Witherwood Dungeons, the Chamber of Binding

So arrives the Shepard.

Brand looked around at the magi, each averting their eyes as his burning gaze was cast upon them.

Have the sheep nothing to say?

He turned his head back towards the grand general,

I suppose they wouldn't. Unless of course, YOU told them to say something...

The elemental didn't wait for a response before adding;

Please, don't try to deny it. Where better to hide the man pulling the strings than in plain sight?

Brand stood, rising to stand level with the furious Noxian general. His expression unchanged by the daggers Swain was staring at him.

But I suppose you aren't exactly what one would call a man at all, are you?

The elemental simply frowned and narrowed his eyes.

You would "snuff" one who attempts to preserve the universe?

allow me to explain my case.

You know of summoning, do you not?

It is a form of magic that involves tearing tunnels in the fabric of reality.
These tunnels may burrow into other planes, through walls that shouldn't be crossed; and when the summoner in question is done with his kidnapping of whatever poor creature he has decided will serve him in his little game, he closes up the holes on either end and goes about his business.

Naturally, they have never figured out exactly how to close the tunnels themselves.

This lead to several great calamities in adjacent universes; such as entire worlds collapsing in on themselves.

Early in this world's history, I was summoned to put an end to this.

You can see why an executioner would be needed. The infection runs deep; the culture of this world reveres the act of summoning as a display of skill and strength.

It must be dealt with.

It will be dealt with.

Lest the dimensional walls collapse.

but I digress.

If you want a reason that is immediately beneficial to you, then I propose a deal.

I will help you achieve whatever goal it is you have in mind for this wretched world; I don't care what you do with it.

There is only one thing I ask in return.

Once this world has been... Properly subjugated. Summoning magics must be banned.

The League must die.

The elemental sat, cross legged, slightly regretful of the fact that his knowledge had reached human ears. He looked up, watching Beatrice squawk and flap her wings.

Your... Bird. seems rather agitated.

Perhaps you should return after considering my offer.

Brand stood to meet the general's gaze, blackened lips cracking apart in a wry smile.

Ashes are my specialty.

Despite my current state, weakened beyond what I though was even possible...

The elemental spread his arms, or lack thereof.

I can assure you that I am quite proficient in the process of making them.

Name your terms, general...

Brand stood, his eyes shining through the violet prison like a pair of white hot coals; matching the intensity of Swain's own scarlet ones.

I trust the shell in question will be adequate to contain my power.

He paused for a moment, tilting his head so that his eyes locked with the crimson gaze of the bird on his shoulder.

As for this world, you may have it. If the wanton destruction of the fabric of reality is ceased, I see no reason to return to this realm.

This is assuming that these acts never resume.

But I digress.

Consider your terms accepted, Grand General.

Now that this... Alliance, however short the term, has been realized; I believe a proper introduction is in order.

In a single motion, the elemental shed his shell, revealing his true form; a simple ball of flame, that gradually coalesced into a disturbingly tall and spindly humanoid figure. The being of flame opened it's jagged mouth to speak.

I am Brand. High Executor of the realm of flame. I am known among my people as the Worldkiller.

Brand looked down at both Swain and his avian companion, his form flickering back and forth.

I know of you, Grand General Jericho Swain. The soldiers I burned screamed your name with their final breath.

But... Your name...

The elemental locked it's "eyes" upon Beatrice, two blue spots that burned brighter than the rest of it's form.

I know of the shell.

But not the one who wears it.

Brand curled his limbs inwards, resting on the floor as what appeared to be an ordinary fire.

The word of an elemental is binding.

Your foes are now mine.

and mine, yours.

I eagerly await your return, Grand General.

From one known by many names, to another.

More than the clatter of a cane resounded through the dungeon. The clang of metal on stone rang forth; heavy footfalls echoed over the continuous hum of the attending summoners. Closer, closer, closer, they came until, from the shadows, Grand General Jericho Swain emerged, his shrunken body accompanied by another, sharply contrasting form. The vessel.

Seven feet tall, encased in adamantite, an augmented humanoid followed closely behind him. Still-human eyes looked strange upon the fearsome form, darted nervously from the elemental to the summoners, to the four attending Raedsel, to the Grand General. The cyborg's metal plates clanked gently together; he seemed to be trembling in shock or terror. "Vengeance," came the imperious address of The Master Tactician. "The time has come."

With but a purposeful glance and a jerk of his head, Swain issued his personal guard their orders. Two Raedsel stepped out of formation, took the cyborg by either arm and escorted it towards the glowing purple prison in which Brand stood contained. Whether willing, drugged, or simply too terrified to protest, it complied, eyes still darting wildly between all attending parties. The Raedsel released it as it drew nigh the purple bubble. "Allow it to pass," Swain addressed the summoners.

The frequency of the humming dropped to a whisper; the chanting quickened; the violet semi-sphere changed to a silvery hue. And the cyborg stepped over the threshold, stood before Brand as though awaiting approval, its plates still clinking together with its tremor.

"A shell worthy of your power, Executor," Swain declared, lifting his chin to observe his associate's reception of the imposing form he had procured. "As vowed."