The Crucible Of Pain

It had been a long time since he was dragged into literal hell; that much he was sure of. There was nothing he could do. He was always told not to fear the pain of death, or the terror awaiting in whatever afterlife he was destined for. But those lessons came from men who clearly matured in far more tolerable circumstances. This was worse than hell.

Excruciating as this situation was for Urgot, death seemed to be a reluctant mercy for the men down here, in the Dredge. In the Undercity, there was barley enough to go around for the citizens, but the hardships were severe enough just to keep an ailing starved man alive. Urgot had never seen many in the streets, only a few lounging against the carts and pubs.

The parts of the city, The Lanes as they were called, seemed far more vibrant. Not prosperous, but everything was in perpetual rhythm and there was a coin passing through every citizen no matter how deprived or lucky they were. Some men had seized what power they could, the Barons, and they were the ones who leeched from the already bereft citizens.

As the thought swept over him, his sledgehammer beat another nail into submission, like the multitude spread on the tracks. The uniform sound of the nails began to reverberate the more time Urgot spent on the labor. How long does it take for something to become routine? Urgot wished there was an answer that satisfied everyone.

The growl of the elevator drew the attention of Urgot and the many slaves in secession. The despondent miners wheeling the carts of chemicals were overcome with an intensity that only came every week. Ugrot watched, less intimidated than the others, as the car descended with such deadly grace into the Dredge.

As the slaves shifted with uneasiness and spoke obscurely to one another, Urgot inspected the woman who emerged from the elevator. He had seen her bowl cut hair and slim build many times already, and he wished he could prohibit himself from staring.

Her unspoiled and tailored suit made him wonder how a city overrun by poverty could have people as affluent as the Barons.

He must have looked at the Baron uncannily, because before he could react, the woman walked toward him. He held his hammer firmly in his grip and didn't move a muscle. The Baron, Voss as he was told, proceeded with a deliberate face and traced Urgot's features, his scarred white skin and hulking arms, atop a mound of coal she stood on.

"Are you the Noxian whom was sold to us by your own people?" She asked in a way that Urgot knew was rhetorical and required no explanation. But rather than face a club to the head, he gave a slow nod.

The Baron, looking pleased to see that his imprisonment had taught him respect, motioned for the nearby guard to bring him. As Urgot's shackles came loose and was led to the elevator, the physical relief did not diminish his now overwhelming worry. As the elevator rose out of the Dredge, Urgot's head hung while watching the miners proceeding.

The elevator reached the end of its rise with a clack, bringing Urgot out of one hell and into another.

Urgot was restrained for a moment as the Baron took 10 steps into the empty street, before being thrown to the ground. Fighting the migraines, he rested his fatigued legs on his bare arched feet, and saw the Baron, more clearly than usual. It was his first good look at the woman without being distorted by the darkness of the mines.

She stood facing the street, which had an opaque green fog clinging to its roads. Supposedly, the mist flooded most of the lanes in the city and could congest a mans throat in mere seconds. How could anyone except those born here navigate such a maze. Urgot remembered his traitorous gang bringing him through it. How fearful he was.

"I have never seen a Noxian in our city, let alone in my domain."

Urgot couldn't see her face, but her thick low voice made it clear she was fascinated by something. Still, he said nothing and waited until Voss turned to face him. Her murky eyelids and slanted posture made her look like a walking corpse. But Urgot could tell she was inspecting him. It was terribly foreign, to be regarded in such a degraded state.

"This will be interesting to witness." Voss hissed with exasperation at the guard behind her. She turned back to the genuflecting man. "You know why you're here, don't you."

Urgot had been waiting for this moment for longer than he'd preferred. He had always hoped for an escape, back to his home, back to those traitors, to prove that he embodied Noxus's ideals more than they ever did. But standing upon the brink of the next life, the only one he could prove it to was Voss. Pragmatism always had more dignity than hope.

Urgot lowered his head, giving no satisfaction to his captor. Voss squinted more, and he was sure this was the end.

"Whether this ends in further penance or freedom depends on your strength, Noxian. You must tell me the truth." She said ethereally.

Urgot's neck whipped up. This wasn't an execution, but a chance of escape? He had seen several slaves taken to the elevator to the upper level, and none came back. What had they done to earn freedom? Surely, the sadistic Baron would never allow every slave free unless...

The answer registered, and Urgot glared. "The freedom of death? Why would any man choose further damnation?"

Voss's eyes opened, enough to reveal her green ringed pupils. An unexpected response from an unexpected prisoner, she thought.

"Some men lack clarity. Their pride poisons them. It is only with the relief of confession for your crimes do you find peace in the hereafter."

Urgot was bemused. Was this an Undercity noble, or was this a zealous mouthpiece. Judging by her proper attire, the kind that was near-vacant in the city, she was a thief of some sort. As far as he could tell, no person here simply earned respect. Whatever, the case, he wasn't going to delay his inevitable fate long for this psychopath. Time to join his brothers.

"I choose to die," he said groggily, "It is sadistic to measure a man's worth exerting a choice of shame or death."

Voss gave a scornful laugh at Urgot.

"Are you sure you are a Noxian enemy? They pride themselves on their strength in the face of assured death. Why would your people betray someone who holds these ideals so strongly, traitor?"

To his dismay, Urgot could see there was no swift death in store for him. He would have to play this woman's game for as long as she desired. But make no mistake, enslavement or death, he would never break to this barbarian.

"I am no traitor." He grunted and raised his head higher to lock eyes with Voss. "My men have condemned me to this torture because they carry what no Noxian should: Jealousy. I have devoted my life to embodying their ways, and they punish me for being more than they are worth. I have no sin to confess."

"Oh I think you do. You cannot give in to shame so easily."

"The only shame I carry is speaking to scum like you, who feast off slave's misery. So strike me down, and return to your pitiful nest."

Voss swung her head side to side, shaking her head. Her eyes traced him again, but he felt less sensitive to it.

"You have the presumptuousness of a Noxian. We are more than the runoff of the privileged. The prisoners down here believe they are being punished, but as you may know, the greater the penance, the greater the reward."

Urgot was about to shoot another insult at her pious bullshit, but then stopped. Perhaps it had something to do with the sheathed sword on the left side of her belt, but an interesting thought was raised to his attention.

"Then why give the choice. Why kill those who confess their faults, and punish those who refuse to fracture from this aimless labor?"

This was a question long protruding in his mind since his arrival to the Undercity. Many slaves were killed, and citizens were in constant poverty, yet the tracks, tech, and currency manufactured in the Undercity never ceased. Why had these people collectively crippled as a society but never broke completely? He dismissed it as false hope, but perhaps there was another option.

Voss had paused in the meantime, undoubtedly analyzing the abnormality of this conversation which should have ended long ago. Looking back to Urgot, she shook her head woefully.

"Is your stubborn Noxian doctrine so swaddling you cannot see the full picture." Urgot blinked, stared in offense. Voss continued, with a sharp speech.

"This cesspool you see before you is a product of the self-seeking hypocrisy of Piltover, hanging above us. They have relied on our bruised backs and subject minds. In the pursuit of their quintessential 'progress', their runoff has left us with nothing. You, the Noxians, and even much of Piltover itself is oblivious to our hardships, but it is because those privileged leaders draw a veil over us, a veil made of gold and wealth."

Urgot knew what she said was the truth: it seemed illogical that a global, pacifistic pharos could not have gotten its title from negotiations. No nation was that ideal or smart. Still, her lecture bored him, along with her apropos mien.

"Where the fuck is this going." Voss inhaled slowly, and proceeded unperturbed.

"You are that man, so are the rest down there. You are one of the international slaves in the Undercity, but you cannot see behind the mask. The City of Progress is as legendary as it is only because we, the warriors, made its base. Without our sacrifice, they'll be no more famous than the scavengers of Shurima. It is the refusal to admit your shame that a man's soul is measured."

Bullshit, he thought. Piltover was no stranger to dedication, and while it may have been more impotent than the likes of Noxus, it didn't take a genius like Jayce Talis to figure it out. After Voss paused for effect, which did nothing for Urgot or his appreciation for her philosophy, he spoke.

"Well, this has been tedious for me. Save this for a man that cares. I have committed no misdeeds, and am entirely worthy of life."

Voss chuckled, but it was clearly impatient.

"Now, you want life? Do you even believe what I say, that we work here for the greater good? Mocking me further will result in a swifter death."

He scoffed. "Does not matter, does it. I'll die here anyway, all because I know my worth, unlike you who has never been tested. You have no scars and no fear: you have taken from the weakest to gratify yourself."

A sneer followed Voss, and she drew a sword from her sheath. "I was mistaken, you are the weakest slave I have encountered. You do not confess, claim you are beyond the rules, and now mock me, Baron Voss! Lord of the Dredge."

Choosing his final words wisely, Urgot raised his head higher. "This is the Undercity, where men make their destinies, and your self-appointed titles mean nothing. I am Urgot The Executioner, and you do not frighten me!"

That did it. Eyes ablaze, Voss marched forward and struck him with her sword across his abdomen. Urgot writhed for a moment, and suddenly froze. His eyes fell to the wound across his skin. He was shifting no more. For some reason, he could not sense the after effect of the wound, or the stream of blood slither to his knees.

With every few seconds that passed, Voss became more mystified. Most prisoners collapsed upon the first strike, and some were lucky enough to simply break their voices. She examined Urgot's body once more, noting his hulking physique which likely was trained take a punch or two.

Taking deep breaths, Urgot looked across from him at the no determined Voss. She struck him across the arm, the shoulder, and his chest. With each successive blow Urgot agonized less and less.

Then, to Voss's horror, the uneffecacicous damage inflicted extracted a chuckle from the Noxian. Urgot hardly laughed except when reveling in the defeat of a foe, but this was a much outlandish to him as it was to the Baron. The chuckle was accompanied by another, and another. Soon, they grew into roaring laughter. As the new empowered sensation climbed, Urgot stood to face the woman.

Voss was stricken to see her tools not only failed, but backfired. He would not confess, he would not be intimidated, and she couldn't imagine what it would take to send him to death. Maybe she should sever his head without another thought: the Dredge could survive without his unrivaled strength. But that would be giving into the Noxian's wishes. No.

As she continued to watch the towering slave receded his laugh, almost daring Voss to make another move against him, a decision of blindsided fear was adjourned. She would keep him alive, let the mines drain his spirit and his fearlessness further, then he would break, one way or another. Still, out of curiosity, she asked him one more question.

"Why do you refuse to die, Noxian?"

Urgot grinned manically for a moment, startling Voss, as if to allow preparation for a response she could never conceive.

"In Noxus, we believe in dominance over all circumstances. This city changes nothing for me. These people are stronger than you think, the pain is not a punishment, but a gift. Those who know suffering like me will amount more than any hierarchy you, Piltover, or any Nation can build. In spite of your hypocrisy, and baseless torment of myself, I know who I am, and more than you, I know what this city needs."

Too panicked to even evaluate the enigma in his words, Voss signaled the guard to the back right. Urgot made no resistance as he seized his shackles and pulled him to the elevator. As the door close he watched Voss staring at him, her sword trembling in her hand, and face void of words. Urgot smiled, he had won.

The elevator sunk into the Dredge, and Urgot ruminated on his new appreciation for its bleak glory.