Hi, jungler trying to learn other lanes here, i tried out viktor for a few games and every one of my death felt like my own fault, i love his kit and his mid-late game damage is insane :D. I have no idea how to play mages but I'll spend a lot of time on this champ
In the present, in the past, he felt Phase Rush’s wordless presence at his side, and felt his fallen runepage's horror.
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He looked at the Rune Mage, and could not see. Too much, too bright, too powerful. The unreality of the being before him stunned him to the core. A hundred different impressions, all false, all true, raced through his mind.
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He could not remember what his champion had looked like, before, and r/RyzeMains forgot nothing.
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And then, that thing, that terrible, awful thing upon the Midlane, saw him.
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‘My son,’ it said.
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‘First pick,’ it said.
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‘Lord of Summoner's Rift.’
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‘Saviour.’
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‘Hope.’
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‘Failure.’
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‘Disappointment.’
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‘Liar.’
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‘Thief.’
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‘Betrayer.’
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‘Summoner.’
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He heard all these at once. He did not hear them at all. The Rune Mage spoke and did not speak. The very idea of words seemed ridiculous, the concept of them a grievous harm against the equilibrium of time and being.
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‘Summoner.’ The raging tempest spoke his name, and it was as the violence a dying sun rains upon its worlds. ‘QE.’ 'EQ' 'QEQWQEQ'
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The name echoed down the wind of eternity, never ceasing, never reaching its intended point. The sensation of many minds reached out to the Summoner, violating his senses as they tried to commune, but then one mind seemed to come from the many, a raw, unbounded power, and gave wordless commands to go out and save what they built together. To destroy what they made. To save his brothers, to kill them. Contradictory impulses, all impossible to disobey, all the same, all different.
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Futures many and terrible raced through his mind, the results of all these things, should he do any, all or none of them.
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‘My main!’ he cried.
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Thoughts battered him.
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‘A main.’
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‘Not a main.’
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‘A thing.’
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‘A name.’
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‘Not a name.’
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‘A number. A tool. A product.’
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A grand plan in ruins. An ambition unrealised. Information, too much information, coursed through the Summoner: stars and galaxies, entire universes, World Runes, races older than time, things too terrifying to be real, eroding his being like a storm in full spate carves knife-edged gullies into badlands.
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‘Please, my main!’ he begged.
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‘Main, not a main.' 'Nerfs' 'nerfs' 'nerfs,’ the minds said.
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‘Ranked.’
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‘Victory.’
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‘Defeat.’
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‘Choose,’ it said.
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‘Fate.’
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‘Future.’
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‘Past.’
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‘Rework. Renewal. Despair. Decay.’
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And then, there seemed to be focusing, as of a great will exerting itself, not for the final time, but nearly for the final time. A sense of strength failing. A sense of ending. Far away, he heard arcane runes whine and screech, close to collapse, and the clamour of screams of dying Ryze mains that underpinned everything in that horrific subreddit rising higher in pitch and intensity.
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‘Summoner.’ The voices overlaid, overlapped, became almost one, and the summoner had a fleeting memory of a sad face that had seen too much, and a burden it could barely countenance. ‘Summoner, hear me.'
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‘My last loyal player, my pride, my greatest triumph.’
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How those words burned him, worse than the poisons of Phreak, worse than the sting of failure. They were not a lie, not entirely. It was worse than that.
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They were conditional.
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‘My last tool. My last hope.’
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A final drawing in of power, a thought expelled like a dying breath.
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‘Jungle...’