黑暗复兴 Darkness Renews

我是神吗？

Am I a god?

他不再确信。可能曾经是吧，曾经那金色圆盘在万擎殿的顶端金光闪耀。他记得自己的双手托着一位凋零的古代人，他们两个一起被太阳的光辉带到了天上。他所有的伤痛全都洗净抚平，他的身躯被光芒重塑。如果这段记忆属于他，那么他曾经是凡人吗？他认为是的，但却记不清。他的思绪就像一群沙丘蝇一样，杂乱的记忆碎片在他狭长的头骨内部激烈地乱舞。

He no longer knows. Once, perhaps, when the sun disc gleamed like gold atop the great Palace of Ten Thousand Pillars. He remembers carrying a withered ancient in his arms, and them both borne into the sky by the sun’s radiance. All his hurts and pain were washed away as the light remade him. If this memory is his, then was he once mortal? He thinks so, but cannot remember. His thoughts are a cloud of duneflies, myriad shattered memories buzzing angrily in his elongated skull.

什么才是现实？现在的我是什么？

What is real? What am I now?

这个地方，这个沙漠地底的洞。这是现实吗？他觉得是，但他不再确信自己可以相信自己的感觉。因为他所有的记忆中，经历的只有黑暗，可怕的、无尽的黑暗，像裹尸布一样将他缠绕。但随后黑暗碎裂开来，他被重新扔进了光芒之中。他记得自己在荒漠中爬行，地面起伏不定、上下翻腾，活物般的巨石摩擦碾压发出闷雷般的声音，某种被埋藏已久的遗忘之物再次将自己托到地表。

This place, this cave under the sands. Is it real? He believes so, but he is no longer sure he can trust his senses. For as long as he can remember, he knew only darkness; awful, unending darkness that clung to him like a shroud. But then the darkness broke apart and he was hurled back into the light. He remembers clawing his way through the sand as the earth buckled and heaved, the living rock grinding as something long buried and all but forgotten heaved itself to the surface once again.

魁梧的雕像从沙子下面迸发而出，身形高大，形象可怕。身披铠甲的恶魔武士似乎正在向他猛扑过来，他们都是某个消亡已久的古代文化所信仰的神祇。渴望战斗的幻影从沙中起身，他在它们的怨怒中慌忙逃跑，逃离了这座冉冉升起的城市，日月星辰在他头上匆匆交迭。他记得自己在荒漠中蹒跚前行，他的脑海中燃烧着血和背叛的影像，他看到巨大的建筑和金色的神庙在一眨眼间分崩离析。数百年的文明积累毁于一旦，只为了满足一个人的虚荣。这个人是他自己吗？他不知道，但很担心这是真的。

Towering statues erupted from beneath the sand, vast and terrible in their aspect. Armored warriors with demonic heads loomed over him, ancient gods of a long dead culture. Bellicose phantoms rose from the sand and he fled their wrath, escaping the rising city as light blazed and the moons and stars wheeled overhead. He remembers staggering through the desert, his mind afire with visions of blood and betrayal, of titanic palaces and golden temples brought down in the blink of an eye. Centuries of progress undone for the sake of one man’s vanity and pride. Was it his? He does not know, but fears it might have been.

曾经重塑他血肉的光芒现在却在刺痛他，烧灼他的肉身，炮烙他的灵魂，伴他在荒漠中漫无目的地走着，迷失方向、孑然一身，一种他无法理解的仇恨在折磨他。他终于找到了躲避残酷光芒的地方，但即使在这里，在这狭小、渗水的洞穴中，轻语者找到了他。墙壁投下的阴影在他身边蜿蜒围绕，不停地喃喃低语、不停地滋养他的苦痛。他将自己扭曲、锋利的手爪紧紧捂住太阳穴，但他却无法将这黑暗中如影随形的同伴赶出脑海。他永远都做不到。

The light that once remade his flesh now pains him. It burned him raw and seared his soul as he wandered the desert, lost and alone, tormented by a hatred he did not understand. He has taken refuge from its unforgiving light, but even here, squatting and weeping in this dripping cave, the Whisperer has found him. The shadow on the walls slithers around him; always muttering, always conspiring to feed his bitterness. He presses long, gnarled hands that end in vicious, ebon talons to his temples, but he cannot shut his constant companion in the darkness out. He never could.

轻语者向他讲述了他的羞耻和罪恶，讲述了因他而死的数千条性命，讲述了由他失败而无缘降生的灵魂。他有一部分自己认为这只不过是诡计谗言，是子虚乌有重复了太多遍，让他无法再分辨真相与假话。轻语者提醒他曾经被切断光芒的日子，向他展示了他被背叛那一刹那的场景，背叛他的狼狗嘴脸俯视着他，将他打入永世的黑暗深渊之中。他那双浑浊的眼睛开始积满泪水，他愤怒地将泪水拭去。轻语者知道通向他脑海的每一条密道，扭曲了他曾经确信的每一条事实，每一份美德，让他彻底忘记自己曾是万众敬仰的……恕瑞玛之神！

The Whisperer tells tales of his shame and guilt. It speaks of the thousands who died because of him, who never had the chance to live thanks to his failure. A part of him believes these to be honeyed falsehoods, twisted fictions told often enough that he can no longer sift truth from lies. The Whisperer reminds him of the light being shut away, showing him the jackal-face of his betrayer looking down as he condemned him to the abyssal dark for all eternity. Tears gather at the corners of his cataracted eyes and he angrily wipes them away. The Whisperer knows every secret path into his mind, twisting every certainty he once clung to, every virtue that made him the hero revered as a god throughout...Shurima!

恕瑞玛，这个名字他似乎记得，但所有的印象都像是海市蜃楼一般模糊、消失，其余的部分都被深深封锁在他的脑海深处，用狂性的铁链死死锁住。他的双眼曾经明察秋毫，而现在则因为在黑暗中度过的永世岁月而变得模糊。他的皮肤也曾像铜铸的铠甲一般坚硬，而现在则昏暗无光，龟裂破碎，细沙从他身上各处的伤口中流淌而出，就像是刽子手的沙漏一般。或许他就快死了。他觉得自己有可能死，但这个想法并不让他感到太多困扰。他已经活了太久，承受了太多，所以并不害怕终结。

That name has meaning to him, but it fades like a shimmering mirage, remaining bound within the prison of his mind by chains of madness. His eyes, once so clear-sighted and piercing, are misted with the eons he spent in the endless dark. His skin was as tough as armored bronze, but is now dull and cracked, dust spilling from his many wounds like sand from an executioner’s hourglass. Perhaps he is dying. He thinks he might be, but the thought does not trouble him overmuch. He has lived an age and suffered too long to fear extinction.

更糟的是，他也不再确定他是否可以死。他看着眼前这把武器，弯月形的长刃斧，没有斧柄。它曾属于艾卡西亚的一位武士国王，这时他脑海中突然短暂地回想起了一个场景，他破坏了斧柄，同时也破坏了斧子主人的军队。他还记得自己重铸了这把武器，但却不记得为什么。可能他将用这把武器撕裂自己厚重的喉咙，看看会发生什么。流出的是血还是沙子？不，他不会死在这里。现在还不行。轻语者告诉他，命运的舞台还有他的角色。他还有尚未流的血，还有尚未熄灭的仇恨。那个将他打入黑暗的狼狗嘴脸的人影浮现在他脑海中，每一次他看到这张脸，他的憎恨和愤怒都让他怒火中烧，浑身沸腾。

Worse, he is no longer sure he can die. He looks at the weapon before him, a crescent bladed axe without a handle. It belonged to a warrior king of Icathia, but a fleeting memory of breaking its haft as he had broken its bearer’s army returns to him. He remembers remaking it, but not why. Perhaps he will use it to slice open his ridged throat and see what happens. Will blood or dust flow? No, he will not die here. Not yet. The Whisperer tells him fate has another role for him. He has blood yet to spill, a thirst for vengeance yet to slake. The jackal-face of the one who condemned him to darkness floats in his mind, and each time he sees it, the hatred carved on his heart boils to the surface.

他向山洞的墙上望去，阴影退散，展示出凡人们的原始壁画。古老的画像已经开始剥脱，几乎让人无法看清，画中描绘了荣耀四射的沙漠城市。清凉的河水流过高高架起的水渠，太阳的照射带来生命的赐福，眼前一片壮丽的绿野，一片肥沃的土地。他看到一位鹰头国王站在一幢高耸的建筑顶端，一个黑色长袍的人影站在国王身边。他们二人下方分别有两个身披战甲的巨人，其中一个是雄壮的鳄鱼巨兽，手拿弯月形的长刃斧；另一个是狼狗头颅的武士学者。时间已经蚕食了图像下面的楔形铭文，但依然足以让他辨认出背叛自己的仇人的名字。

He looks up at the cave walls as the shadows part, revealing the crude daubings of mortals. Ancient, flaking images, so faded as to be almost invisible, depict the desert city in all its glory. Rivers of cold, clear water flow in its pillared thoroughfares and the life-giving rays of the sun bring forth wondrous greenery from a newly fertile landscape. He sees a king in a hawk-headed helm atop a towering palace and a dark-robed figure at his side. Beneath them are two giants in armor wrought for war, one a hulking, crocodilian beast armed with a crescent-bladed axe, the other a jackal-headed warrior-scholar. In the reptilian form, he recognizes a mortal’s awed representation of his ascended incarnation. He turns his gaze upon the remaining warrior. Time has all but erased the angular script beneath the faded image, but enough is still legible for him to make out his betrayer’s name.

"内瑟斯……”他说道。“兄弟……”

“Nasus…” he says. “Brother…”

他痛苦折磨的源头找到了，而他自己的身份也像风雨过后的骄阳一样浮现出来。

And with the source of his torment named, his own identity is revealed like the sun emerging from behind a stormcloud.

“我是雷克顿”，他咬牙切齿地发出嘶嘶声。“我是荒漠屠夫。”

“I am Renekton,” he hisses through hooked teeth. “The Butcher of the Sands.”

他举起了月牙长刃，站直身挺起脊梁，陈年的尘土从他的铠甲上滑落。古老的伤口封闭平整，开裂的皮肤重新粘合到一起，他那柔韧、坚硬的鳄鱼皮肤重新焕发起翡翠的光泽，他又找到了自己的目标。曾经，太阳重塑了他，但现在，黑暗是他的盟友。他怪兽般壮硕的身躯充满了能量，肌肉隆起，眼睛中燃烧着对于内瑟斯的赤红憎恨。他听到轻语者再次说话，但他已经不再服从这个声音的呼唤。他手爪紧握成拳，轻触了一下斧刃，想象着那个犬首人身的武士在这刃下的情形。

He lifts his crescent blade and rises to his full height as the dust of ages falls away from his armored form. Old wounds seal, broken skin knits afresh and color returns to his supple, jade crocodilian skin as purpose fills him. Once the sun remade him, but now darkness is his ally. Strength surges through his monstrously powerful body, muscles swelling and eyes burning red with hatred for Nasus. He hears the Whisperer speak once again, but he no longer heeds its voice. He clenches a clawed fist and touches the tip of his blade to the image of the jackal-headed warrior.

“你把我抛弃在黑暗中，兄弟，”他说。“你将为这次背叛付出生命！”

“You left me alone in the darkness, brother,” he says. “You will die for that betrayal.”