Void Beetle Evolution Guide

Swain's eagle eyes swept around, his demonic hand constantly unleashing red lightning to crush the undead, while also taking in Riven's condition.

A dim, deathly light emanated from her, spreading from the places where the undead had gripped her to the healthy bodies beside her. She herself was unaware of it, but now she was practically dead.

“I miss Ionia,” her eyes were already starting to cloud over. “Inbee is still waiting for me at home…”

“You’ll never see him again,” Swain said. “Unless he’s waiting for you on the other side.”

"The other side?" Riven's mind went sluggish, with only her fighting instincts sustaining her.

“After you die,” Swain said.

“No, I’m just tired. I’m hurt…” She refused to accept her fate, but her voice grew weaker and weaker. “And a little cold… I’ve been injured much worse before, and I still managed to escape.”

Swain shook his head, and his demonic hand rested on Riven's neck.

A surge of power coursed through Riven's body, causing her to flinch slightly from the sudden electric current, take a few steps back, and raise her sword. The greatsword trembled in her hand, and Swain sensed a sharp magic forged within this ancient metal.

"What are you doing?" she asked loudly.

"I've infused you with some demonic power, which will allow you to live a little longer."

What are you saying?

“Touch by the dead is death,” Swain said. “Every second you are cursed, you lose your soul, like a wound that never heals and keeps bleeding. Now that wound has seeped into your body and is constantly absorbing your life.”

Riven steadied herself by leaning on her sword. She finally noticed that dark veins were spreading from her wounds, and she murmured in disbelief, "No... I can't die here... I have a reason not to die."

“And who isn’t?” Swain whispered. “You have your reasons, and I have all of Noxus behind me. Now, grip your sword tightly. You need it.”

She felt a strange, warm power surging through her body; the demonic power had taken effect. She looked at the runic greatsword in her hand. She had never truly liked this weapon that had brought her endless calamity, but now it was her only remaining reliance.

The raging army of undead came and went, a cacophony of howling nightmares, charging forward with frantic urgency and chatter.

Riven's heart burned with a fiery energy, like fuel added to a furnace, and she roared as she swung her greatsword. The blade sliced ​​deep into the smoke-like spirits, the emerald sword energy piercing through everything in its path, eliciting painful yet sweet screams from them. She had completely forgotten her own pain; the coldness in her blood was numbed by Swain's power.

Once again, he became a Noxian warrior, ready to die a heroic death in battle.

As she fought, she saw Swain plunge into the souls, displaying incredible power as his five fingers continuously unleashed forked lightning, blasting the undead into thick smoke. But her own vision began to blur, and all colors gradually faded... If the battle continued at this intensity, that power would soon be exhausted.

Just then, the sounds echoing from the bottom of the well gradually faded away, and like their sudden attack, the terrifying ghosts suddenly fell silent. Riven saw them, motionless like stones.

Riven caught her breath, leaning on her sword and gasping for air. Then she heard Vladimir's equally panting voice: "So now, are you still determined to take the helmet, Commander?"

As he spoke, Vladimir's pale hand rested on the large bell, ready to strike it again if Swain did not do as he was told.

A deathly silence fell over the scene. Vladimir urged, "Answer me quickly, even if I don't ring the bell, these spirits will still resume their activity after a while."

"Get rid of these undead first." Swain reluctantly compromised; the undead were the biggest threat at the moment.

"Great. We'll each take one, okay?"

Vladimir gave Swain no time to consider, rushing towards the undead. Unable to kill them, he chose to seal Karthus, leaving Thresh to Swain.

The dark red chains quickly wrapped around the Deathsinger, and he infused them with his own blood. The chains came alive like snakes, writhing and twisting.

He turned to look at the Grand Commander. Swain had seized Thresh's skeletal body with his demon claws, and the three-eyed raven on his shoulder emitted a soul-stirring crimson light, constantly suppressing the ghostly flames flickering in Thresh's eye sockets.

The moment the flames died down, the death flame in Thresh's eyes suddenly reignited, and his jaw, covered in needle-like teeth, opened and closed as he chanted a spell in the language of Ochen.

The living are sad

Shedding flesh and blood

All belongs to me

"Great Commander, borrowed power must eventually be returned." Thresh laughed heartily, and Swain's eyes instantly filled with darkness.

The next moment, the demonic hand clenched suddenly, and enormous wings extended from Swain's back, casting a dark, raven-like shadow beneath him, with six blood-red eyes standing out prominently.

The demon lurking within Swain was finally unleashed and took control of his mind.

"The moment has finally arrived; it's time for the world to remember his terror once more!"

A terrifying roar, completely different from Swain himself, emanated from the enormous shadow cast by his outstretched wings; the demon's whisper turned into a piercing shriek!

He lifted his legs, flapped his wings, and a fierce gust of wind suddenly blew towards Vladimir!

Chapter 769 Demon Incarnation

A fierce wind swept in, and Vladimir raised his hand to block it, but when he opened his eyes, he could not withstand the dark red wind pressure and was swept heavily against the wall.

His back was scraping against the wall, and before he could even land, Swain's giant wings flapped, his figure blurred, and the next moment he appeared in front of Vladimir. A demonic hand gripped his neck, pinning him against the wall to prevent him from falling.

A blood ring rapidly contracted, but was shattered by the demon wings. The demon claws suddenly contracted, and the continuous bursts of red lightning prevented Vladimir from using Blood Escape to escape.

"You who want to stop the Ironclad Netherworld's resurrection plan are doomed to fail." He lowered his head with difficulty and saw the Grand Commander, whose eyes were bloodshot and who had already been demonized, whispering to him, "Did you hear that? The repentance of the dead."

In a daze, Vladimir heard only soft whispers. He seemed to see his secret, like the gentle flapping of wings fading into the distance, while carrion ravens cried out mournfully…

He had nothing left. The helmet slipped from his hand and was caught by Swain, who threw it into the Great Well of Souls without even glancing at it.

"Stop!" At the critical moment, the helmet was knocked away by a giant axe, narrowly missing the edge of the well and almost falling in.

Darius was panting heavily; it was he who had thrown the weapon, smashing the helmet off. He glared at Swain, the scar across his broken eyebrow appearing even more menacing with rage.

"Swain! You keep talking about Noxus, and now you're going to destroy it with your own hands?!"

“No daughter, only soldiers. Are you going to oppose me too?” Swain turned his head slightly, his dark eyes seeming to see right into Darius’s heart. The invisible pressure emanating from the soul made Darius take a step back.

The demon remained terrifyingly silent. Vladimir seized the opportunity to pry the fingers off his neck. "Don't bother. He's been consumed by the demon's backlash. Nothing you say will help. He's betrayed Noxus. We must kill him to solve the problem. I know you're no match for him, but I can teach you a method—drive these three nails into the puppet while simultaneously chanting the name of the traitor three times. That will summon the goddess of vengeance..."

Vladimir's voice abruptly stopped as Swain gripped his throat tightly with his demonic hand, squeezing blood from his throat. Even so, despite spitting blood, he managed to throw the puppet and the spikes at the last moment.

With a crisp metallic clang, the puppet rolled to Darius's feet. He instinctively picked it up, but one of the long nails had rolled away and blended into the black ground, making it difficult to spot.

“Tsk, how vicious. Summoning the Spear of Vengeance to punish a traitor requires offering one’s own soul to become a part of her. Vladimir himself didn’t dare to do it, so he made someone else do it, and deliberately concealed the cost.” Cassiopeia clicked her tongue. “Moreover, this puppet is clearly carved in the likeness of Swain, which means he had thought about doing this for a long time.”

"This curse is extremely vicious, but the conditions are also exceptionally harsh. The caster must not only sacrifice their soul for eternal damnation, but also endure the pain of betrayal. It cannot be cast by just anyone," Wild Hunt said. "Swain was an upright man who never betrayed anyone except for betraying his own family, so Black Rose never had the opportunity to cast this curse. In the end, she was still devoured by the demon and died young."

"Does Master think he can still be saved?" the femme fatale asked.

Wild Hunt narrowed his eyes in thought, "Rammer is a secret demon who knows best the weaknesses in people's hearts. Unless you and I take action, or external forces intervene, it will be difficult for him to suppress the demon on his own."

Swain and Darius were facing off when Cassiopeia noticed that Riven looked a little off.

Black roots silently crept over her body, but she remained oblivious, her eyes gleaming. "You plum blossoms are here, plum blossoms are here, but the forest is here, is it here...?"

She couldn't understand how the commander who had just kindly helped her suppress the curse could change so drastically in the blink of an eye. Who could she still trust?

Riven felt her body growing colder and colder, so numb that she could no longer feel the black roots writhing and pulsating on her skin. They burrowed through her flesh, sucking her blood, seemingly about to give birth to something far more malevolent.

A strange weight settled on her neck, as if someone had locked it with an iron ring. Then she started to walk forward, which was odd, because she had no intention of walking forward at all.

Riven found herself walking forward with an extremely uncoordinated gait... toward her goal, into battle!

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't turn around.

Some terrible curse descended upon her, and Riven couldn't even turn her head. She saw Vladimir fall, and saw the demonic hand grab Darius.

She wanted to speak up to stop him, but no sound came out. Riven walked forward woodenly and silently, her eyes fixed only on Swain's back.

In the brief moment she moved, I caught a glimpse of a black rose petal nestled within the folds of her clothing, emanating a faint, delicate fragrance.

It was the Pale Lady! She had taken control of herself!

Riven watched as she slowly raised her greatsword, the buzzing runes now falling silent. She fought back with all her might, but her body wouldn't obey her commands, drawing ever closer to Swain.

She clenched her jaw tightly, her cheeks were burning hot, and beads of sweat appeared on her forehead.

"Don't even think about controlling me anymore," she thought to herself. "Whatever you want to do, don't even think about it."

"Even if it's to rid the people of a scourge, it's still not allowed?" A whisper echoed in Riven's mind.

“No. He’s not a bad person.” Riven hurriedly explained, “Not only did he not hold my desertion a crime against me, but he also gave me a chance to redeem myself, and just now he even suppressed the curse and extended my life.”

"A little favor is all it takes to make you willingly risk your life." The voice chuckled. "Look closely, you're protecting a demon, not him."

Riven looked at Swain again, or more precisely, at Darius, who was being choked by him, and suddenly realized that what the other man said was true.

"Since you're unwilling to do it yourself, then I'll help you."

Thick vines snaked past her, the black roses completely obscuring Riven's eyes. Unable to see, she could more easily take that step. The roots meandered around her arm, then suddenly contracted, propelling Riven to thrust her sword forward.

The greatsword pierced through Darius's chest, and Swain, whose feet were lifted into the air, immediately abandoned Darius, his demonic hand seizing the blade.

He turned his head abruptly, only to see a face covered in vines, with a black rose blooming prominently in the eye socket.

A mirage, reflecting a sinister smile.

The next moment, the runic greatsword exploded violently inside the demon's body!

Chapter 770 The Final Reign

The runic greatsword exploded inside Swain's body, its sword energy and fragments raging through his body, causing cracks to appear and emitting a cold, emerald-green light.

However, moments later, what gushed forth was not blood and entrails, but rather pitch-black demonic energy. Black clouds rolled in, interspersed with crimson lightning, and countless red-eyed crows swarmed out of their nests.

Riven was thrown more than ten meters away by the crimson shockwave, her broken sword slipping from her hand, and she was completely knocked unconscious. Darius also rolled several meters away, unconscious as well.

The dark clouds howled, circled Swain several times, and then were all drawn back into his body, repairing the cracks on his skin.

He suddenly turned his head to look at LeBlanc, who was motionless not far away. A blood claw flew out, but was caught halfway by the black and red chains that suddenly appeared.

Swain didn't linger. He grabbed the helmet from the ground, flashed to the Soul Well, and tossed it down. The chains reappeared, but were shaken off.

"No matter how much you scheme, you can't change the outcome!" the demon roared, his voice as piercing as the cawing of crows.

"No!" LeBlanc, whose only movement was her eyeballs, stared in horror as her helmet fell to the bottom of the well. Her golden tear stains, like venomous fangs, seemed to come alive, finally breaking through the limitations of the Soul-Suppressing Bell and regaining their mobility.

But it was too late. The helmet was drawn to the helmetless armor like a magnet, and green light flashed in her eyes. At that moment, she hated her lich body and Mordekaiser, who had killed her.

"Are you insane?" LeBlanc's pawn, planted beside Swain, failed to kill him. She roared at Swain, then looked into the darkness swirling in his eyes. The shadow of the Iron Revenant overlapped with him, exuding a terrifying aura of oppression.

“Everyone must submit to the King of Life and Death,” Swain whispered to the Great Well, utterly devoid of reason. LeBlanc then trembled and fell silent, knowing that saying anything now would be pointless.

She heard a bursting sound of bubbles in her ears in despair. The miasma formed by the blue and green hues of the Soul Well began to boil violently. The seal between the two realms was melting away, and the final reign was about to begin!

……

In the afterlife, dark clouds roll in, turbulent waters surge, the body disintegrates, and the soul withers and vanishes.

But Mordekaiser refused to retreat!

For a thousand years, he single-handedly built his fortress in the endless wilderness.

Now, the kingdom he built with his own hands unfolds before him, every stone beneath his feet a product of his own creation. The battlements and ramparts are also sculpted by cruel magic and an iron will.

Where there was once nothing, Mordecais created his own world—a realm where all souls would forever dwell and never perish.

The Gray Kingdom – Mitna Lachen.

Within the true immortal fortress, seated on the steel throne of the Bone Hall, Mordekaiser, as if sensing something, looked up at the sky.

The somber sky, unchanged for centuries, suddenly parted, revealing a vortex of the mortal realm reflected in the blue-green miasma.

"The door is finally open."

He raised his fist, and a surge of necromantic energy erupted. In the distance, on the plain outside the fortress, an iron tower rose from the ground, wisps of black smoke seeping into the black iron, lunging towards the wound in the sky, as if it were about to pierce it directly.

Mordekaiser gazed at his territory, a wicked arrogance rising within him. Headless steel spirits stood in neat rows below the steps; all the qualified souls were already waiting in the hall, and none dared to speak.

Outside the iron gate, endless clamor lingered, the cries of souls rose and fell, forming an evil chorus of agony, already impatient to unleash a massacre.

"Even the weak have their role. Go."

He pointed, and tens of thousands of souls converged into an ocean of death, eagerly surging towards the Iron Tower. They vied to climb the tower, their overlapping forms quickly obscuring it completely.

Mordekaiser stood up. He was not in a hurry to return to the mortal realm immediately, but instead turned to look at his towering throne.

The iron-cast chair back stretched steeply upwards, transforming into spikes pointing towards the sky. The throne's base was inscribed with sharp, Euclidean characters. The ever-present whispers now became almost a roar, hysterical, and incessant.

Mordekaiser rested one hand on the armrest, arrogantly admiring his own creation. Within his fortress, the throne absorbed the most souls, and the wails emanating from it sounded like music to him.

He seemed to have thought of something, and with one hand lifted Nightfall, which was leaning against the throne. With a single blow, the throne shattered into pieces.

Hundreds of souls were released, swirling and roaring through the hall before gradually dissipating. Mordekaiser watched them vanish into nothingness, a cruel pleasure welling up within him.

Only mortals burdened by flesh and blood, and the cycle of birth, aging, sickness, and death, need a throne. But he... is far more than that.

He stepped onto the rubble of wrecked metal, his gaze sweeping over the magnificent hall. The generals who, in his lifetime, were worthy of his personal execution were now awaiting his orders. None flinched; they remained motionless without his command.

And now, his kingdom is poised to take off.

"It's time to return to the world of the living. All the souls of Runeterra are eagerly awaiting your return." Mordekaiser lifted Nightfall and slung it over his shoulder. "King's Landing, let it begin."

...Your plum is here, you want to be free, your Lin is here, are you here...?

"The netherworld, rise!"