Gazing at Faen, who had suddenly appeared in his line of sight, Moguta's face twisted in shock. He immediately displayed the physical prowess and reflexes of the Kiilash—far beyond that of an ordinary human—nearly snapping his own spine to channel the momentum of his charge into a desperate maneuver.
Accompanied by a series of agonizing cracks from his vertebrae, Moguta forcibly twisted his body. With a sudden burst from his digitigrade lower limbs, he wrenched his frame to the side, attempting to break away from Faen, who was now practically nose-to-nose with him.
Moguta's decision was flawless, but unfortunately, the enemy he faced possessed a level of power that far exceeded anything he could withstand.
Having dodged Faen's initial position, Moguta cast a look of disbelief behind him. Faen was still standing there, his head tilted slightly toward him, a mysterious smile playing on his lips. This sent a wave of intense unease through Moguta.
However, as a hunter, he cast aside such redundant emotional fluctuations in an instant. The opponent isn't pursuing? No, has he realized he can't catch me? if that's the case, then speed is my advantage.
He endured the sharp pain in his spine. Even for a Kiilash, forcibly redirecting such momentum was by no means comfortable. Moguta had tried to turn the force of his "Shadow-Breaking Strike," and the massive load passing through his spine at the moment of rotation had been an immense burden. Even with his powerful constitution holding him together, the slight shifting of his bones and the swelling of his muscles meant that, at least for a short while, Moguta didn't intend to strike again.
He had to wait for an opportunity.
Thoughts raced through Moguta's mind like arrows.
Never giving up was the hunter's virtue. Especially as a Vastaya of the Kiilash, no matter the situation or the prey, Moguta had never truly surrendered. Even stopping his attack now was merely a prelude to a better ambush.
The others will arrive soon. Let them swarm him and wear him down. As long as I grasp the right moment for the final strike, then everything...
Just as Moguta was strategizing, he froze. In the corner of his eye, a silhouette appeared in front of his high-speed trajectory.
Because it happened so suddenly, despite his peripheral vision catching it, by the time Moguta actually felt it, he couldn't even manage to twist his limbs again, let alone snap his gaze forward. With a muffled thud, Moguta suddenly felt his body become light, and he soared straight into the air.
Turning his head, he saw that Faen had somehow appeared behind him. He hadn't even launched a formal attack; he just stood there peacefully with his arm extended, looking like a traveler hailing a taxi.
But unlike an ordinary traveler, there had been a collision. A spray of blood dyed more than half of Faen's body a brilliant crimson. Moving his gaze toward the direction of the blood spray, Moguta saw a familiar pair of Vastayan legs still maintaining a sprinting posture. However, they were missing an upper half. The lower body had lost all self-regulation. With a flop, it collapsed to the ground, the cross-section of the torso shattered by brute force, dripping with flesh and blood, while the mangled internal organs emitted a sickening stench.
That body... looks so familiar...
Moguta thought vacantly as his upper half crashed into the dirt. The brief lucidity brought by the adrenaline rush ended. His constricted pupils began to dilate, his breathing stopped, and his consciousness sank into the long night.
Faen, meanwhile, stood where he was and shook his arm. Accompanied by a surge of water and a gust of wind, he washed the bloodstains clean and shook the droplets onto the ground, sighing as he shook his head.
While Faen was carelessly washing away the gore, Zeri and Seraphine, far away inside the Zaunite tower, were plunged into an overwhelming ecstasy triggered by sensory resonance.
Due to the deep connection of the Storm Mark, every time Faen crushed an enemy's skull or shattered a body, the violent pleasure he experienced was translated with surgical precision into scorching lust, slamming through the mental link and into the deepest parts of the two Chosen girls' wombs.
"Ngh... ah! Faen... it's too intense..." Zeri's petite body curled up on the leather sofa, twitching violently. Her thoroughly developed, tender flower house was opening and closing frantically. The thick essence Faen had pumped into her in a massive dose that morning—not yet fully drained—squeezed out of her red, swollen, and out-turned labia with a messy "squelch" at every spasm, sliding greasily down the roots of her long, shapely thighs. Her eyes were unfocused, her pupils filled with dazed heart shapes, and the green electric arcs dancing through her hair turned an inviting pink due to the extreme sexual arousal.
Seraphine was in an even more pathetic state. As a Piltie idol receiving this "blessing" for the first time, she was sprawled limply on the floor, her hands frantically pressing and digging at her already red and engorged pink clitoris through her soaked clothes. The illusion that Faen was miles away, using that massive, ferocious meat rod to violently thrust inside her, made her soul feel like it was taking flight.
"Ahhhhh—! I'm going to break! This melody... it's all Mr. Faen's..." Seraphine arched her snow-white neck and screamed. Her private parts burst their banks from the extreme pleasure, and scalding love juices mixed with the viscous milk left over from her first night, spraying out like a high-pressure water cannon and drenching the floor around her into a muddy mess. Amidst Faen's slaughter several kilometers away, the two girls simultaneously welcomed a high-intensity, devastating climax, their lewd moans of surrender echoing through the silent, secret chamber.
That was the thing about "Rengar" types: build them as glass cannons, and they fold the moment they see a Guardian Angel; build them as tanks, and they lack reliable crowd control, turning into super minions the moment they jump into a crowd without a bush. Watching Moguta's violent death, Stevan Ferros—who had been expecting his secret weapon to bring him a grand victory and shock those who looked down on him—could only gape in horror.
"No... impossible, this is absolutely impossible! I saw Moguta hunt an Oak Rhino by himself! That monster could smash through city gates! And Moguta took a head-on collision from it without a scratch! How can he be like this now, shattering at a single touch?!"
To this, Camille said nothing. She only frowned slightly, a touch of gravity appearing in her eyes.
Although her brother was a fool, as the Principal of House Ferros, she possessed true insight. She had personally vetted Moguta before he was hired. Even from Camille's perspective, Moguta was an incredibly powerful hunter. In fact, if one didn't consider familiarity with the environment and the powerful performance of Hextech weaponry, even Camille herself wasn't confident she could gain the upper hand in a duel with him.
And now... he died just like that? Camille felt it was necessary to reconsider her attitude and approach toward Zaun.
Seeing his sister remain silent, Stevan lowered his head and bit his lip, a look of unwilling resentment flashing in his eyes.
Especially when he saw the blue arc-light of the Hextech crystal in Camille's chest, Stevan's eyes filled with jealousy and hatred. But with Moguta dead, he could only suppress his dissatisfaction.
Damn it, she must be mocking me in her heart. Damn it... if only I had received the crystal surgery... one day I'll show you all that I'm the most exceptional one...
He thought in silent bitterness, hiding his emotions. Sensing his mood, Camille couldn't be bothered to care, keeping her attention fixed on Faen.
On the other side, seeing Faen easily dispatch a powerful Vastayan like Moguta, the mercenaries who arrived afterward slowed their pace. Their gazes toward Faen were filled with vigilance, gravity, and a certain degree of keen interest.
But regardless of their specific emotions, it was clear from their faces that Faen's presence had brought them immense pressure.
Scanning the crowd that continued to assemble, even Faen had to admit that as a trade hub, Piltover was indeed full of talent. At a glance, there were Noxians, Demacians, Shurimans, Freljordians, Vastaya, and even Yordles—a true gathering of elites.
Warriors, mages, assassins... all sorts of professions appeared in Faen's field of vision. Faen had every reason to believe that without protagonist auras or plot armor, even the "Champions" of the League of Legends roster would find only death here if they were reckless.
Ultimately, many playable characters were simply ordinary people who had reached a peak level in a specific specialization. Someone like the future Queen of Bilgewater, Miss Fortune, had nearly lost her life simply because her gun misfired.
With the release of Arcane Season 2, even Mel's mother, Ambessa, became one of the first established characters to "die"... of course, that death was only temporary. In a land as filled with ghosts and gods as Runeterra, resurrection was hardly a rare occurrence. Places like the Shadow Isles, contaminated by a haywire Life Rune, were like the underworld itself, with dead men walking the material realm for decades.
Regardless, the power of heroes was what it was, and numerical superiority was genuinely effective against them—barring a few high-level entities.
As it stood, gazing at the crowd before him, Faen didn't feel much pressure—except for the individual standing at the very back.
Though she was draped in a black robe, it was clear she was female. Even the loose caster robes couldn't quite hide her tall, exquisite figure. She held a staff of withered wood, and the hood of her robe concealed her entire face. A magical pitch-blackness swallowed all light around her, giving her an aura that was enchanting, mysterious, and dangerous.
Aside from her... the others were just "alright."
Watching the robed figure at the back, Faen's eyes narrowed slightly, and a smile touched the corners of his mouth.
He felt it; she had sensed him too. Faen was curious about who this person really was and intended to uncover the secret himself.
With that thought, Faen cracked his neck, looked at the mercenaries watching him warily, and said with a casual face, "Is everyone here yet? Why are you just standing there? Just watching?"
As he spoke, Faen proactively opened his arms, baring his chest, as if inviting the crowd to launch an attack.
While he appeared to be looking at everyone, his gaze was actually locked onto the woman in the black robe. She seemed to have guessed his intent, as she merely gave a slight, dismissive gesture with her hand, signaling Faen to show off to his heart's content.
Seeing this, the smile on Faen's face became clearer and more pronounced.
During this, hearing Faen's words and seeing the crowd hesitating, a man clad in black steel armor, wielding a black war axe and with a blood-red ribbon tied to his shoulder, let out a cold snort.
"Ha! I thought you were all something special to be standing here with me. Now I see you're just a bunch of cowards! There are so many of us; if we swarm him together, no matter how strong he is, do you think he can kill us all?!"
To this, the crowd only watched with cold indifference—Talk is cheap, why don't you go first?