudden attack, Viego failed to mount any defense before Marcus's blow connected.
The moment the skeletal staff made contact, thick dark energy exploded outward as the curse of ruination within Viego's body activated to its fullest extent. Countless streams of black mist continued spreading in all directions.
Wandering souls that had been attempting to hide suddenly responded to some irresistible call, sweeping toward the two combatants and creating a massive vortex that encompassed the entire Shadow Isles. Every spirit on the cursed island was drawn into the supernatural phenomenon.
"How magnificent! What incredible power!" Thresh exclaimed with genuine admiration as he witnessed this otherworldly display.
He had originally believed his soul lantern represented the pinnacle of necromantic might, but Marcus had created this terrifying spectacle with a casual gesture.
While speaking, he also glanced toward Viego, who was struggling against Marcus's overwhelming force.
Although Viego had once been a king, they had all experienced death. Whatever status the man had possessed in life meant nothing in this realm of the undead.
Even when Thresh addressed him as "king," it was purely sardonic. The Shadow Isles belonged to no single ruler.
Thresh observed Marcus with growing envy, coveting such incredible power while recognizing the vast gulf that separated them—a gap that no amount of cunning or strategy could hope to bridge.
Time passed swiftly as the black mist surrounding Viego gradually diminished while Marcus's aura became increasingly terrifying.
Nekros had successfully absorbed the power of ruination, dramatically enhancing this armor's ability to manipulate souls and spiritual energy.
The life-draining capabilities that were already central to the armor's design had grown exponentially after consuming Viego's cursed power. Now the configuration could not only absorb vitality but also attract wandering souls, effectively creating a Night of Lost Souls wherever Marcus traveled.
After completing this process, Marcus finally ceased his extraction. He had come here specifically to obtain the ruinous power, and that objective was now fulfilled.
"Impressive abilities," he acknowledged with satisfaction. "In exchange for what I've taken, I'll help you locate her soul."
Finding souls presented no particular challenge for Marcus, especially given his current armor's nature as the ultimate destination for all spiritual essence.
Upon hearing these words, Viego's eyes filled with desperate hope. Everything he had endured for countless centuries had been in service of this single goal—reuniting with the love of his existence.
Under the expectant gaze of this eternal lover, Marcus raised his spectral scythe as soul-power began radiating outward in ever-expanding waves.
Buzz~
Thresh, who had been observing from a safe distance, suddenly found his soul lantern blazing with brilliant light. A ray of luminous energy was pulled from the device and flew directly toward Marcus.
Elsewhere throughout the Shadow Isles, the shepherd Yorick abruptly stopped his eternal patrol as the Maiden spirit that accompanied him was summoned away. He felt compelled to follow, determined to help all ghosts finally find peace.
Tracking the supernatural disturbance, he arrived at Marcus's location just as the Maiden transformed into light and merged with the death god's scythe.
Marcus's power continued expanding until it extended far beyond the Shadow Isles themselves, eventually encompassing vast stretches of the surrounding world.
Gradually, his influence attracted the attention of numerous powerful beings throughout Runeterra. This unconcealed energy was clearly visible to any individual possessing significant magical sensitivity.
However, they couldn't comprehend what this force was seeking. It seemed to be searching for something specific rather than simply expanding for its own sake.
As the soul-power spread to various locations across the world, seemingly ordinary objects began responding to the call.
A rag doll with scissors attached to its back suddenly floated into the air, transforming in a flash of light into the form of a young woman.
"It's my master's essence..." the figure whispered with recognition.
Throughout Runeterra, many people witnessed various common-looking items rising into the air. If not for the pale blue light emanating from these objects, no one would have suspected anything magical about them.
"Souls arise, return to your origin..." Marcus intoned like a prayer or sacred chant.
All items touched by Isolde's spiritual essence flew toward the Shadow Isles in response to his summons.
With the arrival of each fragment, Isolde's soul was progressively restored and strengthened. When the final piece—the rag doll—landed on the cursed island, Isolde's spirit became complete once more and her eyes slowly opened.
"Isolde! I can finally see you again!" Viego stepped forward with overwhelming joy, embracing the soul of his beloved.
He had missed her for over a thousand years of torment, and today he was finally reunited with his queen.
"Viego?" Isolde responded with confusion, holding him tightly before taking in their surroundings. "Did you cause all of this?"
The Shadow Isles appeared far too desolate and lifeless, completely devoid of any natural vitality. Such devastation was heartbreaking for someone of Isolde's compassionate nature.
"Isolde, I..." Viego began, wanting desperately to explain himself.
The Curse of Ruination had indeed originated from his actions, but he had never intended to release such destruction. Years ago, he had brought Isolde's body to the Blessed Isles, hoping to use their sacred waters to restore her life.
But he had failed catastrophically. The holy waters couldn't save Isolde, and his overwhelming grief and rage had unleashed the ruinous curse, transforming the blessed sanctuary into this realm of eternal death.
"Girl, he is truly devoted to you," Marcus interjected before Viego could continue his explanation. "He has waited a thousand years to find you again."
When facing Isolde's gentle questioning, Viego seemed like a child who had committed some terrible mistake, unable to adequately justify his actions.
Marcus decided to assist this tortured lover in explaining his circumstances.
"As for the devastation surrounding us, it is indeed connected to his actions, but he has spent centuries suppressing his power. If he released his full strength, the entire world might look like this."
To demonstrate his point, Marcus allowed terrifying energy to burst from his form. The area around them instantly transformed into an endless ghostly wasteland, causing everyone present to tremble with fear at the display.
During this demonstration, Isolde began to understand the truth. The man who regarded her as his entire reason for existence had sacrificed everything to save her, and she had finally been reunited with him through Marcus's incredible power.
"Ah, time grows short," Marcus announced. "What do you two intend to do? I can offer a way for you to remain together forever, but the choice must be yours."
"Will you choose eternal togetherness, or separation once again?"
As Marcus spoke, visible cracks began appearing across Isolde's restored form. While he had successfully gathered her soul fragments from across the world, they remained fragments nonetheless. Even when forcibly reunited, there were natural limits to their cohesion.
"I want to be with Isolde forever!" Viego declared without hesitation, not waiting for his beloved's response.
His desire was absolute—he would remain with Isolde for all eternity, never to be separated again.