Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The object spun, flickered, spun… but still nothing. Hovering teasingly over the desk, the Hexcore twirled joyfully, revelling in its locked away secrets. Viktor sighed, his eyes squinting at his research papers. When did it get so dark? No matter… he’d just sleep in the lab tonight.

It had to work tonight; Viktor had no reason to doubt his calculations. He’d double checked, triple checked, and then quadruple checked it. If it wasn’t working… there’s some variable he’s been neglecting to factor.

One more time now… spin, flicker, spin… no that’s not right…

One more… spin, spin, flicker… that’s worse!

One… spin… flicker… NO!

His mind seemed to spin faster than the Hexcore when he launched out of his chair, throwing his papers up into the air. Viktor must’ve stood up too fast–he’s just lightheaded. Yes that’s all but… the Hexcore seems different. A symbol, distinct from the runes he’s used to, flickers with gold from inside the azure mechanism. A hexagon with three outstretched arrows.

The sigil called to him… and he listened. His head clouded with his approach closer, his mind-state matching the Hexcore’s erratic and nonsensical movements. Viktor collapsed onto the desk, reaching desperately toward the golden beacon. Before he could grasp the core, his body failed him, and he fell limp, coughing blood onto the desk before he finally struck the cold floor.

Unbeknownst to the unconscious scientist, his blood began to smear across the desk, crawling like a dying centipede toward the Hexcore. The golden hexagon spun, levitating the human’s blood into the air before pulling it inside, absorbing the blood.

[AbsoluteSolverString = True]

Viktor stood before the Hexcore again, now accompanied by Jayce, who was speechless. Together, they watched a normal pot of plants grow rapidly and… change. Instead of the leafy green, healthy growth Jayce expected, the plants began to redden, turning to steaming flesh and meat before liquifying as viscous gray sludge, flowing across the desk.

“Viktor… this is… how did you even…?” Jayce tried and failed to wrap his head around how Hextech could even begin to do this. Enhanced movement, reduced weight, and incredible durability were all effects borne of deliberate manipulations of tried and tested equations… but Viktor’s notes, Jayce noticed, had almost none of that. In fact, the same manipulations made systematically to the Hexcore yielded different outputs seemingly at random.

“It reacts to organic matter! After the catalyst was introduced, it became clear to me, Jayce: the Arcane is not just a tool, it’s a thing, a being, a collective!” Viktor explained, breathing heavily as he shuffled through his hastily written, but incredibly detailed notes, looking for a specific experiment, “I wanted to see its reaction to something it couldn’t do, like manipulate an object that wasn’t nearby, and what did it do?”

Jayce attempts to follow, hazarding his best guess at what Viktor could be getting at, “It… pulled the object from the other room?” Jayce sighed, wishing Viktor would just tell him. The council was especially exhausting today, and although talking to Viktor was a great way to wind down, he couldn’t manage to match his lab partner’s energy levels. Especially not over such a gruesome display.

Jayce’s drooping eyes launched right up though when Viktor rolled up his sleeve and explained: “It threw me.”

“I-It what?” Jayce gawked at the large bruise across Viktor’s arm.

“It threw me across the room before fabricating a near identical spoon to the one I had been asking it to retrieve.”

“How…?”

“I don’t know, Jayce. I theorize it’s alive. When I signalled it again to retrieve the spoon, it just… ignored me. When I signalled a third time, it did this:” Viktor pulls a box out from under the desk. A box, Jayce saw was completely filled with identical metal spoons. If Jayce was silent before, he might as well not have a voice anymore.

“I noticed after I was feeling light-headed in the lab that something might be wrong with the ventilation. I was informed that the lab had abnormally meager air pressure, but the ductworkers could not pinpoint a cause. I haven’t yet deduced the means by which it developed such an ability,” Viktor explains, hoping Jayce catches on to the horrifying, though intriguing implications.

“It got the mass to make spoons by transmuting the air? Viktor… we need to show Heimerdinger! He might be able to help control this!” Jayce exclaims happily, his earlier fatigue vanishing at the prospect of such an exciting discovery. Though, upon fetching his mentor, his hopes were quickly dashed by the head counsellor's immediate, desperate comment.

“That symbol… you must destroy it. Now.”

“W-what? Professor, you haven’t even–” Viktor tries to reason, but is quickly cut off.

“You don’t understand, my boys. This thing, that’s taken over your work: I’ve seen it before. It destroys nations, consumes everything and anything! If ever you’ve respected my words, heed them now: eliminate it before it does us.” Heimerdinger pleads.

“Professor, listen! The Hexcore can transmute air to metal, plants into flesh! If we control it, the possibilities are virtually endless! It could even cure me!”

“Viktor, my boy! That is not the Hexcore! The very presence of that symbol shows your work has gone too far! This is a violation of the ethos, and I will have it destroyed! One way or another.” Heimerdinger stomps, literally putting his foot down. Jayce knows, though, despite being head of the council and dean of the academy, his mentor cannot stop their research unilaterally.

“You’ll have to go through the council first, professor. They’ll see the wonders we can do with this, even if you won’t.” Jayce steps between his mentor and his partner, blocking the former’s path.

Heimerdinger glares, then turns to make his way out of the lab. Viktor leans on his crutch and sighs after the door slams shut, knowing his research just got a lot more difficult, “I think I might know someone else who might be able to assist us with our quandary.” His reluctance is not lost on Jayce, but now, faced with the opportunity to cure Viktor, his and his partners' reservations must be set aside.

Chapter Text

“This is Piltover. The city of progress, equality, and achievement. We used to be united. Used to be one. But we’ve lost ourselves. Some mysteries are better left unsolved. We need to hold our rogue elements accountable to the ethos, and make sure–”

“But who holds you accountable?” Jayce interrupts. His mentor’s prepared speech falls away with a dumbstruck “Pardon?”

“Shimmer is rampant in the undercity! Enforcers fear to set foot in the lanes! Meanwhile, how have you spent your time, Professor? Getting in the way of hextech, of helping the good people of Piltover thrive!” Jayce shuffles through his papers: endless lists of forged cargo manifests, countless enforcer resignations, and numberless investment offers for hextech he wasn’t permitted to take. All of this because of Heimerdinger’s negligence. Jayce knows now of all times is for action.

“You can’t speak on helping the people of Piltover while you house the Solver in your own lab!” Heimerdinger yells, his face turned red under the mass of orange fur. This is the first time he’s ever seen his mentor this upset. Not even with the initial break-in on his lab was the professor this enraged.

“The Solver?” Jayce questioned, the name unfamiliar, “You mean the Hexcore?”

“No! Oh, my boy… you still don’t understand. But how could you? That’s a burden only I here carry…”

“Then explain, Professor! Why would we throw out one of our biggest breakthroughs when you won’t tell us anything!”

“I already did! Do my words mean nothing to you, boy?”

“You told me it was dangerous, yes, but you’ve said that verbatim before every step Hextech has taken. Yet, here we are, still climbing higher and higher! You’re the father of Piltover, professor, and your years of service can never be repaid,” Jayce gestures to the rest of the council, who, through the whole argument, were content to watch the two scientists’ back and forth. Ultimately, every member of the highest body in Piltover knew what was about to happen, and they were ready. Heimerdinger had been a thorn in Hextech’s side, which made him a thorn in every trade deal and every investment the rest of the council tried to make in recent memory. This motion was a long time coming.

Jayce hesitates, but a quick look down at his papers, evidence of his mentor’s negligence toward the city, and steels himself, “I think it’s time we gave the father of Piltover a well-deserved retirement…” 

“Jayce… don’t do this… you don’t know what you’re doing…” Heimerdinger pleads, but his voice falls on deaf ears.

The vote is unanimous, and Heimerdinger leaves without another word. No one motions to have his chair brought away. Perhaps out of respect, perhaps out of guilt, or perhaps something else entirely, his seat remains at the head of the massive table. Empty.

Viktor reaches the Bridge of Progress by evening. Inside his tightly clutched cane hid a vial of Singed’s modified shimmer. Viktor doesn’t fully trust Singed, but he does trust his work. 

The bridge, a beacon of Piltover’s status, was swarming with enforcers armed to the teeth. As he made his way to the barricades and floodlights, a female enforcer raised her hand.

“Halt. You are subject to inspection, wait your turn,” She raised her rifle, the implication clear to Viktor. His feet shuffled, but as he moved his cane, he froze. He couldn’t let them see the shimmer. Since he was from the Undercity, Viktor never got the opportunity, nor ever really wanted to pull this card. Unfortunately, emergencies sometimes call for unsavory methods.

“Excuse me, ma’am. I’m Jayce Talus’ Hextech partner, I have clearance to pass as I please,” Viktor gestures to his nice clothes and well-made cane as proof of his status. His face wasn’t plastered all over merchandise like the Man of Progress, so he hopes this is enough to convince them to at least hear him out or let Jayce verify his identity.

The enforcer hesitated for a moment, glancing at the long line of undercity residents before nodding her head, “We might be able to make an exception for you, sir. Sorry for the misunderstanding,” she moves aside and gestures to a nearby bench, allowing Viktor to sit down and let out the breath he was holding. The crippled scientist clutches his cane close as people in the line begin yelling and pushing. He hopes Jayce won’t hold it against him. 

Apparently, Viktor wouldn’t have to wait long to find out. Jayce, flanked by two enforcers who departed off with a wave of the counsellor's hand, looked down the bridge at the enraged crowd before glaring down at Viktor.

“Do you have any idea how this looks? I order a blockade and my own partner violates it! What were you even doing down there?” Jayce whispers with barely contained anger. 

“You ordered this?” Viktor repeats back with shock, trying to understand this sudden, drastic action his friend has taken, “Why?”

“There are people down there who seem hell-bent on destroying us! The terrorist attack on Progress Day, the forged manifests, these people are dangerous, Viktor!” Jayce exclaims, confused at his partner’s seeming obliviousness.

“Jayce, I’m from the undercity. My friend is too, that’s why I was down there,” Jayce lets out a large sigh and attempts to help Viktor up, only to have his arm slapped away.

“I’m sorry… I’ve had a lot on my plate,” Viktor notices the bags under Jayce’s eyes, a sight all too familiar to the workaholic scientist. “Was your friend able to help?” He inquires, the anger having completely left his partner's tone. Regardless, Jayce didn’t seem in much of a mood to take Viktor’s smuggling of illegal drugs across the bridge well.

“No,” Viktor responded curtly, clutching his cane even tighter. “He said nature was resistant to this sort of… tampering.”

Jayce responds with a bit of optimism, but is cut off by the sound of shattering glass and roaring flames. The counsellor glares back at the puddle of fire. The yelling had broken out into a full riot, one the enforcers are well equipped to handle. When Jayce looked back toward Piltover’s skyline, he thought he saw a bright spark of gold through his lab’s window at the academy…

Chapter Text

As Viktor stands before the Hexcore late at night once again, fiddling with a syringe full of shimmer in his hand, he hesitates to continue. Heimerdinger is old, ancient by some definitions, so heeding the yordle’s words seems obvious. Heimerdinger was wrong though, quite frequently in fact. Almost a decade ago the dean of the academy had nearly wiped Piltover’s hands completely clean of Hextech. It was only because of Viktor’s less-than-legal interference that Piltover established the Hexgates and became the global trade hub it is today. In the morning, Jayce had relayed Heimerdinger’s words during the council meeting, and, despite the professor’s rather poor track record in regards to Hextech, the claims his mentor made gave him pause

The Hexcore was different, nigh unrecognizable after just a day without Viktor’s supervision. Its blue aura had entirely shifted to a golden, sickly hue. The rune matrix orbiting the core mechanism was no longer two dozen spinning plates, but four, metallic, jittery surfaces with silver and yellow lines covering each. At the center–where the gold symbol was when he passed out–rested a fleshy blob with three, sickle-like legs extended outward like arrows, connected to the main body by thick, black wires. A metal framework topped the central mass with small cylinders sticking out at odd angles, looking vaguely like a kind of muted, grafted hardhat.

Viktor remembers what the Hexcore did to the plants. He also doesn’t want his molecules to end up transmuted like his lab’s air. Singed assured him the variant shimmer could allow him to survive a violent transformation, so he would literally be trusting his oldest friend with his life. Singed, as far as Viktor knew, had no reason to deceive his former pupil, and if Viktor didn’t try this, he would certainly die within months.

Viktor looked past the syringe to his chaotic desk, flooded with notes and theories. Hextech filters, ventilation, more efficient Hexgates among countless other ideas. Oh ideas… He has so many ideas… so many plans… if he could live even half as long as Heimerdinger, he could do so much good! 

Viktor drew the short end of the straw at birth. A poor cripple from the undercity… it was luck and copious amounts of skill and grit that brought him this far. He wouldn’t fall before reaching the finish. He can’t let it all be for nothing. There are people that help now. They can’t wait, so neither can he.

Without another thought, Viktor stabs the shimmer into his crippled leg, watching his veins bulge with a vibrant, inhuman purple. The braces he placed around his leg to guide the transformation light up with the same sickly gold as the core. 

Willed by his actions, the matrix spun to point one of the four symbols at him. This one was a hexagon inside two ovals, giving the depiction of–he assumed–an orbit, with both ovals being contained by a final outer circle. As the symbol shined on his leg, Viktor heard a meaty squelch and a snap, his leg twisting painfully in order to point straight forward. The shimmer made the pain of the Hexcore’s manipulations just barely tolerable, keeping him teetering on the edge of unbearable agony as the Hexcore and shimmer broke and remolded his fragile body.

The matrix spun again, illuminating a second, different symbol. Again, a hexagon sat at the center, but with a perfect wheel surrounding it. The wheel was split into eight segments, the boxes separated evenly by straight lines. As the transformation continued, the segments along the wheel would light up in seemingly random configurations. Viktor’s skin began to peel away slowly, revealing the bloody, bulging shimmered muscles underneath. Viktor’s eyes widen, purple tears flowing down his cheeks as metal shards erupt from between his muscle fibers. He screams, but the pain overwhelms him, cutting his cries short as he faints into his chair.

The next time Viktor wakes up, his head throbs painfully. An agonizing migraine is hindering his mental faculties, leaving him doubled over in his chair. Without thinking, he pushes himself to his feet, clutching the sides of his desk. His unsteady hands slip on the countless papers, sending a pile of his notes scattering into the air. As he drops, time seems to slow. Viktor’s eyes catch the reflexive motion of his right leg as it shoots out to catch his fall. So much faster than anything he’s seen–let alone from his own body. What’s become of the disabled limb is… otherwordly.

His ‘skin’ has been… destroyed. Discolored and patchworked with steel staples haphazardly tacked on, barely covering the cold face of rusted metal and poorly painted, faded yellow lines. The metallic plates, looking unreasonably aged and dilapidated, cover the insides of his entire leg and foot like a sick mockery of knightly armor, worn below the skin rather than above. The transformed pieces end just below Viktor’s hip. There, a thick metal clamp divides his humanity from the abomination below. 

The plating only covers beneath the front of his leg, leaving a jungle of twisting wires, and, more concerningly, bones and pulsating purple flesh exposed in the back and sides, visible between the numerous rips and loose stitches. From the look of the muscles inside his new leg, the shimmer, human, and Hexcore all fused to form a revolting amalgamation of magic, flesh, and metal. Despite it all, though, it feels better than the rest of his body; Like he just took off a cast he’s had since birth. Viktor reasons if he saw the inside of his normal body he’d be disgusted all the same, so best not to think too much about the interior of his leg. He can’t reconcile the exterior, though. No amount of logic could overwhelm the instinctual aversion his humanity gives him to .

Viktor gingerly places his right foot back to the ground with a metallic thunk; An odd sound considering the spongey, dead skin covers his sole. He can tell the leg is much heavier than its human counterpart though it feels much more powerful and weighless, like he could break through the tile to the vents underneath if he stomped hard enough. 

He could feel his heart beating faster as he considered the transformation and its worrisome, though exciting ramifications. It looks so much cleaner than he was anticipating–after all, he half expected to lose his leg altogether–though still atrociously off-putting and obviously inhuman to any onlooker. He’d need to hide it when going out… but should he show Jayce? Most likely his lab partner would be squeamish, being from Piltover and unused to such sights, Viktor doubted he would take it very well. Perhaps doing some tests, obtaining some experimental data, and then presenting it to Jayce as proof of his success would allow logic to quickly overtake whatever reflexive, emotional response the counselor might react with.

Viktor activates the wall lights, ready to analyze his new leg more thoroughly. The lab brightens immediately as though the sun has suddenly risen. The darkness of the lab typically helped him “get in the zone,” so to speak, and the glow of the Hexcore would often be sufficient to–

Viktor pauses and stares at the desk he’d worked in for hundreds of hours. Above the carpet of scrawled notes and speculations: four, rusty metal plates levitate motionlessly in the air. From inside his most promising creation, peeking between the narrow gaps of the plates, a lurid, golden eye bore into his soul.

Chapter Text

“What are you?” Viktor asks breathlessly, asking himself aloud with pure shock in his voice. He blinks a few times to make sure he is seeing straight, that his all-nighters in the lab hadn’t taken a heavier toll than what he estimated.

Perhaps Viktor is just dreaming, because the eye seems to roll at his frightened expression and wary demeanor. He clutches his now unneeded cane out of habit and walks back over to his desk, unused to the corrected motion of his right leg. Viktor imagines any onlooker would assume him to be faking a limp right now. 

As the scientist stands beholding his changed creation, a sinking feeling pools in his stomach. Resounding sounds of static emerge from the flesh inside the Hexcore. He readies his cane, but before he can even blink, a hollow, metal cylinder emerges from the fleshy mass inside the Hexcore, sprouting up like a plant with a steel stem and cable vines. Simple bearing joints move the optical device upward to meet him. Surrounding the eye, a circle of jutting teeth and familiar, faded yellow stripes threaten to eat him whole.

Viktor holds his breath when metal eyelids slowly close in a manner reminiscent of a Piltoven camera lens, the eye seeming to squint

“Can you understand me?” Viktor asks, taking a wobbly step back, noticing the bits of dried blood and rust that cling to the outstretched mechanism.

The ‘eyelids’ open and the yellow dot rolls around the dark inside of the camera like a marble loop.

Viktor shuffles even further back, holding the back of the chair in front of him in preparation for conflict until a monotone, female voice sounds out from the Hexcore. “Of. Course. Silly.” 

Viktor looks on cautiously, taking note of the odd manner of speech: the small but significant pauses between each word, the way it drew out the last word, and how the Hexcore flickered and pulsated as it spoke.

“How… are you capable of speech? What are you?” Viktor questioned, curiosity overtaking his fear. He shuffles just a tad closer, but stumbles back when the eye suddenly lurches at him, stopping just before hitting him.

“Easier. To. Assimilate. Than. Explain.” The eye opens wide, a bright, threatening glimmer muting even the laboratory lights in comparison.

“I seldom travel the easy path: I’d rather an explanation, please,” Viktor retreats farther back, making a mental note of where he estimates the extended arm’s maximum reach is, and then backing a good few meters past that.

The thing pulls back, responding with a quick “No.” An air of disappointment radiates out of the Hexcore at his refusal. Its pulsing slows to a barely noticeable, heartbeat-like speed. Viktor could swear it was almost pouting. He didn't have much time to consider its strange behavior before the arm and eye retracted back into the fleshy ball at the center of the Hexcore. Immediately following, the outer shell slams closed with a harsh screech of metal, dropping onto the desk with an accompanying dull thud.

Viktor’s reservations about telling Jayce disappear immediately, but not before he puts on a pair of sufficiently baggy pants.

“Viktor, I’m really not in the mindspace to do this right… now…? What the hell is that?” Jayce glared, squinting his eyes at where the Hexcore normally levitates. Instead of his partner’s project, the counselor sees a rusty, yellow streaked contraption bound in chains. It vibrates and shakes violently, with drops of blood leaking from the small cracks between the rune matrix. Jayce notices that where the runes used to be, a much larger symbol branded overtop at four locations, each similar at the center but growing more distinct as the patterns branch out. “What did you do to it?” Jayce questions quietly, realizing his long day just got much longer.

“I’m not entirely sure myself. I noticed changes occurring over the past few days, but when I returned to my lab to run an experiment, it was unrecognizable. It spoke, Jayce,” Viktor clutches his cane, his knuckles turning white. “I hoped you could assist me in another conversation, just in case.”

Jayce nodded, watching the Hexcore roll around awkwardly on the desk until the chains went taut, only for it to roll another, seemingly random direction. Taking a deep breath, Jayce quickly unlocks the chains and retreats back to Viktor, readying a small workshop hammer. 

“Exasperated. Groan. Finally. Wow. So. Lame.” The camera launches out and takes in its surroundings in jittery, rapid turns until stopping upon meeting Jayce’s gaze, “New. One. Intrigue.”

Jayce narrows his eyes, taking only a moment to glance at Viktor before turning back, remembering Heimerdinger’s words before his forced retirement, “Are you the Solver?”

“Surprised. Shocked.” The creature’s eye widens, the lens completely pulling away to mimic a wide-eyed expression.

“Is that a yes?” Viktor questions, moving behind Jayce.

“I. Am. THE. SOLVER. OF. THE. ABSOLUTE. FABRIC,” It says with a significantly louder voice, leaning dramatically far to the side to stare at the pair judgmentally. “It. Would. Be. Rude. To. Just. Call. You. Vik. Wouldn’t. It?”

“Enough, what’s your game? How did you take over the Hexcore?” Jayce readies his work hammer, the Solver tilting back to its original position just above the former Hexcore. Its base is still wrapped in chains, but the top is unlocked enough to allow it to look around.

The eye poorly mimics a twitch with its shutters, “Take. Over? There. Was. No. ‘Take. Over.’ The. Flesh. Gave. And. I. Took.” 

Viktor gently pushes his partner towards the lab door, sighing and coughing, “Forget it, Jayce. It's clearly speaking nonsense, I’ll just chain it back up. Sorry for wasting your time,”

Before Jayce could even think about objecting, the laboratory door slams and locks. The counselor stands there motionless for a long moment. He has a key, obviously, but he trusts Viktor. If his partner is hiding something… he believes he of all people can figure it out. However, Heimerdinger’s advice still echoes in his busy mind. Viktor is a genius: the smartest person Jayce knows. But even geniuses can be tricked, and geniuses can be hurt. Jayce sees Viktor’s condition worsening with each passing day, but if Viktor didn’t want him there, and Viktor was already able to chain the Solver before, then he’d leave him to his devices. If anyone could cure Viktor–it would be Viktor.

In regards to the Solver itself, Jayce knows he should seek out his missing mentor–the yordle disappeared immediately after his dismissal–but would Heimerdinger even talk to him after what happened? Jayce betrayed him, and the scientist couldn’t think of anything more pathetic than crawling back to the professor so soon after everything that transpired at the council.

As he walks down the academy halls, Jayce carefully considers his next actions. First and foremost, he needs to talk to Mel: nothing else clears his cloudy mind quite as well as her.

Chapter Text

“Why would you say that?” Viktor hisses, glaring at the mechanism occupying his desk, “It was not a ‘Give and Take’ scenario! Not some kind of bargain!” Viktor glances worryingly toward his right leg, hoping Jayce wasn’t looking too closely at his fake limp.

“Yes. It. Was.” The Solver shoots forward as it had done before, but Viktor stands his ground, “I. Give. Some. Of. Me. You. Give. Some. Of. You~” It continues in an eerily sing-song voice as if trying to scare a child with a creepy nursery rhyme.

“Some of me? My blood?” Viktor remembers the flesh only began to form after his coughing fit not too long ago. Is that what made it like this?

“You? False. Blood? True.” It pauses, its gaze moving to his concealed leg. “Are. You. Ashamed. Of. It? More. Can. Still. Be. Done.”

It’s true. Viktors crippled leg has been fixed, but his fissure lung is still tearing through his body. Having the Solver in his lung would be much more invasive than the limb replacement. His lungs are really what he wants cured, so Viktor’s leg was used as a sort of patient zero. After all, if something went wrong, he could live without a leg; He couldn’t live without his lungs.

But, what is truly worrying: Viktor is out of shimmer. It’s not like he can galavant back down to the undercity to see Singed with the blockade still up. He violated it once before, and that caused a riot and a small but noticeable hit to Jayce’s reputation as a trustworthy counselor. Viktor can’t do that to his lab partner, not again.

Although, Viktor still isn’t entirely sure how necessary the shimmer is. The Solver is clearly sentient, and it doesn’t strike him as idiotic. Whether it has restraint or not is a whole other question he doesn’t want to find the answer to. But at this critical junction, he’s faced with the same final options as always: die with certainty within months or die now with the chance to live longer.

“Could you do it?” Viktor asks, approaching his desk cautiously.

“Yes. With. Certainty. Prideful. Tone. But. I. Need. Assurances.” Viktor narrows his eyes, still unconvinced of the candor of the Solver’s narrations.

“If you fix my lungs, and only my lungs, I could get you a living creature of your choice. I imagine a pig or cattle would be sufficient? Alive, I assume?” Viktor offers, knowing that getting livestock for experiments is trivial for him with his near endless supply of academy grants and permits.

“Not. Cattle. But. Another. Living. Animal. Of. My. Choice. Would. Do. As Payment.” Viktor clutches his obsolete cane out of habit, moving one hand to rest on the desk.

“One animal of your choice, and I get my lungs fixed… fine. Let me prepare for the procedure,” Viktor attaches his braces, carving into the metal the symbols and runes he used before on his leg that allow him to guide the transformation. The Solver does not comment, remaining quiet and serene. Over its eye, a circle of dashed lines light up one by one repeatedly. 

Viktor finishes his preparations, approaching the Solver with only immodest leather wrappings covering him, “I’m ready,” Viktor places his hand on the former Hexcore, bracing himself for what he knows will be the most painful experience of his life.

His fears are vindicated, when a wave of unimaginable agony washes over him. Then, nothing. His body flaps back as if stuck to a meat hook on an especially windy day. Golden tethers reach out from the core and hold him, some burying into his chest like parasitic worms. Viktor can’t hear it, but he knows he’s screaming. 

Only one voice can be made out above his internal cries: “Material. Insufficient. Damages. More. Severe. Than. Anticipated. Collection. Protocol. Active. Scheming. Target. Acquired.” 

A bright, golden light swallows the room and his mind. Viktor is reminded of his youth, when he found himself on the order between Piltover and the undercity. There, he could see the sun clearly, but the blinding radiance he witnessed on those days doesn’t come close to what he sees now.

“–key. Wakey. Sleepy. Head. Wakey. Wak–”

“Stop!” Viktor clutches his head and lifts himself up, throwing himself into his chair.

“You. Are. Fixed.” Viktor side-eyes the Solver, hesitating to look down to his chest. If he’s alive… the procedure must’ve gone on without any issues. 

The scientist looks down slowly, holding his breath. His gaze doesn’t make it all the way down, as he’s suddenly distracted by the entire laboratory floor having become a soup of blood and bone.

“What did you do?” Viktor gasps out in response to the macabre sight, hoping and praying this is his blood.

“Oh. There. Was. A. Mishap. Tee. Hee. I. Am. So. Naughty. Giggle.” The solver fakes a chuckle. Its lower shutter moves up cheekily. Viktor decides he’s better off not knowing what it did to him. 

Instead, Viktor’s gaze greets his chest which looks… surprisingly normal. His skin seems… off in some areas, like it was haphazardly melted together with something else. Additionally, other parts of his skin look discolored and grafted on, similar to his leg, though not nearly as copious. One, long line of stitches patched up the center of his body like an axis of symmetry, dividing him like livestock.

Viktor takes a deep, heavy breath, and releases. He feels like he just removed a gag he didn’t know he was wearing… 

“This is… incredible. Thank you.” Viktor smiles toward the Solver, a whirlpool of gratitude swirling in his eyes.

“Gross.” The device moves away, scrunching a shutter up in disgust.

“Well… I’ll go get you your animal. What do you want?”

“Human.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Human.”

“No.”

“Hu–”

“I said ‘animal.’”

“Humans. Are. Animals. Silly.”

“That’s obviously not what I meant.”

“Maybe. Specify. Next. Time. Annoyed. Expression. I’ll. Settle. For. Something. Else. Maybe.” The Solver once again dives back into the core, peeking at him with a frustrated look in its eye through the gaps of the rune matrix. It speaks only one word every few seconds now: “Scheming… Scheming…”

Viktor sighs, grabbing a mop from the nearby janitorial closet and attempting to clean the soup of blood and broken bones. Normally he wouldn’t be able to clean like this, so despite the horror and tediousness, he reluctantly welcomes the opportunity to explore his body’s newfound fitness.

As he places the buckets of blood onto his desk for the Solver to access, he notices a strange pair of bones peeking out from the crimson. Two, partially shattered segments of human spines. He hadn’t noticed them when he was cleaning, the mindlessness of the task clouding his judgment; But here, standing before the Solver, his blood runs cold at the only reasonable conclusion. He needs to find whichever enforcer was on interior patrol last night, and he needs to find Skye.

Chapter Text

Every single one of Jayce’s days is a long one. Every day he gets up, does paperwork, heads to the council, does paperwork, and then goes to bed. Every night is sleepless or restless, and somehow feels longer than the proceeding long day. When he lays down, he thinks about paperwork he hasn’t done, discrepancies he thinks he missed, and gets up to do more work. He thought talking to Mel would clear his mind, help him relax, but her proposal about weaponizing hextech only made his foggy mind even cloudier. 

Earlier that night, Jayce gave Viktor space to sort out whatever he was dealing with regarding the Solver. Now though, Jayce needs Viktor. His partner has always been adamant against the weaponization of hextech, so between the contrasting stances of Mel and Viktor, Jayce finds himself stuck. He himself used to be stalwart against the council’s propositions of weapon manufacturing, but the recent terrorism, murder of enforcers, and theft of a hexgem has put his mind in an adversarial disposition regarding the undercity.

Jayce barely notices the dark of the academy halls flood with artificial light. The incandescent sconces shouldn’t turn on automatically for another few hours at least: so someone must have turned them on manually. Only a few people would be awake this time of night. A patrolling officer, Skye, and Viktor. He hopes it’s Viktor, since it would suggest his work-absorbed colleague has some free time to talk. 

Though, as Jayce looks up to meet the sound of footsteps, his musing is cut short by the horrific sight sprinting toward him: Viktor, of all people, running almost naked at full speed through the illuminated academy halls. His best friend’s formerly crippled leg seems rotted, with discolored, patchwork skin, poorly connected staples, and long stitches across the whole thing. Beneath the patchwork skin, Jayce sees bits of sharp, rusted metal jutting out, struggling to cover an ever deeper layer of intricately connected wires.

“Viktor? What happened? How are you–?” Jayce doesn’t see the cane anywhere. It must be the Solver’s work, since Viktor’s condition has been worsening for years. It wasn’t too long ago that his cane had been upgraded to become a crutch in accordance with his body’s failing motor functions. Jayce’s excitement starts to get sapped by Viktor’s panic, though.

“No time! Jayce, where’s Skye?” Viktor’s eyes glimmer with desperation.

“What? She was with me not long ago, but she said she wanted to show you something and left hours earlier. Now what happened? Why are you bloody?” Jayce’s mind rapidly forms theories on what Viktor did, his brain power all going toward his friend and the cure to his condition.

“No… no… Jayce, what have we done…?” Viktor’s voice drops to a whisper, “What about the enforcer on morning duty?” Viktor asks, taking his friend's lack of immediate response as a sign that Jayce doesn’t know much more than he does. Beckoning Jayce to accompany him, Viktor begins running down the halls as fast as his new leg can take him.

“Viktor, how can you run? Breath? Are you..?”

“Yes, Jayce, but that doesn’t matter now! I think I have been reckless and careless in the pursuit…” Viktor shudders as they reach the lab door, having run around the whole academy without even a sniff of a patrolling officer. There should always be one 24/7 guarding the academy halls.

Viktor glares at the slightly ajar door, his hand reaching out slowly to open it. He stops and pulls back when Jayce launches forward and tightly grasps his wrist.

“What are you doing?” Jayce questions, still completely confused.

“I’m going to confront it, I think it killed them…” Viktor hesitates, realizing just how porous his logic is after taking just one step toward executing his plan. But he has to do this, no one else. This was his project.

“Viktor, if that thing really killed them, what makes you think we can fight it empty-handed? Let’s go get the enforcers, we can tell them an experiment went wrong and we need it dealt–”

“Jayce! If it really can fight back like that, I can’t risk anyone else. I can’t risk you, either. Stay back here. I can handle it.” Viktor meets Jayce’s eyes, determined to do whatever he can.

“No. I can’t let you. I’m going in with you, or the enforcers go in alone.” Jayce meets his partner’s eyes with matched determination, staring him down.

Viktor doesn’t like lying. He doesn't like using people, either. But, he has ambition, and he has responsibility. The Solver’s potential is undeniable, and so is its danger. As a scientist, and as a citizen of Piltover, Viktor is responsible for guiding that dangerous potential to a place where those in need can be helped as much as possible. Right now though, he’s facing a dilemma:

He could follow ambition: Walk in right now and confront the Solver, probably find a way to spare and imprison it, and keep the path of using it to help others open. Or, he could wait for the enforcers and eliminate the Solver before anyone else can be hurt. 

His morality gives an obvious picture, but Viktor doesn’t know if it can even be destroyed… he doesn’t know if it would be able to retaliate against the enforcers…

With all that in mind… maybe he could have his cake and eat it too? Viktor could go in right now, confront it, and, depending on its response, simply make his decision then. After all, more information is better. 

“Do it then,” Viktor sits down, his body flopping onto the tile with a thud. “I’ll wait for you here; I'm not exactly presentable right now,” Viktor chuckles lightly, gesturing to his mostly naked, partially nightmarishly transformed figure. 

Once Jayce runs off and the counselor’s footsteps are no longer audible, Viktor knows what to do.

He stands up and reluctantly opens the door, taking in the familiar sights of his lab. The Solver, ever-creepy, is perched on the desk as usual, the metal of the former Hexcore used like an off-color flower pot for the gory mechanism sprouting from it.

“Excuse me…”

“Jumpscare.” In an instant, the device launches toward him, meeting him face-to-face. Viktor still flinches, despite the numerous times the strange creature has done this.

“Hi-Hello…” Viktor takes a deep breath and approaches. “Did you… see anyone enter the lab earlier?” He asks, keeping his voice low and flat.

For a man who’s known his death will come for him early, when face-to-face with it he can’t help but retain the temptation to flee.

“Unsure. I. Was. Very. Focused. During. The. Procedure.” Its eye squints at him, seemingly trying to guess what he’s getting at.

“You have no idea? What about all that blood? Was that from me, or something else?” Viktor glares, his eyes quickly narrowing in return when he realizes vague probing wouldn’t do him any good.

“Don’t. Know. Flesh. Is. All. The. Same.” The Solver gives a quick eye roll and backs away, hovering just above the rusty base, which has started shaking.

“What is wrong with you…” Viktor can tell, easily, at this point; the evasiveness, the excuses, the obvious lies… there’s no way it didn’t kill them, and the Solver’s indifference sickens him more than any crippling disease could ever hope.

“I know what you’ve done. Listen when I say your only hope now is fully complying with me and Piltover.” Viktor knows its deceitful, monstrous nature, but the devil on his shoulder is whispering. Chains worked before, so maybe it could still be restrained. It hasn’t attacked him yet, and he doesn’t see any potential besides ramming to do physical harm. If he could figure out how to control it, the amount of people that could be saved would be incredible!

Irrespective of his desires, he knows now his time is up. Down the hall thunderous footsteps resound. Shortly after, the shouting of a half-dozen fully armed enforcers resounds around the room. Jayce stands behind them, unamused and frowning at Viktor.

“Get back here, Viktor, please.”

Viktor takes a look at the Solver, who is unfrightened, even a bit entertained, and walks to Jayce’s side.

Before Viktor can make any requests, multiple gunshots ring through his ears. Opening his eyes, he meets the fading gaze of the camera. The Solver’s cracked lens drops to the counter and fades into gray sludge, steaming then solidifying within seconds.

“Nightmarish. Laugh—ttttt–eeeer—rrrrr.” Its voice glitches out, deepening and finally stopping after a few seconds.

Viktor stands there, unmoving, as enforcers sweep the lab. They don’t bother him, and neither does Jayce. The counselor simply shakes his head and walks away, sighing, his original plan of respite having backfired spectacularly.

Chapter Text

The enforcers all clear out of the lab without a word, a professionalism from them as of yet unseen by Viktor. Professionalism that the ‘trencher’ mostly attributes to the grim, haunting gore sprinkled around the lab. Something the sheltered local enforcers likely hadn’t imagined could be present outside of the undercity. With that in mind, he’s grateful they’re content with not questioning the buckets lined with dried blood nor the half-naked, grotesquely transmuted scientist.

That scientist in question, now alone in the lab, has a lot to contemplate. The Solver was eliminated, Jayce is upset with him, and he’s not sure if or how long his lungs will continue to work without the strange monster. It didn’t seem to have any direct control, so he hopes he’ll be fine. But, he has no way of–

“Ow. Ow. Ow. Sneaky. Sneaky. Ow.”

Viktor watches in cautious awe as the former hexcore cracks open with a meaty squelch, a column of steam erupting from the interior with a vicious hiss. Three fleshy sickles, each about the length from his wrist to his finger-tip, catch the sides of the metal. A familiar, fleshly body climbs out; The same one he saw forming inside the Hexcore days ago. A sick, putrid smell fills his nostrils before his gaze meets the yellow, sickly glow of the Solver’s monochrome eye.

Inside the pitch of the fleshy body, a small metal shutter—imitating an eye brow—scrunches the holographic eye in annoyance.

 “Sigh. You. Again.” The Solver drags itself all the way out, bits of flesh and wire falling off in bubbling piles. The last of the trapped steam escapes the disemboweled hexcore like the faint gust of a man’s dying breath.

The small abomination walks toward the edge of the desk clumsily. In each step lies a swiftness that betrays an uncanny intentionality to each motion. Though its body is of meager stature—probably only half the volume of the original hexcore—he can’t help but feel physically intimidated. It manifests two nearly contradictory auras simultaneously: one of fragility and one of dread. It almost feels like the hard strike of a durable boot would be enough to put the aberration down. At the same time, it imposes a feeling of insignificance in the human scientist. A suspicion arises that the creature in front of him is much greater than its simple, otherworldly appearance would suggest. Heimerdinger’s outburst once again occupies Viktor’s thoughts.

“How are you alive?” Viktor questions, his observations being slid to the back burner of his mind. The potential he thought had been lost has just been reignited. Although the Solver’s agility in this form will make capture difficult, Viktor must discover and execute a plan to restrain it, quickly. Salvation for hundreds or thousands of people could rest on these next few minutes. Viktor won’t fail.

“Easier. To. Assimilate. Than—“

“Yes, I get it. I take it that’s your core then? Clever design, in my humble opinion,” Viktor inches closer, careful not to step on the lingering patches of sludge on the floor before continuing, “May I have a closer look? Even compared to your work on my leg, your fusion of flesh and steel is incredible,” Viktor holds a hand out, hoping it’ll take the bait; It seemed to have an ego during his earlier conversations with it. 

Getting a closer look, Viktor notices the sickle-like legs aren’t sharp by any means. As far as Viktor can tell, this small creature lacks any kind of natural weaponry. In the lab, nothing besides his crutch or the box of spoons under his desk could come close to being considered a weapon. It doesn't seem like the Solver could pick anything up anyway with those nubs. If it’s behavior before emerging was anything to go on, once the Hexcore became corrupted, the Solver may have lost the ability of telekinesis and fabrication of objects. At least, Viktor hopes it's been lost and not simply hidden from him.

“Your. Technology. Is. A. Joke.” It pauses, a shine of white replacing its normally yellow eye for a short moment, “Bad. One. At. That.” The solver leaps from the desk and climbs up Viktor’s body like a spider. Repeating a single word narration: “climbing,” the entire time. 

Despite the lack of grip, it vertically traverses his bare skin with ease. Each step it takes leaves a soft, yellow glow behind for a fraction of a second before the glimmer dissipates without a trace.

Viktor slowly reaches for the leftover chains on the desk while the Solver ascends to his shoulder. He tries to be as discreet as possible, but his decades in Piltover have washed almost all his sleight of hand away. The loud rattle of a chain makes him flinch.

“You. Are. Not. Good. At. This.”

The scientist immediately grabs at the shoulder-mounted abberation with his free hand, lifting the chains with his other.

The Solver leaps up to the wall, fluidly evading him by a hair. “You. Do. Make. An. Adequate. Ladder.” It mocks in monotone, crawling quickly across the wall while repeating, “Scamper. Scamper. Serpentine. Get. Evaded. Moron.”

Viktor ignores its jabs and jumps onto the desk, kicking sludge-covered piles of notes to the side as he gives chase. Unused to this agility and strength, he takes much longer than he expected to climb the desk. When he whips at the wall-treading monster with the chains, he misses quite spectacularly.

“Idiot.”

A familiar golden symbol lights up beneath him, covering the entire desk. At the tip of one of the Solver’s legs, a much smaller, identical sigil manifests. With a quick twist of its sickle, the entire desk beneath him distorts circularly. It cracks apart as it rotates around itself, disfiguring into a filthy mass of paper, sludge, and stone.

Viktor is thrown to the ground with a heavy thud, the breath pushed out of him like a balloon under a press.

The Solver climbs to the large window of his lab. Another, this time different, enormous yellow symbol shining in a sickly radiance across the glass.

    “Dramatic. Esca—“  The symbol flickers, flashing to a pristine white color. This earns an angry glare from the Solver, which stomps the window, turning the color back to yellow.

“Now’s. Not. The. Time. Silly.” 

Viktor used the opportunity to get up and throw himself at the three-legged creature, his chains at the ready to finally restrain the evasive core. 

Before he can reach it, the Solver speaks again with a simple command that causes the air to stagnate: “Callback Ping.”

His body reverberates with the authority of the order, his legs and lungs urging him to halt. He feels like he’s suffocating, his body betraying his mind and soul, corrupted and fighting his will at every step.

Viktor watches, frozen and horrified as the window finally shatters, “It’s. Been. Fun. But. Also. That’s. Sarcasm. Bye. Bye. Buddy~”

The Solver launches itself into the darkness of the early morning, careening down the walls of the academy and fading into the endless city below. 

Seconds after, his body complies with him, and Viktor has literally never run faster in his life.

Chapter Text

Jayce really didn’t think this week could get worse. A hexgem was stolen, a terrorist attack killed half a dozen enforcers, the Hexcore turned into the Solver which murdered his assistant, his partner went behind his back, countless trade discrepancies were ignored by the enforcers, Caitlyn also going by his back and flaunting his authority, and this morning the largest attack in recent memory happened on the bridge of progress.

All of this, and Jayce still hasn’t slept since his partner’s diagnosis. 

Furthermore, the week just got a lot worse. Not just for him, but the whole of the city.

Ahead of the councilor is the Piltover cemetery. A bastion of genuine respect, gratefulness, and patriotism among a city dedicated to keeping up appearances. This morning, he had laid to rest many brave enforcers—the sheriff too. The sheriff dying in action isn’t an uncommon occurrence. The job is given for bravery and commitment, so the type of person who gets the job will seldom retire of their own free will. Marcus though… Jayce didn’t expect what was found upon his death. The sheriff being a turncoat, providing protection to Undercity gangs and lying for them, is an absurd idea. 

Regardless of the man’s character, his lack of courage, or whatever motivated him to do what he did: the late-sheriff didn’t deserve this…

Ahead of Jayce, dozens of medical staff wander the historic cemetery, making frequent detours to vomit in unused corners of the yard. Whatever disrespect puking in the cemetery gave, it was nothing compared to the horrific desecration he sees now.

Bodies buried just hours ago, resting still in uniform, had been upturned carelessly like weeds. Plucked from their polished caskets like a toddler picking daisies. Each coffin sits smashed open, the wood twisting unnaturally and splintered at every angle.

Piles of soil Jayce himself helped place had been recklessly thrown outward. It was like a pack of wolves had tirelessly torn into the ground and left the debris behind with indifference. 

Worse are the condition of the bodies. Most had been stripped clean. Clothes and garments buried with the soldiers looted from their corpses like an abandoned pawn shop. Even the worst graverobbers would’ve stopped there, but whatever depraved beast did this kept going. 

From Jayce’s quick gaze it looks like the culprits were searching for something. Bodies were disemboweled, flayed, or dismembered. Something had dug through each corpse and torn them to pieces. Almost all of them had their eyes and internal organs entirely removed, placed coldly by the perpetrator into large piles of gore and meat that now swarm with flies.

A scream draws the distraught counselor’s attention, and he looks to the side, bracing himself.

A hand, with skin degloved and fingernails replaced by rusted metal claws crawls weakly toward a newly arrived coroner. 

Sickened, Jayce pulls himself to the side and vomits, his half-digested lunch joining the medical staff’s meals in the vacant corner of the yard. A single gunshot rings out and the hand goes still, being escorted out as evidence immediately.

Shortly after, an enforcer approaches him, a gas mask normally reserved for the undercity locked onto his helmet.

“Counselor Talus, sir. The preliminary report is ready for your review. I’ll be here when you’re ready,” The man sets a clipboard down on a makeshift table—erected by the coroners to identify body parts—and sits down. Jayce truly wishes he could do the same, but duty calls.

“Read it out for me, please. But, leave out the… unnecessary… parts,” Jayce covers his mouth and turns away from the enforcer, taking in the exhumed bodies and severed limbs sprinkling the pristine turf.

“No bodies were completely taken, and it’s unlikely this was done by a human or an animal. The prints in the mud seem to have been left behind by a small, lightweight three-legged creature. Additionally, a single culprit seems likely since bodies were exhumed one by one, left to right, according to the footprints. It’s unknown how it moved such large amounts of soil or broke into the caskets without any—“

“Hold on, you all have no idea who did this? Three-legged creature… don’t you hear yourself?” Jayce snatches the clipboard, skimming over the report with disgust. Most prominent in the document is a list of all the missing body parts. Men with their muscles cut into and removed at different locations. Enforcers with their skin flayed and taken, never in the same spot twice over different bodies. No intestines, lungs, or internals other than a young woman’s voice box was taken. Most disgustingly though, a little girl, presumed to be a living bystander who saw the scene, had her scalp torn off and most of her skeleton stolen. Finally, at the conclusion, Jayce can only mutter a single word: “Why…?”

“W-well, we have reason to believe that whatever did this wasn’t targeting the enforcers, but all recent burials or suitably vulnerable targets. Some body parts have not been found or recovered, and in whole the stolen pieces seem to form an entire body when assembled…”

“Jayce! I need to speak with you!” Viktor runs down the road, wearing only half of his normal attire. Gone are the standard Piltovan flourishes, leaving only a simple shirt and pants to cover himself.

“Viktor? I… not now. I’m sorry. It’s not you… just…” Jayce holds his head. He’s upset with Viktor, but he knows his best friend must have a good explanation. No, the reason he doesn’t want to talk is entirely the scene at the cemetery. The sight still hasn’t left his mind.

“Jayce, it’s urgent. The Solver didn’t die! It’s alive, and it escaped the lab. I’ve been looking all over for it, but I need help. Please! I’ve made a horrible mistake, Jayce… and I need your help,” Viktor pleads, holding the spooked counselor by the shoulders as he begs.

Jayce meets his gaze and silently gestures to the cemetery. Viktor approaches warily, his eyes widening at the coroners and the unforgettable sight of desecrated, horrifically maimed and looted bodies.

“Who..?” Viktor chokes out.

“They think it’s some three-legged creature. A demon, some are saying…” Jayce scoffs, frustrated at the clunessness of the investigators.

“It can’t… no… it can’t be…” Viktor shakes his head, clutching it tightly. “This is all… I’m sorry.”

“Viktor?” Jayce stands up, resting a hand on his partner’s shoulder. 

“The Solver did this: I’m certain. Its new form matches everything you’ve said, and its depravity was shown to me last night. It was absorbing blood and bones back then too…” Viktor looks to Jayce, his eyes glossing over with fear, “You don’t think…?”

“It’s trying to make a body…” Jayce takes a deep breath and holds his friend close, “We’ll get rid of it, once and for all. We bit off more than could chew messing with that monster,” Regardless of Viktor’s errors, he’s his friend. His brother. With him being cured, there’s nothing they can’t do together. The Undercity, the Solver, the late sheriff… Piltover has enemies all around and within. The time has come to root them out.

Chapter Text

That night, Vi, the Undercity resident, propositioned Jayce to strike at the first target on his list: Silco. That man is the current ‘ruler’ of Piltover’s unsavory underbelly. Jayce was frustrated at the council’s unwillingness to act, so he reluctantly agreed to go along with her and attack behind the council’s back. Worse, he went behind Viktor’s back, creating a Hextech weapon. His partner would understand; they wouldn’t stand a chance otherwise. It was a risky move… one he now regrets taking.

The blunder has left him with the body of a child, roasted from the inside by a pure blast of energy from his own Mercury Hammer. No matter what he does, it seems he can’t escape the dreadful face of death.

“We’re done here,” Jayce stands up suddenly, resetting his hammer to its idle state and walking away. He saw too much blood today. First the bridge, the cemetery, now this. The Solver would be an easier target. A lone, deranged monster that shows its true colors instead of hiding behind children and innocents. 

“What do you mean ‘done?’” Vi braces her Atlas Gauntlets, the large Hextech gloves hissing, “You’re really gonna stop cus’ of one dead kid? Do you know how many more of them are out there? How many hundreds more there’ll be because of people like you who bury their heads in the dirt!” Vi yells. It became hard to tell if the shaking of the gauntlets was even due to the rumbling machinery.

“I said enough! We’ve already gone too far,” Jayce looks to the Atlas Gauntlets, “Give me those back.”

The gauntlets whir alive once again, their exhaust hissing in tandem with their wielders exhale, “Make me.”

Jayce frowns, pulling the hammer up to position, “I can’t let you leave with those.”

Vi cracks her neck, preparing her opening stance, “Well, guess you’re gonna have to kill another trencher.”

Jayce braces himself, but stops at the sound of broken screaming coming from behind him. Vi’s eyes widen, stopping her in her tracks, and Jayce slowly turns. Behind him, in a dimly lit spot between two shimmer vats, an enforcer stands unnaturally still. The entire uniform and helmet is blue and blurry, looking fake and misplaced among the rest of Jayce’s surroundings.

“H-H-Hell-o-o-o. C-counselor, there’s’s’s a situation upstairs,” The enforcer spoke with a heavy, broken, masculine voice.

Jayce looks at Vi, who points at herself and then shrugs cluelessly. Jayce turns back, “Who do you think you’re fooling with this?”

The enforcer stops suddenly, each limb flailing for a short moment before turning back to normal, “I’m not fo-o-o-ooling anything! Pe-people are dying up there! The beer-ones are here!”

Jayce simply glares, but Vi rolls her eyes, “This is a joke.”

She yells as she launches forward with her gauntlets, much against Jayce’s immediate command not to. 

The static-y figure can do little as a Hextech powered fist slams down. Little results from the impact bit a small flicker of the figure—ignoring the crater in the concrete. 

“O-oh! wo-o-ow!” Its voice cuts in and out, “I couldn’t see this coming! You know, this reminds me of the time—“

Jayce and Vi stare incredulously at the apparition as it begins ranting. Though, when one of the broken Chemtank guards starts getting dragged away, both of them immediately turn toward the noise. The metal of the suit releases a deafening screech as it grinds against the rough floor, causing the blue enforcer to stop talking. It releases an exasperated groan before disappearing.

Instead of the deep, heavy voice from before, a light, monotone feminine voice resounds around the room. The origin comes from behind a Chemtank. It’s a voice Jayce recognizes, one he unflinchingly readies his hammer to. Vi follows suit, circling around the back of the broken armor.

“Maybe. This. Is. Much. Harder. Than. I. Thought. Creepy. Giggle.” A camera, familiar to Jayce, reaches up from behind the Chemtank, taking in the two Hextech-armed combatants.

“What are you doing here? Actually… it doesn’t matter: I won’t let you continue anyway,” Jayce’s hammer opens up, the blue sphere of pure energy inside charging up a shot, ready to blast the Solver to pieces. 

Vi looks at Jayce with surprise, noticing the recognition between the two. She has no idea what she’s looking at with the Solver. But, if Jayce of all people is ready to throw down with it on sight, it can’t be good. So, she gets ready too.

“Callback Ping.”

At the simple phrase, Vi feels her stance break, the gauntlets dropping to her sides as one hundred pounds of dead weight. Whatever mechanism Jayce magicked up that makes the gloves feel light as a feather now fails under the mere words of the monstrosity in front of her.

Similarly, Jayce’s hammer closes and drops to the ground with a powerful thud, cracking the concrete it lands on. He struggles to pick it back up.

The eye of the Solver lights up in a radiant explosion, illuminating the entire room in gold. Rectangles filled with text and an odd, hexagonal symbol brand each surface of the room with searing heat. The text is unreadable in the blinding light, but Jayce can make out the silhouette of Vi rushing toward the Solver.

Even with the gauntlets as dead weight, she uses them to her advantage. Slinging them over her head and spinning, she uses the momentum to grab and launch the Chemtank’s body, chucking it at the camera.

It blinks as it dodges, making the blinding light flicker and become white for the slightest moment, “Stop. It. Moron-bot. This. Is. Getting. Old.”

Jayce rushes forward too, lugging the hammer behind him like a club as he sprints. Like Vi, he uses the weight to help his attack, spinning and swinging with all his might. The Solver’s camera, sparking and twitching as its pupil rapidly transitions between white and gold coloration, gets smashed to pieces, clattering across the ground. 

His hammer turns back on, just as the Atlas Gauntleys do. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a fleshly ball dart into a waste pipe of the refinery, a flash of gold accompanying it. Jayce sighs, knowing it won’t be gone until the snake’s head is cut clean off. 

Vi frowns, whipping around to Jayce, “What the fuck was that?”

Jayce just shakes his head, taking note that the body of the Chemtank Vi had thrown was now gone without a trace. Instead of explaining, he simply wipes his hand along the text branded into the walls of the refinery, now cooled and legible. The text prints in flawless calligraphy:

[ Sys//: Error                            ]

[ Host Construction Failed          ]

[ Insufficient Materials {47%}    ]

Chapter Text

Upon his retirement, Heimerdinger felt lost. For centuries he’d been the head of the council, steering Piltover in a safe direction. It was no easy feat guiding the city of progress through the narrow tunnels of scientific innovation. It was an objective that took his utmost attention, leaving little time for him to personally invent or enjoy the finer things in life. 

He thought, maybe, descending to the Undercity and offering his assistance to the denizens would help him clear his own mind, but, he couldn’t have been more misguided.

Jayce was right, this time: the Undercity was horrible. On every street corner stood a down-on-their-luck fellow huffing something or other. Every pass he made, someone would try to pickpocket him; If not for his hood, he’s sure every hair would’ve been plucked from his head. Even when he found a rare bright-eyed lad in one of the alleys, a parent shirked the child away as if the yordle would snatch him up if left alone. After seeing the rest of the city, he couldn’t blame the parent.

So, there he was, walking down the docks by the bridge when he stumbled upon an impressive inventor by the name of Ekko. They hit it off, and here he is now: The Firelights’ hideout. An enormous hollow housing a suitably gigantic tree. The greenery sustains itself off the nutrients and water from the dilapidated pipe system, which carries groundwater and runoff to the flora.

Across the massive tree, houses and facilities perch comfortably on the enormous branches like watchful ravens, overlooking the rest of the concrete hollow from their man-made nests.

Eyes glared down at him from the moment he arrived. The former counselor accepts their distrust of him. He realizes now the consequences his neglect of the Undercity has wrought on millions of citizens over the years.

Ekko snaps his fingers playfully, knocking him out of his self-imposed, mental stupor, “I need to go see about some inventory mismanagement or something in one of the nearby posts. Won’t be too exciting, but you wanna come anyway?” Ekko smiles, dropping his activated hoverboard before quickly leaping onto it. He holds his hand out to Heimerdinger, welcoming him happily.

“Ah, yes! I was simply pondering some rather unexpected realizations. I suppose I still have a lot to learn, even about my own city!” Heimerdinger takes Ekko’s hand and hops on, taking to the skies with the young lad before deciding to make some small talk, “Did you see the recent news? Nasty stuff, I must say. I don’t envy poor Jayce’s position right now.”

Ekko shudders, nodding his head, “I wonder who could’ve done that mess—‘specially up topside; The chembarons are monsters, but they always follow the money. What happened at the cemetery was just plain sick. It hurts thinkin’ about, honestly…”

Heimerdinger can’t help but wonder how the Hextech partners are handling the Solver, too. Since he left, so much has already happened. Reports of gunshots from the academy and a double-homicide has left him worried sick. He’s been too preoccupied with Firelight business to head back, though he has been tempted. The professor also knows the gang—despite their benevolence thus far—isn’t keen on letting a ‘piltie’ know their hideout location and then waltz back home. Ekko took quite a bit of flak from his second-in-command for bringing Heimerdinger there at all. He truly appreciates the boy sticking his neck out to keep the yordle around.

“We’re here,” Ekko swings down suddenly, launching behind a few boulders and down a ruined pipe until reaching a decently sized warehouse. The entire structure is dilapidated, the wood rotting and falling apart at every spot but the floor. Heimerdinger isn’t familiar with Undercity tactics, but he assumes it’s a form of camouflage.

Ekko drifts down to the entrance and helps him off the hoverboard, slinging the homemade contraption onto his back with a satisfied sigh.

“So, inventory, huh? Hehe! I do love me some organization!” Heimerdinger hops forward, Ekko following carefully. Something has put him on edge.

“There should be guards here… get back,” Ekko pushes the professor behind him and raises his pipe. With a non-verbal count, he kicks down the wooden door of the ramshackle building, “I know you’re in there, show yourself!” Ekko barks, walking in slowly. He shines light between every shelf and every crate.

The glint of metal catches his eye. He turns and notices one of the crates improperly sealed. In fact, the top seems somewhat ajar. He gestures to Heimerdinger, keeping his eyes locked ahead at the dark aisle of the warehouse.

The professor leaps up and smacks the lid off, causing it to tumble and land with a creak. Inside the box, beneath broken cogs and rusted pipes salvaged by the Firelights, a shine of red reflects back. Heimerdinger pulls the box down and rummages through it, his furry hands stopping when he pulls aside a faded valve. Behind where the scrap rested his the empty leer of an eyeless face.

Heimerdinger jumps back with a frightened yelp, thumping against the wall. Ekko diverts his eyes for just a moment, seeing the rolling head of Jave—one of the stationed guards—at his feet.

Ekko sighs deeply. There’ll be time for mourning later. The loss of a comrade is something to lament in safety. Whoever did this will pay: for that he’s certain.

Ekko clears each aisle quickly, banging his pipe loudly against the metal shelves that fill the building, “Come out, bastard! I might only knock half your teeth out if you surrender right now!”

Turning his head back after clearing another aisle, Ekko greets the figure of the second guard he placed on duty. From far down the hall, Koran’s gaze meets his own. Her eyes are neutral, her body standing eerily still in static blue light. The Firelight’s form flickers slightly. She looks unnatural, as if someone painted her into the scene without shading or coloring.

Ekko winces as she screams, the figure spasming before flickering once again, instantly resetting to the neutral state. Her body begins moving seconds later, each action exaggerated and fake as if puppeted by an amateur ventriloquist.

She smiles, but no emotion appears in the static visage. Ekko calls out her name hesitantly, “Koran?”

Her face blips, her mouth moving out of sync with her words, “Yes! Hello! That. Is me! I am… Koran! Can name you a give?”

Ekko blinks, startled. The voice is clearly hers, but monotone, dry, and utterly inhuman. His confusion quickly turns to anger at the pathetic attempt at impersonation, “Don’t play with me, whatever you are. Show yourself.”

“No no! It’s me! Wa-a-ait, is that a hoverboard..?” Her voice stalls out before shifting to become lighter and more robotic when Ekko ignores every word, “Why. Does. This. Never. Work?”

The Firelight leader glares, stepping closer and closer. During his silent approach, the apparition flickers faster and groans dramatically. Whoever thought they could fool him with that needs a good lesson on the Undercity. And, what better way to teach than to beat the knowledge into their head?

Chapter Text

“Is. It. The. Blue? Or. The. Low. Resolution?” The doppelganger wonders aloud, looking to her feet with feigned sorrow.

Ekko ignores the weak display, rushing forward boldly. Assuming the hologram to be immaterial, he kicks off a metal shelf and leaps upward. In the darkness, his light picks up the shine of a hanging chunk of metal—a projector of some kind, he theorizes. Swinging his pipe at the device, he hears an annoyed, “Ga-awd. F-fu*#!. Da-amn. It.” right before it got smashed to pieces by a single strike.

From along the rafters, something falls, plopping to the floor with a gentle thud. A humanoid, Ekko observes from the dim silhouette.

The Firelight turns back to Heimerdinger, who, believing the fighting is over, waddles closer to him. He stops though when a sickening crack of bones leads the yordle to hide behind another box. Ekko readies his pipe at the small figure who’s struggling to stand up. 

“Groan.” The person says in cold monotone, narrating herself, “How. Annoying.”

An arm whips around the torso, pushing off the ground at an impossible angle. Steaming piles of gore fall off her body as she lifts herself to her feet, ligaments cracking as they attempt to right themselves to a somewhat natural position.

Ekko backs up warily, lifting his light-stick up to see the girl clearly. A tattered, Piltovan black dress adorns her, covering her down to the mid-thigh. Her dress holds splotches of dried blood that seems to have dripped down. Following the red trail, her legs are bare, the skin sickly and discolored. Long slits open in the calves and arms, revealing the metallic texture of wires and hard plating underneath. The faint glow of chemtech shines underneath parts of the rotted skin, each part stitched together poorly like an apprentice tailor’s first attempt at sewing. 

She takes her first step toward Ekko on black, shiny stilettos. On some of her steps she slips, the entire foot twisting and breaking as she lands on her ankle. However, when she lifts her foot the next time, the bones seem to have already repaired themselves. Her movements are all sluggish and exaggerated, like she’s missing key parts of her skeleton.

She reaches to her neck, dragging her chin up to fix her posture. Two sets of matching hands move synchronously on her arms. Following the mechanics in her arm, a smooth, glossy white material composes the inorganic hands. But, resting directly above them like a pair of gloves are fleshy hands. Despite seeming to be only fat and skin, the hands move on their own regardless.

As her head tilts forward, Ekko has to stop himself from puking. Large, empty eye sockets greet him. The skin has been stretched out to widen the socket, leaving gaping black holes as most of her face. The same skin wraps to the head, discolored and patchworked. The shades on the patches are different as if every piece was collected from a different person. Her neck doesn’t even have skin, just a flexible metal pipe that connects the head to the torso.

A large, perpetual grin with dagger-like fangs stretches ear to ear—not that the corpse-girl had any. Nor did she have nostrils, only a small bump where a nose would be. 

The only feature she owns that looks normal is her hair. Dark and full, her locks cascade down to her hips, styled well and covering most of the head besides the face. A large, childish, black bow sits on the back of her head, ill-fitting to the rest of the grim body.

Ekko reaches his pipe out, pressing against her chest to stop her from advancing, “What the hell are you?” He chokes out, examining the monstrosity. A concerningly long, black tongue lulls out of her mouth and flings up, licking down an eye socket which he realizes is actually glass.

 “Lllllick.” She narrates, dragging the ‘L’ out as she wipes her tongue along her face.

“Did you just…?” Ekko pushes her back farther, the empty eyes igniting in a flash of sickly golden light.

White pupils appear, despite the initial yellow glow, shaped as large X’s. They dart around the glass curiously, seeming confused and unaware of her surrounds.

“Hello!” She says happily, the monotone replaced by a sing-songy, sweet voice, “Do youuuu…” Her voice trails off, quieting until none of her speech is audible.

As quick as they came, the pupils vanish, replaced by red triangles that flash a warning. Ekko lifts his pipe up and taps the head cautiosuly, the entire thing flopping backwards over ninety degrees. He gasps, but quickly switches to a combat stance when she reaches up and rights her head. This time, the pupils are yellow, the voice back to its creepy monotone, “Thank. You. For. Waiting.” She smiles wide, tapping rapidly in anticipation, “Just. Kidding!”

“Die.”

She launches forward with literal breakneck speed, her head snapping to the side as an enormous sickle made of tendons and steel sweeping toward Ekko. He rolls backward, dodging the slash by a hair. The room screeches as rows of shelves are severed in two, salvaged parts and crates flying across the room. The walls are lacerated, cut into like a knife into fresh meat. 

Heimerdinger shakes nervously, hiding behind the now destroyed boxes, the sudden attack having gone right over his head. 

When casual, arrogant footsteps pass by him, a sense of relief floods him. But, as the Professor becomes weightless, he knows instantly his relief was unwarranted. After all, just a bit ago he wondered how Jayce and Viktor have been handling the Solver. When he first saw the girl, he assumed her to be some sick experiment from the Undercity. Now, though, witnessing that dreadful symbol lift him into the air, he knows exactly how it went for the Hextech partners.

“Rat. Extermination. Time~” The monster’s eyes become that hexagonal symbol, three arrows shooting off in each direction. Heimerdinger hopes, at least, that they can get out of Piltover before it’s too late…

Bang!

He drops to the ground, falling into a pile of obliterated planks and scrap. The Solver’s head flings into the darkness of the building, Ekkos now bloody pipe causing a loud clang as it impacts the metal skull. The girl’s petite body stands still where it was decapitated, her arms twitching wildly. Black, worm-like tentacles writhe aimlessly from the stump of her neck, trying to find a head that isn’t near.

“Callback Ping.”

“Callback Ping!”

The head repeats the same phrase over and over from the darkness where it flew. The body immediately snaps in the direction of the noise and sprints ahead on all fours, rushing to find its missing piece. It moves recklessly, ramming shelves and knocking supplies over as it blindly runs to its destination.

Heimerdinger breathes heavily as it retreats to the dark, not having any time to think before Ekko snatches him up and runs. The boy lifts the professor onto his shoulders and equips his hoverboard, flying out of the doorway with urgency. 

Blood-soaked metal hooks launch out from the warehouse, flying with a thunderous boom toward the pair. The straight-shot harpoons miss the agile flyer, slamming into the stone walls of the cave.

A rumble shakes the cavern as the hooks retract. The attached tentacles that propelled them disconnect from the metal and sweep at the dim green glow of the hoverboard. 

Ekko ducks, evading the first slash. Then, upon the flurry of strikes that follow, rolls down and then shoots up, careening out of the pipe that brought him here. 

With a burst of speed, he launches back into the wide fissures and complex pipe system. The last thing he hears from the monster is the distant roar of steel against rock.

Chapter Text

The streets of the Undercity are just as the cloaked man recalls: filthy, dangerous, and overcrowded. If not for the glare of chemtech signs pedestrians wouldn’t be able to see who’s next to them—even midday; The black smog that covers the fissures blocks most of the light that attempts to sneak its way through. 

It’s no wonder pickpocketing is such a popular and lucrative business in the trenches. Although, Viktor notices a lot less of it. More gang violence, of course, with Silco in charge and the chembarons following his lead. But, the streets seem safer in an odd way. It’s more like people are afraid of stealing from the wrong person than being unwilling to do so at all. Thieves must’ve become more selective, Viktor guesses. When he was growing up, he did some of it himself. The generous academy grants of Piltover eliminated the need for him to resort to such things, but he remembers those times vividly. It was easy even as a pre-teen to slink away in the dark, densely populated city. So, trying to find a three-legged flesh ball feels nigh impossible.

Jayce informed him of the Solver’s interjection in one of the shimmer refineries. It having made its way down here is a bad omen. If there’s anywhere to get away with easy murder, it’s the Undercity.

 In the time since the factory raid last night, the little beast could’ve snatched up and ‘assimilated’ dozens of shimmer addicts or gangsters. In the Undercity, the blame would always find someone to land on, and it wouldn’t be the Solver. By Janna! If it could dig up dozens of graves in broad daylight, who knows how many people it could snatch up in these neglected alleys.

Viktor pulls his cloak tightly around his chest, lowering himself onto an opened crate in an alley. The inside of the old container is full of moss and moldy grain. One of the decomposing bread loaves has a large bite taken out of it, some poor soul having recently tried their luck. The nearby compost swarming with flies lets him know how that went. He can relate to such desperation. Considering his current predicament it’s no mystery why. In his earlier conversation with Jayce, the Hextech partners decided on a plan of action: Jayce talks to Silco, Viktor searches for the Solver. The counselor is going to do his best to negotiate with the kingpin, the man hoping to find a mutually beneficial agreement to prevent any further bloodshed between the cities. Meanwhile, Viktor will scour the Undercity for any information regarding the loose Solver. He’s not seeking to confront or challenge it, obviously. His only aim is to find information. Most importantly: the missing body parts.  

Jayce claims the Solver didn’t have any body or imply that it assembled a humanoid form at all. With this knowledge, Viktor finds it probable that the creature has set up a nest—or some kind of storage area—to hold its stolen objects. He doubts it would wander far from its home to hunt, so he needs to find where a monster like that would set up. In the Undercity, that’s no easy feat: millions of nooks and crannies make endless possibilities. His task is especially difficult since his search is relying on so many flip-of-the-coin assumptions.

Viktor buries his head in his hands, sighing heavily and contemplating where to look next until a familiar, concerned voice chirps up from the street, “Excuse me, lad. You didn’t try eating that, did you?”

Viktor bounces up, meeting an unforgettable, orange-colored yordle in addition to the young, painted face of a rough-looking, hooded trencher. The boy looks down at Viktor’s mentor with a glare, whispering something to him angrily.

“Professor?” Viktor mutters, Heimerdinger’s orange fur peeking out from his oversized shroud.

“Viktor? Fancy meeting you here! Why, I was beginning to believe the worst after my most recent encounter…” The wizened yordle shudders.

“You know this guy?” Ekko turns to Viktor, scowling, “Who are you supposed to be?”

Heimerdinger tries to interject as Viktor stands up, but simply looks on at the free-standing scientist in amazement, “Y-you’re cured! Viktor, this is marvelous! How did you do it?”

Viktor winces, “Eh… not here, Professor. May we go somewhere more private to discuss?”

“Not without me,” Ekko steps in, clutching the dented pipe on his back, skittish from recent perils.

Heimerdinger yanks on his coat, pulling the Firelight back, “Boys, boys! Don’t fight when we haven’t even had proper introductions!” The yordle chuckles, “Ekko, this is my former pupil Viktor. Viktor, this is my current host Ekko.”

“Host?” Viktor questions. The dean disappeared shortly after his retirement. Viktor simply believed he was holed up inventing somewhere, the yordle never being one to sulk. Ekko looked equally curious, his suspicions of the alley lurker fading away to intrigue upon the reveal of him being the founder of Piltover’s former pupil.

“I found young Ekko yesterday by the bridge. He took me in and I’ve been living with him since. Him and his crew are a hospitable bunch, that’s for certain I’m sure they’d love to have—ugh!” Ekko elbows Heimerdinger., “I mean… at some time, in the far, far future! Long time from now…”

“Right…” Viktor brushes his cloak off and turns toward a darkened street, “Walk and talk?” He offers.

A quick pair of nods later and the trio descends, making their way to a sparse area of the fissures. Abandoned warehouses and chemical plants become abundant. Although it’s unlikely residents ever lived in this part of the lanes, in recent years it seems even workers have become extinct. The faculties have been shut down so long the skyline of Piltover is visible clearly, the Council Building’s towering visage stapled in the center. Viktor must’ve lost track of time while searching, the orange glow of the sunset dancing on his face as a reminder to maintain a sense of urgency.

First, though, he needs to come clean to his mentor: It won’t take long, and it’s necessary if he wants Heimerdinger’s help in good conscience.

“I was cured by the Solver,” Viktor states bluntly, unwilling to sugarcoat his lethal mistake, “It evolved, killed my assistant and another. Like a fool, I thought I could contain it. You were right all along, Professor. I should’ve trusted your guidance. I humbly request your expertise, please…” Viktor drops to one knee, putting his hands together and crossing his fingers.

Heimerdinger smiles, grabbing one of Viktor’s hands gingerly, “How could I forsake a young lad in need?” He stops, pausing briefly before adding quietly: “Again…”

Ekko waits patiently for the two to stand back up, his questions piling up like snow after every passing minute, “So, what’s the Solver? Does that have something to do with the monster girl that attacked us?”

Viktor looks concerned at the mention, “Monster girl? Someone attacked you two?”

Heimerdinger nods his head, “It was that Solver. The girl… she was like a walking corpse, puppeted by machines. She wielded that sigil: nearly killed us both.”

Viktor’s sweat drips across his face, a terrified expression manifesting. In stark contrast, Ekko holds his chin with a pensive expression, a trickle of annoyance flowing down his features, “So, let me guess this straight: you took this thing, tried to control it, failed. It escaped, and now it’s the Undercity’s problem? Typical…”

Viktor nods solemnly, “Not an inaccurate summary, unfortunately. It’s what sacked the cemetery too. It seems mine and Jayce’s fears have come true: it has built a body.”

Heimerdinger and Ekko lock eyes, a tacit horror shared between the two. 

Viktor reaches his hand out to Ekko, “If you helped Heimerdinger, I’d be happy to have you assist searching as well,” Viktor said before quickly adding: “If you’re willing of course.”

Ekko bites his lip, sighs, then grabs Viktor’s hand firmly, “I can’t leave my people out to dry though, so I’ll be back in a bit; I’ve gotta let them know what’s what,” Ekko gestures to his hoverboard, “I detoured the long way through the fissures not to lead that thing anywhere important, so my gang’s gotta be worried sick,” he unslings his hoverboard and drops it to the ground, “I’ll be back soon, maybe with a few of my guys, too.”

Just like that, he flies off, the blades of his hoverboard stirring up storms of settled dust as it zooms.

Viktor turns to the professor, taking note of the sun’s descent below the horizon, “Best make use of what’s left of the sun,” he looks ahead ominously, “Run back here and yell if you find any evidence of the Solver. Footsteps, remains, anything.”

Heimerdinger nods, “Let’s get started my boy!”

Chapter Text

Hours, hours, and hours of searching for… nothing. Dozens of tarnished factory floors scoured without a trace of the Solver’s villainy. The sun has long since hid away from sight. The moon, projecting a rare, red glow shines with solitary luminance on these abandoned grounds. The wind blows softly through damaged alleys, the grime and muck unmarred by the flow of air. Though the group feels they inspected, upturned, and marked off every pebble and loose rock, the clouds of dust endlessly blowing across their makeshift camp reminds them of the impossibility of such a thorough investigation. 

Heimerdinger trots up to the group, shaking his head defeatedly. Another firelight stands on top of a crumbling wall, looking out and trying to find a part of the city they had yet to search. The towering Firelight, Scar, who Ekko brought for some assistance, leaps down the wall with a thud. He decides to offer a simple change in approach to the exhausted men, “Why not head to the warehouse?”

Viktor shrugs, the thought having crossed his mind numerous times, though scrapped due to one reason or another, “It is probably long gone by now,” he says curtly. 

Heimerdinger puts a hand on his knee, joining in with some welcome optimism, “I see no reason why we shouldn’t at least try! It must’ve left some traceable evidence behind. It wasn’t particularly subtle… ” Heimerdinger recalls the brutality of each strike and the severed head of the guard. He’s not eager to revisit those haunting sights, but he knows well that the whole of Piltover is at stake now.

Viktor holds his head, “I suppose we can try. I hoped to have made some progress by now, on the bright side if Jayce manages to stabilize Undercity relations, he may be able to—“

Boom!

Before the group can discuss further, the silence of the deserted district is shattered by an eruption of noise. A blast echoes through the empty streets, ringing their ears and quaking in their heads. 

Viktor twists his head wildly, looking around every corner and roof to make sense of the origin of the explosion. To his horror, he witnesses a projectile launch from a blue cloud, shrouding the top of a nearby warehouse. The blue is familiar to the scientist, the shade and hue undeniably Hextech in origin.The projectile, flying through the air with unrivaled speed, shoots toward Piltover. The city of progress stands proud, oblivious to the missile careening through the sky.

Viktor feels a strange, excited pulse in his chest and transformed leg—a feeling he quickly squashes with disgust. The thing is going toward the Council.

Viktor stumbles to his feet and begins to run. Jayce is in there: a sitting duck. Heimerdinger follows, his small legs struggling to keep up with his rejuvenated pupil. He trips over himself, falling to the ground and biting the dust Viktor leaves behind. Brushing himself off swiftly, the Professor continues, rushing as fast as he can back to Piltover.

Ekko and Scar, meanwhile, share a tacit agreement and mount their hoverboards, blasting toward the azure cloud. Their eyes lock onto the crumbled warehouse it was shot from, each seared brick reigniting memories that burned a hole in his heart still. Even through the destruction wrought upon it, he recognizes this building. Ekko tightens his grip, ready for who he thinks he’ll see.

Descending through the shattered glass, the two Firelights drop to the ruined floor. Their eyes take in the scorched barrels that once held gallons and gallons of shimmer, now empty. Out of place among the rubble and debris, the vestiges of a party hide in the dark. Gentle candlelight illuminates the chairs and plates, the ropes and gags, and the all too familiar graffitied firearms.

Ekko ignores it all, walking past without the slightest flinch or grimace. Neither the cracked goggles of Claggor nor the small, mocking doll of Mylo give him pause. Only the bullet-ridden corpse of Silco affects his dauntless stride; He begins to run.

“Jinx!” He yells, following the concrete and steel that ramps up to the blood-soaked moon. The missile still flies across the horizon, speeding gleefully to its decadent target in a haze of sapphire radiance.

The silhouette of his old friend stands dark against the red behind it. Ekko doesn’t even notice Caitlyn weeping, embraced by Vi, as he charges past. Though Scar, tailing behind his leader, pauses to assist the two. 

Ekko prepares a deadly swing, his footsteps thumping up the ramp. He jumps high, launching himself further by kicking off a rusted railing. With a powerful twist, his pipe slams into her face.

…But she doesn’t move. Her face only jerks to the side at the force of the blow, purple blood trickling from her nose. Now close enough to clearly see her, Ekko frowns, a grim look in his eye. 

Shimmered teardrops stream down her face, soaking her pallid cheeks with vibrant color. The same color reflects in her eyes but faded and washed out like a storm of emotions had swept all the light from her. The shimmer in her veins, the defeat in her eyes, the corpse of Silco… it all makes Ekko wonder aloud: “What happened to you?”

As he asks, the shards of dirty glass that cling onto the broken windows jingle like chimes in the wind. A thunderous, distant boom sounds out from across the river Pilt. Smoke rises immediately from the victim of her bomb, columns of gray clouds erupting as the walls fall like slates of ice from a melting glacier.

“What have you done…” He whispers, Caitlyn Kiramman’s anguished sobs drowning out his quiet words. Vi holds her by the arm, supporting the enforcer and guiding her to the entrance of the warehouse.

Scar walks up to Jinx and Ekko, his spear pointed to the girl’s throat. She doesn’t seem to even register the threat. Unblinking and otherwise motionless, she presses her finger tighter on the trigger of the weapon that fired the missile, fruitlessly willing it to fire a barrage to the entire city.

Ekko and Scar grab her, leading Jinx down to the table and restraining her with her own rope. The Firelight duo use their combined strength to pry the launcher from her iron grasp, her fingers cold and stiff like she had already died.

Vi looks at Jinx with an unreadable expression, her fists clenching and unclenching. She crosses her arms, nods to Ekko and Scar, and silently leads Caitlyn out, bringing the disheveled enforcer toward Piltover.

Ekko and Scar do the same, though with someone who would be much less willing if lucid. Jinx continues to be distant as they cover her eyes with scraps of cloth and fly away, bringing her on a hoverboard and escaping from the sanguine view of the crimson moon and into the fissures below.

Chapter Text

The streets of Piltover are more crowded now than Progress Day has ever been. People push past each other, some gawking at the smoldering building above while others cry and scream. Most were woken by the ear-splitting explosion, the first sight out their windows being columns of smoke. Countless emotions flow through the crowd, painted across their faces in a spectrum of fear and confusion. Unlike them, Viktor has only one feeling; Pure fear. It grips his face, holding onto him just as tightly as Heimerdinger holds his shoulder.

The scientist would make even the most aggressive pedestrian seem polite as he made his way to the council building, shoving past whoever got in his way. He speeds through the opulent streets with almost superhuman speed, his non-crippled leg beginning to exhaust. Viktor ignores its cries, willing himself forward. He bounds past a crying family, chunks of the council’s wall collapsed onto their house in the night. He rushes even faster.

The moon seems to redden as he approaches the doors. The enforcers brace their weapons, prepared to stop this charging, cloaked figure from getting any closer. They halt immediately at the unforgettable sight of Heimerdinger. As they see him riding on top of Vitkor, they look at each other with confusion. The guards open the door for the pair hesitantly, seeing no reason to stop the respected dean and former counselor.

Viktor’s enhanced lungs feel barely winded as he makes his way up dozens of flights of stairs, bolting past enforcers and doctors who jog up at a respectable pace. Not fast enough for Viktor. He needs to see him now.

He blasts into the smoke and dust, tripping over piles of rubble as he searches for his friend. Heimerdinger leaps off, using his small stature to look through small gaps to search for bodies buried in the rubble. Wisps of blue light levitate gently through the room, exactly opposite of the orange flames that flicker across the council’s important documents and papers.

Finally reaching the enormous opening left by the rocket, Viktor glares. Pieces of the offending missile lie satisfied in the disintegrated bricks, its graffitied smile mocking the obliterated council. But the image beside it makes Viktor truly believe he is hallucinating. A man and woman stand, Jayce and Mel, the pair miraculously appearing unharmed. Around them, the floor is immaculate. Cracks in the floor that should’ve reached under and then far past the duo stop suddenly, a full circle around them completely unharmed by the violent attack. Even the dust and soot stops at the edge, like someone had decided to clean just one round spot on their table.

A tall, imposing Noxian woman–Mel’s mother, Viktor assumes–snaps orders to the disorganized and panicked enforcers that rushed to the scene. Jayce and Mel are in shock as well, both of them afraid and confused at the carnage around them.

“Jayce…” Viktor walks up to him slowly, and reaches out a single finger, tapping him on the cheek like a research subject, testing to make sure he’s real. 

“Viktor… what… why are you here? Do you know what happened?” Jayce mumbles, his eyes looking past Viktor toward a body being escorted away.

“I…I saw the explosion,” Viktor decides not to go into detail, he could tell Jayce later, “I came as fast as I could. I’m just glad you’re ok…” He whispers, hugging his best friend. Viktor has lived with the fact he would die young for his whole life. Only recently that fact changed. Never before had it even crossed his mind that a friend would die before him…

“I also saw the stretchers on my way… how many?” Viktor asks solemnly, the fires around them beginning to fade. Heimerdinger is talking to Ambessa Medarda, the pair quickly discussing whether to take the counselors to the nearest hospital for better care or to the academy of medicine for faster attention. Jayce seems oblivious to both conversations, the light gone from his eyes.

Mel responds in his stead. She is shaken, though still focused, “Three confirmed. I believe it was Bulbok, Hoskel, and Kiramman. Salo and Shoola… I have no idea.”

Viktor holds his breath, the possibility of five counselors dying could be disastrous for Piltover and the Undercity. The Solver is still running loose, now with such an unprecedented terrorist attack taking the limelight, he doesn’t know what to do…

A pull on his pant leg brings both him and Jayce to attention, the Hextech partners looking down to see the orange professor with an uncharacteristically grim look. Jayce doesn’t even question Heimerdinger’s presence, his mind already in pieces as it is, “The survivors in urgent care are being taken to the academy for temporary reprieve. I strongly recommend you: Jayce, and Counselor Medarda do the same, regardless of how well you think you feel,” Not willing to entertain any argument–not that there would be any–Heimerdinger marches away. Jayce follows, supported by Viktor, as Mel walks silently beside. She doesn’t comment or bat an eye at Viktor’s lack of disability, leading Viktor to believe Jayce already told her or she simply deduced he managed to cure it and decided discussing it wouldn’t be appropriate at this juncture. What Viktor knows of Mel, both are quite likely.

The traumatized populus weren’t too eager to fangirl over the man of progress nor the richest woman in Piltover, so, despite their pace being slow, the trio made it to the hospital rather quickly. The two caught in the explosion were ushered into their own rooms, being thoroughly examined for the smallest scrape. Viktor was offered an examination too, the doctors citing the possibility of glass shards in his lungs, but the Solver-transformed scientist politely declined. If not for that, he would’ve accepted though. He’s been sitting by Jayce and Mel’s sides for over an hour at this point, but his body still feels like it's burning out from the inside. Ever since he ran from the abandoned district to the council he’s been feeling scorched, like he was stuck on a spit and roasted. At first, he blew it off as typical tiredness, but now, he’s worrying. Jayce hasn’t yet noticed the gobs of sweat dripping from his face, the counselor staring down and constantly rereading an official-looking parchment. Mel, observant as ever, has simply declined to comment. At least, until now.

“Viktor, why not get some fresh air? You don’t have to accompany us the whole time. The doctors said we’re fine,” Mel’s eyes gesture to the door and she nods, showing a kindness Viktor didn’t expect. He thanks her and steps out, his hair literally dripping wet. Through the window at the end of the hall, the red of the moon gives way to the orange of the sunrise. He walks to the window, trying to distract himself from the heat with the beautiful sight. As the beautiful light peeks above the horizon, its gaze strikes an instinctive, unfamiliar urge to run. He forces himself to stand there, to enjoy the view, but chokes on his own breath when he looks down. 

Through the black of his pants, a red, agonizing glow radiates. The sun’s light crept through the window and now shines on his leg, searing it through the clothing. He limps away, pain flaring in the monstrous limb as smoke billows out from his pants. The smell of burning fabric fills his nostrils, but thankfully he moved out of the light before it could tear a hole all the way through.

VIktor shakily moves to a storage closet, closing the door and panting. His mouth dries out, sweat raining down on the tile like a thunderstorm. He knows what will fix this: a familiar voice that creeps into his mind and prods at his thoughts reminds him well, “Yours? False. Blood. True.”

Viktor rolls up his pant leg, watching in awe as a white shine travels along his leg, slowly repairing the damage. However, with each fix, his body burns hotter, his breath and heart speeding up.

Viktor stumbles out of the closet, clutching his leg and flailing down the halls like a bear caught in a trap. He can’t let Jayce see him like this–no one can. Skipping his friend's room, he comes across an open door. Peering in, Viktor sees someone sleeping peacefully. An IV pierces their wrist, and, along the counter, Viktor sees a small bag of blood that glimmers like red gold. Desperation overcomes hesitation, and he rushes over to bite, the sensation of his lungs melting too agonizing to make any thoughtful considerations.

 The bag bursts open as his teeth pierce it, the crimson fluid spilling across his shirt and into his mouth. He gulps, swallowing like a starved animal as much as he can before the bag empties. He quickly returns to lucidity, his consciousness pushing past his dark instinct. Disgust overwhelms him and he retches violently, coughing up hard chunks he doesn't think to try and identify. The ichor he just consumed mixed with bile and saliva escapes his mouth and covers the counter in a revolting mess. The bag slips from his shaky fingers before he throws himself from the room. His footsteps thump down the hall loudly. A frantic scream from the bed just seconds later makes him shudder with guilt, but all he does is move faster, rushing back to the closet and praying that no one sees him.

Slamming it behind him, Viktor grinds his teeth, fear paralyzing every part of his body. He can’t believe what he just did. He’s frightened, of himself, of what that thing did to him. As his jaw moves, it feels like something is stuck on his teeth, jutting out like a shard of glass. He moves his hand up, touching the offending object to investigate. To his horror, a sharp, pointy fang meets his bloody fingertip, the tooth rusted and jagged like aged steel.

Chapter Text

Viktor’s bloodied fingers pull and scratch at the jagged metal jutting out from his gums. He thinks if he just yanks at the perfect angle he can remove the horrible spikes from his jaw. After almost a minute, he gives up, the sweet, sickening taste of blood lingering in his mouth. Worryingly, it doesn’t bother him as much as he expected it would. He hopes dearly this is only affecting his body, but deep down, those new instincts that drove him, they scare him, so much. His breath speeds up at the thought of blood. He doesn’t crave it now, but he remembers how much he wanted it just minutes ago. It scares him another way, too: the idea of someone seeing his stained shirt, it causes his stomach to drop. He needs to clean this up–fast.

The storage closet is bursting with cleaning supplies: chemicals, buckets, mops and brooms galore. He’s no janitor, though, he doesn’t know what cleans bloodstains. He does. however, now enough chemistry to refrain from trying to trial-and-error cleaning supplies on his shirt. Trying to hide it might work, but he left his cloak at Jayce and Mel’s bedside. Though he’d rather fix it himself, if push comes to shove, he will seek Jayce’s confidence. Mel, though, Viktor still isn’t sure. He simply doesn’t know her well enough. But, he does have a fallback, at least. Jayce can be trusted.

Viktor sorts through the chemicals, looking for anything that might help him cover up the evidence of his sickening actions. Then, Viktor groans, the idea hitting him like a falling anvil. It’s so many leagues better than the alternative there’s not a hint of consideration after it crosses his mind.

Strolling down the hall, Viktor wipes his face every few steps, paranoid he missed a spot on his face. Realistically, he knows the waterfall of nervous sweat from his forehead has long washed away any trace of the crimson splotches. It hasn’t been long, so an investigation shouldn’t have taken place yet. Maybe, at worst, some enforcers. This hospital shouldn’t be that big of a priority, even with a couple counselors in it.

Toward the opposite end of the hall, outside the open room where he… ‘ate’ at, an enforcer holds a clipboard and leans on the doorway, languidly examining the mess of vomit and blood left behind in the room. Viktor clutches his shirt, bundled up in his hand. He folded it over the bloodstains after using it to wipe his face, dousing it in some cleaner he found in the closet. The now shirtless scientist wipes sweat from his face when the enforcer glances in his direction. To Viktor’s relief, he just nods and looks back away, probably assuming him to be a patient. Viktor already isn’t exactly the epitome of health, and neither the long line of stitches down his torso nor the noticeable skin grafts aid in alleviating that perception. For once, though, he’s grateful for such a sickly appearance.

Now though: the embarrassing part. Time to walk into the room where his best friend and his best friend’s girlfriend–two of the most powerful people in Piltover–are resting and pretend he didn’t just drink a bag of human blood.

Viktor takes a deep breath, curls his fingers around the doorknob, and twists with a surge of bravery, swinging the door open much faster than he meant to. Both Mel and Jayce look at him, confused. Mel politely turns away from the shirtless scientist, her expression unreadable as she immediately greets him, “Welcome back.”

Jayce, however, simply stares at the stitches and patchwork on his friend’s chest instead of questioning why Viktor is lacking a shirt in the first place, “What happened?” He asked.

Viktor immediately grabs his cloak, donning it before answering with what Jayce didn’t care to know, “I went for a jog. I was a lot hotter than I thought, though now I must look like I fell in the river,” Viktor chuckles nervously, muttering his words so that his mouth doesn’t open far enough for him to see the glint of his metal fangs.

Jayce, rather than ask again, simply points to the skinny man’s chest, now covered in dark, heavy cloth. Viktor gives a short, uncomfortable response, “It’s from when I was cured.”

Mel looks up curiously, “I was wondering about that. I’m happy for you. There really is nothing the Hextech partners can’t do,” She seems to disappoint herself with that last line, making Viktor remember her pushing Jayce into weaponizing Hextech. It reminds him of that meeting between Jayce and Silco. Clearly, it didn’t go well, and he wonders if that was at least partly due to the attack on the shimmer refinery in which Hextech weapons were utilized. Honestly though, he’s going to ask about just because he would like any conversation subject that isn’t him or the Solver.

“It might be too soon to ask, but how did the negotiations with Silco go?” Viktor asks quietly. He expects this to be a sore spot for Jayce, but he didn’t know how much it was bothering his friend.

Jayce lifts up the paper he's been staring at since he got in the hospital. It’s a list of demands for peace, signed by Silco’s signature ‘S.’ In it are many enumerated conditions, most of which are frankly ludicrous to demand of Piltover, even for someone who cares greatly for the Undercity: Blanket amnesty, access to the Hexgates, sovereignty and recognition of ‘Zaun,’ as well as free trade routes, “I agreed to them, I told him I’d do it. My only conditions were the dismantling of shimmer, return of the Hexgem, and for him to hand over Jinx. The only one he fought me on was Jinx, but it seemed like he capitulated at the end… I don't know what I missed…”

Viktor places a hand on his shoulder, “I don’t think it was you,” He reassures Jayce. His friend decides to do his own subject change, though.

“How did your search for the Solver go?” Viktor winces. Mel sits up at the mention, unfamiliar with its name. She doesn’t interject though, hoping to follow along and fill in the dots while the two talk.

“ My search was terrible. I found nothing. Heimerdinger, however, ran into it–”

“ Heimerdinger ?” Mel and Jayce both interject incredulously, their eyebrows looking like they’d fly into the ceiling.

“Yes, Heimerdinger and another found it hunting in the fissures coincidentally. Though… erm… the details are a bit… unscrupulous.” 

Both are a bit confused of Jayce frowns, though Mel looks unaffected by the warning, “What isn’t these days,” He groans, exasperated, “Just lay it on me.”

“It made a body from the stolen corpses, and…. apparently it looks like a little girl,” This time, even Mel looks a bit queasy. Jayce chokes a bit, memories of the cemetery flashing through his mind, “You’d have to ask Heimerdinger for more details. If you’d even want them…” Both the counselors shake their heads, Jayce doing so much more rapidly than Mel, his squeamishness coming out full swing. On cue to bail him out, a knock resounds on the door.

“N-no, Viktor. That’s enough for us,” Jayce gets out of the bed, talks of such horror forcing him to stand up and drop the list of demands to the bedside. 

Opening the door, the enforcer jumps, quickly saluting before pulling out a clipboard with a few notes, “Counselor Talus! My name is Maddie Nolan. Caitlyn Kiramman sent me to inform you that counselors Shoola and Salo are alive, though with severe injuries. A memorial service for the lost counselors will take place tomorrow, your invitations are here…” She gently hands the invitations for Jayce, Viktor, and Mel to the scientist at the door, who accepts them gratefully. 

Though, the memorial frustrates Jayce. Why would they present a service so quickly? Are they asking for more trouble? This is a time of crisis! The tragedy of lives lost is something to consider, but the very next day? The Solver exhumed a graveyard in clear day, killed bystanders and murdered in the academy. The Undercity had already stolen a Hexgem directly from Jayce’s lab, attacked during Progress Day, and brazenly murdered half the council. Obviously they would attack a memorial service after what happened today, to believe otherwise is simply asinine.

His frustration at the council doing nothing had been building up until his raid on the shimmer refinery. Though the raid quelled his determination for a while, now, his patience has run out. The fears of collateral damage in the Undercity are finally waning. If Silco wanted to play like this–despite knowing how easily Piltover could annihilate them–then he’ll play like this. Clearly the kingpin thought Jayce wouldn’t retaliate… or perhaps he wants him to, for some reason. Why else would he do something so brazen? So insane ? Toward the Council, of all things! Not to mention Mrs. Kiramman. It’s true, she was unforgiving and harsh–Jayce knew that well–but she was a mother, a friend, and someone who gave him a fighting chance when he first began Hextech research. She didn’t deserve what happened to her. Now that the Solver has infiltrated the Undercity, Jayce can kill two birds with one stone. With enforcers sweeping the Lanes, neither human nor inhuman monsters can escape. These attacks aren’t happening because they pushed the Undercity too far, they happen because they haven’t pushed them far enough .

Viktor watches him don his white coat, a symbol of his status as a counselor, “I have one lead on the Solver, so, I plan to investigate that next, but, Jayce: What do you plan to do?” Viktor is concerned, the dangerous glint in his friend’s eye making him wary.

“I’m going to call a council meeting,” Jayce nods to Mel, who does not reciprocate.

“We don’t know the extent of Salo and Shoola’s conditions. With tempers so high it’s unwise to call a meeting,” Mel argues.

“Then we’ll check on them. I’ll bring the meeting to their bedside if I have to, along with Heimerdinger,” Jayce frowns, his brows creasing, “Those terrorists won’t wait for us, we won’t for them.”

Mel doesn’t argue further, but her face betrays her reluctance to the drastic action. Viktor, meanwhile, is a bubbling cauldron of contradictions. He supports Jayce: wants him to send enforcers to the Undercity–mostly to search for the Solver. But, on the other hand, Viktor doubts a show of force like that would manage to accomplish that much without invading the whole of the fissures. A few professional dispatches, perhaps, would be more appropriate. Then again, Viktor is no strategist, he’s a scientist. Though, so is Jayce. With the hammer already built, he has no doubt the counselor will utilize its power. The real worry Viktor has is that he might build more… 

Jayce and Mel depart silently, going to check on Salo and Shoola, leaving Viktor alone in the room. The cloak hugs his skin, a piece of fabric stuck on one of his stitches. He’s darkly reminded of his own situation and how urgently he needs it to be fixed. He needs a better idea of what’s going on, so he leaves the room too, still clutching his bloody shirt. The halls are as empty as ever, the retreating figures of Jayce and Mel the only people in sight. He moves toward the restroom. Once entering the single bathroom, he locks the door behind him, slowly approaching the mirror.

Viktor takes a deep breath and shuts his eyes, promising himself to be scientific–cold, even–toward whatever he’s about to see. He opens his mouth, gasping audibly at the long, jagged steel fangs. Both the top teeth are probably over half an inch long, the reddish-brown rusted metal contrasting horribly against his pearly white teeth. The lower fangs are smaller, though still look like they could shred bones. Viktor takes a step back, scared, but still holding on. That is, until a painfully recognizable symbol appears on his eye in replacement of his pupil. That sigil is not the color he’s used to, though. Instead of the sickly gold of the monster, the color shining in his eye and invading his sclera is orange. Bright, shining orange, like that of a cutting edge Piltovan forge. The symbol flickers then spins around his pupil. Before he can even blink, the mirror shatters, an enormous crack originating at the center spreads out like a spider’s web to every corner of the glass. VIktor views his reflection cautiously between the cracks, holding his breath. The symbol is gone, only the shards of glass as evidence of its existence.

Chapter Text

A symbol of Piltover and the clans that govern it, the council has been a symbol of the City of Progress for centuries, a shining beacon of ivory and forward-thinking above everything else in the city. Now though, cracks cover every surface of the council building that hasn’t been entirely blown off. Behind Jayce, the wall that once held a pristine glass window overlooking the whole of Piltover is simply gone. From the city below, the council appears to the public just as it is internally: a disaster. Without the shroud of luxury surrounding them, the council’s weakness and complacency is laid bare.

Jayce stands at the head of the destroyed table, the same spot he stood last night when the strike hit. In a relatively large radius around him, the cracks simply stop, halted by an invisible shield. His back to the horizon, the counselor places both hands on the desk, the cloudy sky obscuring his face and notes.

Counselor Shoola stands on the right side of the marble room, somewhat far from him. A large chunk of the right side of her face was badly burned by the attack, leading her to obtain a prosthetic eye and golden grafts to replace the old skin and organ. Other than that, she is in good health, making it out much better than Salo, both mentally and physically.

Being wheeled into the room, Counselor Salo looks at the impatient crowd with disbelief and quiet contempt. His legs hang limply below the chair as he’s pushed down the steps, the construction of the council building unfriendly to his needs; After all, it’s simply unheard of for a counselor to be in such a condition. Salo looks up, his fists clenching on the sides of the wheelchair, “To think we nearly extended sovereignty to the creatures who did this…” He’s wheeled to the front of the room, opposite the side of Jayce, “We’re charged with imposing order: And we’ve been asleep at our posts. Well, my eyes are open. There will be no more fairy tales of peace until we scour our basement of its demons.”

Behind him, Ambessa Medarda holds a neutral expression, much contrasting her daughter, who glares at her with clear antagonism. Mel returns the look, the two squaring off like two predators hunting the same prey. Mel addresses Ambessa neutrally, looking past Salo and his words, “So kind of you to assist Counselor Salo, Mother.”

Salo speaks up immediately, unflinchingly confident in having Ambessa present, “I thought it prudent to seek the counsel of an experienced veteran, seeing as we are now at war.”

Jayce grimaces, the exact same thought crossing his own mind. He spoke to Ambessa before, and he does hold respect for the Noxian’s wisdom, much to Mel’s dismay. Shoola, however, does not entertain any of this. Too much is at stake to bicker like academy students. The time they waste here could bite them later, “Back to the matter at hand: our people are suffering! They need to know their leaders have the situation under control.”

Salo speaks up immediately again, a fire in his voice. From how he fixed his posture, he had been ready to give this announcement: “An unprecedented show of force—“

“We use Hextech,” Jayce loudly interrupts, his voice dropping Salo in his tracks. The blonde counselor looks at the scientist in shock. Mel, Caitlyn and Ambessa all view him with differing expressions. Mel is horrified, staring at Jayce with disbelief. Though she knew it was coming, she can’t help but feel surprised he actually followed through. Caitlyn is similar, though with a grim understanding hiding behind her disappointment. The Undercity has been treated unjustly by Piltover, but something must be done about this. Ambessa, however, simply smirks, her advocacy for Hextech all this time having not gone to waste.

Meanwhile, the candle in Salo’s eyes ignites into a blazing inferno, “Exactly! We flood the Undercity with enforcers, tear apart every floorboard until we find those responsible!”

“Innocents will be caught in the crossfire,” Caitlyn argues, Salo’s nose upturning at the sight of her. She’s not her mother; Council appointments aren’t hereditary by nature, so technically she has no right to be present unless voted in. 

He looks around to the other counselors, “Why is she even here? She’s no counselor.”

Mel answers for her, definitively speaking the girl’s defense, “Officer Kiramman witnessed the attack firsthand: she confirmed it was the act of a single, deranged individual who was apprehended immediately after the attack by a respected Undercity organization.”

“A gang with some ‘street cred’ is no substitute for justice! And what of the stolen Hextech gemstone? Enforcers must be the ones—“ Again , Salo is interrupted. This time, it’s the loud opening of the council room’s doors and the scampering of a petite yordle that ceases his speech. A voice that many thought they’d never hear within the halls of the council ever again resounds through the room.

“Sorry for being late everyone! I simply had some checking-up-on to do!” Heimerdinger strolls in, his jolly mood a stark contrast to the somber weather and dark skies that seem to infect the others in the room.

“Professor,” Jayce greets him, a genuine smile appearing on his face, “It’s great to have you back—especially given our current situation.”

Salo and Shoola share a surge of frustration, the latter speaking up while citing established precedent, “This is a democratic body! The vote to remove Heimerdinger was unanimous among the council; he cannot be reinstated via unilateral action.”

Jayce lowers his head calmly, levelling his gaze to Shoola, “We are in a time of crisis. The Father of Piltover’s experience and opinions are invaluable in guiding us out. If you want to remove me after this situation is resolved, then fine, but for now we need to move forward. Restoring the council was the first step I took while you were recovering.”

After a few long seconds of silence, those present then awkwardly offer their greetings, welcoming the former counselor back with wildly different degrees of enthusiasm. Heimerdinger himself doesn’t appear particularly excited to be there, but remains in good spirits regardless. 

Salo, annoyed at the second interruption, continues soon after, “We need to command this gang to hand over Jinx and the Hextech gemstone. Bring that terrorist to rot in Stillwater for what she’s done!”

Heimerdinger pops up happily, climbing onto a half-broken chair, “I can personally confirm that Jinx is safely hidden away. The Firelights are trustworthy, and you have my word she won’t be causing any trouble in their custody.”

All present are taken aback by Heimerdinger’s casual, confident defense of the gang. The council has heard of the firelights—the gang was presented as the culprit of various smuggling operations. Though now Jayce knows those investigations were led by the turncoat Marcus, he isn’t ready to let every single gang off the hook, since he isn’t aware of just how many of Marcus’ reports were true. For all he knows, the Firelights could be completely innocent, or they could be like the monsters Marcus painted them as. With Heimerdinger’s blessing, Jayce is willing to bet it’s closer to the former–since an Undercity gang can only be so clean. Caitlyn, meanwhile, is no stranger to the Firelights, but simply astounded at Heimerdinger himself, and his defense of them.

Shoola leans against the wall, frustrated, “What matters is the people believing they’re safe; No one will be reassured by the terrorist being held captive in the Undercity.” 

Salo agrees, nodding his head emphatically. Jayce, however, does the opposite, “I trust Professor Heimerdinger and Caitlyn’s judgment. I suggest that—until further information is provided—Jinx is to be considered a neutralized threat,” Jayce continues, giving Salo a frightening glare, “We have actual enemies posing real threats to our city. The chembarons will fight for control and the Solver is still running free: these should be our top priorities.”

Ambessa and Caitlyn raise an eyebrow at the mention of the Solver. To the public of Piltover, the gunshots at the academy and the grave robbing was due to a dangerous animal that was being hunted for. To the council, it was reported as an unknown monster still at large, with no clue as to its whereabouts. Shoola speaks up curiously, “The creature that dug up the graves? Do we have any reason to believe it’s on a similar priority to the Undercity?”

Jayce frowns, “It was there at the shimmer refinery. It was evolved, dangerous. It also attacked Heimerdinger, he too can attest to its strength, and the urgency this has to be dealt with,” Jayce nods to the yordle.

The professor continues Jayce’s reasoning, “It was at a Firelight warehouse, actually. Killed a few guards… and… it was wearing the amalgamated bodies of the dead from Piltover. If not for the Firelight’s leader, I wouldn’t be here. It was only thanks to him we were able to barely escape with our lives,” This surprises many, though only Salo seems unimpressed. Heimerdinger doesn’t stop there, though, “That monster… it’s been the destruction of civilizations past. It evolves, consumes, and destroys everything in its wake. In just the day since I’ve seen it, that thing has doubtlessly claimed dozens of innocent lives. Its evolution must be stopped as soon as possible.”

Salo’s dismissive posture corrects at the dire tone of the typically up-beat yordle, but Jayce is the one who speaks up first offering a plan, “We do as you said Salo: we flood the Undercity with enforcers. We locate and apprehend chembarons while executing a search and destroy initiative on the Solver.”

Ambessa moves away from behind Salo, crossing her arms with a smug look that she fires like a bullet straight toward her daughter. Mel speaks solidly, “I believe Hextech should remain a last resort.”

Ambessa frowns, taking a step closer toward her kin, though remaining far away due to the size of the room, “Half your council is dead! Now is not the time for half-measures!” She proclaimed with force in her voice, her breath blowing through the room as if it were the wind itself, whipping through the 

“I agree with the mobilization of Hextech,” Jayce confirms, his demeanor downtrodden, disappointed but stalwart in his approach, “We have to limit it, though. At the refinery, the Solver proved capable of effortlessly disabling Hextech. The extent to which it can interface with our devices is unknown, but I don’t think we should risk finding out here. Hextech should only be used against the chembarons.”

Salo scoots up to the center of the room with Ambessa, his crippled form slouched beside her standing, menacing form, “Then let us vote: Jayce’s plan. All in favor?”

Four hands raise of the five counselors present, agreeing to the proposal. Mel being the only dissenter. Heimerdinger–voted among the majority–clarifies his action when he receives curious looks, “I firmly believe the Solver is too great a threat to ignore. It must be our priority over the chembarons. You all know my views on Hextech, but if this is the compromise to be rid of that monster, then so be it.”

Shortly after, a scowl forms on Ambessa’s face. Jayce can’t tell if this is directed to Heimerdinger or Mel, since the Medarda heir is addressed next, “In a time of crisis, it may be advantageous to put up a unified front—regardless of your personal feelings.”

Mel mirrors her mother’s scowl, her feet firmly planted next to Jayce in the solid, uncracked tile, “How wise,” She stalks forward toward Salo and Ambessa, “I’ll agree to this plan, but only one Hextech weapon should be made. It must remain our final resort.”

Ambessa Medarda rolls her eyes. She remains utterly unconvinced by her progeny’s argument, though still backs away behind Salo and allows others to speak.

Jayce, ignoring the familial strife, cuts through the tension with a punctual adjournment of the meeting, “If that’s all, we have a solid course of action. Some enforcers will be dispatched–armed with Hextech–to subdue the chembarons, other officers will hunt for the Solver with conventional weapons.”

Jayce, along with the others, begin their departure just as the rain evolves into a downpour. The horizons of Piltover are gray as its future feels to Jayce. He hopes, dearly, he won’t regret what he has permitted today.

The scientist-turned-counselor picks up his papers, neatly tapping them against his chest to align the edges. The final one left in the room, he heads toward the exit where Ambessa–ever the opportunist–awaits him. She places her hand on his shoulder and gives a single-sentence offer, “My soldiers are at your disposal, Counselor Talus,” Then, she leaves, confidently marching down through the council halls with a satisfied expression. To any onlooker, she’d be easily mistaken for a counselor.

Chapter Text

Deep in the Undercity, on the edge of the fissures, a phenomenon of a phenomenon is being observed. The Gray–a daily reminder of Piltover’s oppression to all that breathe–is simply gone. The thick factory smog, most of it trapped underground decades ago during the peak of heavy mining industry in Zaun, has been thinned out by an unknown filter. To the small crowd of five gangsters that watch, the sight is something of a small miracle, if not bewildering.

A skinny man slouches next to a rotted wooden beam, peering down the dark, abyssal tunnel that stretches on endlessly into the abandoned mines. Soft, orange lantern light shines on his gaunt face, emphasizing the apprehension in his features, “B-Boss, where would these shafts even lead?”

The boss in question moves his crooked jaw awkwardly, strutting forward on spindly, mechanical legs that are entirely out of proportion of his body–it’s obvious to all present he wouldn’t be nearly as tall if not for the prosthetics. His brown fur stands on end as he looks down the mines, the haunting spectre of the Gray nowhere to be seen. Its absence does not reassure, instead forming a bloated weight in his stomach that flushes through his body, taking every ounce of courage with it, “W-well, they just head to some empty veins, nothin’ to worry about… everything should be long dead.”

The skinny man, Heenot, shakily runs a mechanical hand through his greasy hair, adjusting his small top hat as he does, “Wouldn’t o-our targets b-be long dead t-too?” 

His boss, Smeech, chuckles nervously, grinding his sharp teeth together. A long fang hangs out the side of his mouth, lightly scraping across his furry chin. The yordle moves forward, extending his bionic arms out to punch the rotted wood. With a loud crack, the beam splinters. As the sound reverberates down the cave, the rocky walls glow with pallid light. The source is a fungus that covers most of the stone, shining when it receives a loud sound. An odd but welcome quirk that adds to the many reasons Zaun is such a good mining spot.

Smeech grabs Heenot by the shoulder and shoves the man forward, gesturing to the tunnel which is quickly dimming, “Lead the way,” he chuckles.

The rest of the group follow quietly behind, the few without metal hands clapping frequently to maintain the guiding light through the tunnels. Though, even with vision, minutes pass without the slightest trace of their targets. When the group reaches a T-section, Smeech turns and addresses his men.

“Alright, listen up grunts! One of you stays back at the entrance and wait for me. Set up a camp or somethin’, I don’t care, just if we don’t return by dawn go get a search party. Capiche?”

A series of nods later, and Smeech is left with one less meat shield, “Brain guy,” He points to Heenot, “Make markers; I don’t wanna get lost down here, ‘Specially not with Margot’s horny goons,” Smeech shivers at the thought, taking his tall, green top hat off to wipe the sweat from his brow. He punches the wall, illuminating his surroundings before they all begin to descend the left path.

Not even five minutes down the tunnel, Smeech ear’s flick up suddenly. He lifts his fist to halt the group, shushing them so he can listen better. From behind him, he swears he can hear a distant, blood-curdling scream. It’s faint, but unmistakable. Normally, the sounds of murder would be a pleasant alarm clock in the Undercity, a fine way to know when people are starting to get out and about. This time, however, the only person who the chembaron knows is behind them is his contingency runner, “Boys, ready for a fight. Murder screams, back where we came.”

Smeech licks his lips, a flicker of excitement passing through his bionics at the thought of getting to let loose. It’s been a while since he had a real fight, Silco always prevented him for some reason or other. Usually he cited ‘the negatives of infighting’ or would say ‘you’re somehow more useful alive.’ Bleh, what a joke. Silco was just mad he couldn’t fight that well himself. Otherwise, the kingpin would’ve been throwing that knife of his around left and right. Nah, Silco ran the Undercity through sheer ferocity, though the muscle he didn’t do himself. Unlike the late kingpin, Smeech knows he’ll enjoy personally gutting people when he’s finally in charge.

The group backtracks to the entrance, following Heenot’s simple stake marker by taking a left turn. As Smeech grins and laughs, his arms unfold into four blades each, creating a sharp, rapidly spinning fan of death. Any in its path would be mutilated as shown by the orange sparks being constantly knocked up as the metal slashes across the stone.

While he cackles, the whirring of his blade arms fabricate a terrifying spectacle. But, as he reaches the exit, his excitement fades. Ahead lies a makeshift camp equipped with all the essentials of the fissures. Most noticeably, a small tent is propped up, tied to pitons that are buried into the cave walls. That tent, though, is covered with fresh rips, chunks of fabric billowing in the wind and flying away. Smeech looks at his lone goon, his jaw grinding, “Are you shittin’ me?”

The man, stumbling around the ruined campsite like a lost idiot, twists his head toward the mechanically enhanced yordle, “Sorry… boss? I appear to have… tripped. Perchance.”

Smeech scowls. The fire pit is smothered by a filthy tarp, the lantern his henchman carried around is broken on the ground, small embers still clinging on to life. Other than that and the tent, most objects are knocked over or seem to have been thrown in a struggle. It goes without saying: the damage is in no way localized to a teensie little trip. The man himself is where Smeech’s annoyance starts to shift into something much different. His goon is leaning back at an odd angle, arms limp, staring at him blankly. It feels like the henchman doesn’t know why he’s there; Simply awaiting orders that Smeech had already given back in the tunnels.

Heenot speaks up first, remaining behind Smeech, “Cal, hey, Boss said you were screaming?” The boss in question only tenses up, keeping his blades out. 

“Yes. Tripping startled me, as it does. You should return… doing your thing,” Smeech swears on his life, he only blinked. In that time, his goon’s arched back and strangely twisted head is fixed, his posture ominously normal.

The yordle grabs him by the throat, the man’s skin pierced easily by his claws, “Listen up: I don’t like secrets. You tell me exactly what’s going on, or you’re not gonna like what comes next. Got it?”

The barest hint of a smile crosses the goon’s face. The claws tighten in return, drawing blood which leaks with an oddly lethargic pace down his neck, “I understand.”

Smeech drops him next to a knocked over barrel, flicking his forehead. Despite the harmlessness of the gesture, his claw nicks the skin, leaving a white mark on the face.

“Okay, so I was… carrying a tarp to put under the tent, but I tripped and hit the fire, accidentally grabbed the tent, and… hopped around cus’ my foot hurt from the burns—“

Smeech stops him with a simple order, “Take your shoes off.”

“S-sir?”

“Take. Your. Shoes. Off,” Smeech’s vicious tone makes it clear he won’t ask again. His claws are still out, shining gently in the faint glow of the green chemicals that fill his mechanical limbs.

His henchman slowly removes his work, leather-made shoes. Filthy and stained, he drops them to the side. Smeech’s bloodshot eyes focus in on the calloused skin, a few warts and sheets of dead skin catching his eye, but otherwise: nothing. Smeech looks back at Heenot with a wide-toothed grin, relishing in the horror on the accountant’s face.

When Smeech turns back to the bare-footed man, raising his claws in preparation to end him, he pauses, confusion clouding his bloodthirsty gaze. Scorch marks now cover the feet and shoes, marking the damaged skin with blisters. When Smeech pokes at it, the man winces, and the charred spots are still warm. Even the leather shoes have evidence of fire now, “What the fuck..?”

Smeech’s clouds that fill in his eyes turn to a red mist. He growls and swings, slicing the grunt’s neck with cruel lethality. His body drops to the ground, the goon spasming and clawing at his throat as blood pools inside it. 

Not only were the scorch marks much too severe to be from the idiot just stepping on a fire—who even does that?—but he swears on the most honest yordle they weren’t there moments ago. He won’t be tricked by anyone, let alone a little henchman. 

“B-boss? Why?” Heenot backs away in terror. Smeech’s other men are scared, but hide it well, knowing any movements might draw his wrath. He can smell their fear, and, if he weren’t so confused as to how the marks appeared, he’d be delighted.

“None of you can trick me, you hear?” Smeech lifts up the corpse, the body feeling strangely strange in his hands. Something is off—the texture, the weight, all of it—but he can’t pinpoint how .

He throws the body aside, tossing it onto the covered fire pit for the crows to feast: It’ll make it easier to collect the mechanical parts. He grinds his teeth and points to one of the four remaining goons, “You, stay here and keep lookout; If you mess up, I’ll have your head on watch instead.”

Smeech shoves the new man on watch toward the ruined camp without the barest hint of tact, watching him stumble with a twisted satisfaction. He ignores Heenot’s shaking form and grabs him by the shoulder, pulling him along with the rest of the goons.

He takes the same route as before, wandering down the spontaneously illuminated tunnels until he finds Margot’s people. The goons sent down here were supposedly quite important, some of her most valued henchmen. Stuck inside these caves, he decided it would be a great opportunity for ambush. If his men weren’t so incompetent, he’d be in charge of all of the Undercity by now.

In the past few minutes, he’s gotten used to the rhythmic clapping that brightens the cave, the loud sound creating an explosion of light that makes his eyelids shudder a bit each time. But, that rhythm changes: instead of a clap, he hears a loud bang, a type of sound he’d imagine would only be heard in the confines of an industrial district. The horrid noise of heavy metal scraping against stone forces him to look back, ready to impale whatever caused it. But, when he looks back, only the dim visage of Heenot’s and one other goon is visible.

“There were three of you,” Smeech says slowly, his voice dry and scratchy, “Where’d the other one go?”

Heenot and the other have no terror on their faces, only blank faces, “You put him outside.”

Smeech backs away, their calm expressions uncanny, “Don’t play with me… I brought five grunts with me, as always. Dealt with that trickster and then replaced him… So, there should be three of you!”

Heenot simply points to himself, then to the grunt, and then to Smeech, “Yeah, there’s three.”

“No… I…?” Smeech looks around, scanning for anything to validate his claims. Despite the obscenely loud, impossible to ignore noise he heard, those accompanying him look entirely oblivious. He isn’t going crazy… no, he can’t be. He knows how many people he brought with him, he knows what happened. It wasn’t long ago, he remembers clearly. Why are so many strange things happening?

In a fit of frustration, Smeech slams one of his chemtech legs into the stone floor. Sparks fly up and the loud screeching causes the fungus to light up as usual. A flash of steel out of the corner of his makes him question his sanity, because when he turns to look, it’s gone without a trace. There are no marks on the ground, no disturbances at all aside from what he and his gang left. He’s going to go insane down here…

“Fellas, we’re headin’ back. This ain’t worth it,” Smeech whips around, ready to pull his men out, but there’s only a flicker of transient blue light. Faster than he can blink, the ray of color is gone, just like his goons. It’s as if he imagined it, a figment of a panicking mind.

“H-Hey? Grunts! You better get out here quick! I-if one of you’s messing with me…”

No response.

As the light dims, Smeech weakly strikes the wood. But, his nervous, jittery hand fails to elicit some much needed illumination from the white mushrooms. He looks to the wooden beam and desperately punches it again and again, splintering the rotted planks. He finally hits it hard enough to trigger the light, drowning the caves in bright white radiance.

Smeech sprints up the light incline, his metal feet clanking against the stone. He slows down at the first intersection, glancing around to check for the small stake Heenot left to signify the exit tunnel. Spotting it, he sprints past, taking a right turn, bolting down the indicated passage. The lantern light signifying the exit shines like a beacon ahead of the fleeing yordle. But, after minutes of running, he feels no closer. Smeech grasps the side of the wall and pants, crouching over exhausted. He really should’ve been out by now…

“Are you lost?”

Smeech growls, brandishing his blades toward the sweet, young voice. The accent sounds vaguely top-side, though with an odd flair he’s only heard a few times.

Two, yellow ‘X’ shaped pupils shine in the tunnel, watching him curiously. His strained eyes manage to make out the faint silhouette of a Piltie girl. Fairly young, with long hair and a dress, she couldn’t be any more out of place if she tried. Smeech sweats, backing away at the uncanny girl. He realizes she’s coming from the way he came . 

“S-stay back, whatever you are… you one of the doctor’s fucked up things? I didn’t do nothing with Margot’s people! Leave me out of this!”

“Doctor?” The voice shifts from its former timbre, taking on an inhuman, heavy monotone. Each word is slow and deliberate, carrying a mechanical weight that he feels could crush him at any moment.

Something shoots out from the girls back, long like a branch, but with clear joints like an arm. Too many ligaments, with clearly visible tendons, bones, gears, and beams across the whole thing. At the end, a large claw like a crab slams into the wall. Gravel falls from the ceiling and the wooden supports creak, barely holding onto the immense weight of the stone above. 

As the mushrooms flare up, Smeech finally sees it. An enormous biomechanical centipede, spiraling across the walls and as far as he can see down the tunnel. Countless creepy, fleshy, metal-plated legs and bony spikes sprout from the revolting body. Dozens of cameras lurk next to the girl, who, illuminated clearly now, has rotted, poorly stitched skin and mechanical components all under her flesh. The lurid, yellow eyes watch him, a hint of amusement in their uniform gazes.

The cameras all blink, and, in a flash of familiar blue light, his surroundings become unrecognizable. Every step he takes fleeing causes a sickening squelch. The cave floor and walls become flesh. Steaming and hot, it pulses like a living creature’s insides. Bony claws covered with wires break out from the flesh walls like parasites, grasping for him desperately like streetside beggars.

Countless appendages erupt from the small girl, some ending in human hands, others in sharp points, and others in elongated, rusty claws. All of them scrape against the walls in a discordant tune, ripping through and tearing a path straight to Smeech.

“What. Doctor?” The voice resounds again. The mushrooms are still in the flesh cave, though sandwiched between folds of bloody red meat, shining a sickly gold hue. Smeech starts to realize why the Gray disappeared when he takes in the respirating motions of the walls.

“S-some guy who used to work for Silco… made shimmer…” Smeech falls to his butt, praying to anyone or anything that might listen. He doesn’t know what this thing is or what it wants, but maybe there’s a deal to be made. If he knows something this monster wants, maybe this doesn’t have to be the end… it won't kill him immediately, then.

“Oh. That. Purple. Junk. I. wonder…”

“Uh, y-yeah?” Smeech responds, his eyes and mind fruitlessly searching for any way out of this mess, ignoring the sheer disgust in the creature’s voice at the mention of Silco’s trump card, “I think it’s time for me to go… I got a meeting soon…” Smeech lies, slowly getting up, trying his luck with leaving.

“Mmm. No~”  Smeech watches in horror as the girl licks her lips, an arm reaching out to push him back down, “You’ll. Miss. Snack. Time. Silly.”

He barely has time to register her movements before his mechanical limbs are ripped from his body, the flesh and steel that compose him are torn asunder in an instant. He manages to make out the macabre image of the girl lifting up his arm and high-fiving herself. But, the true final sights he sees are the mess of blood and chemtech, red and green, coating his matted fur, and the suspended, lifeless heads of his men held up like abandoned puppets. Then, he finally slips away, dying before the same is done to him.

Chapter Text

Principles can’t be compromised. That’s… well, kind of the point. If they can be compromised on, they’re not rules or oaths or even promises . At that point, they’ve become guidelines . Fickle, adaptive, and effectively meaningless. Without dedicated maintenance toward the filter of your actions, it will begin to break down. That filter, that keeps your system working as intended, will rust and fade. As more undesirables pass through, it weakens more and more, eventually becoming obsolete, fully unable to fulfill its purpose. 

The man beneath that moral strainer, without principles, does whatever comes to mind. Every compromise on a principle is a slippery slope that ambition, fear, and lethargy tries to persuade you down. Some listen, gorging themself happily upon the poison pouring into their ears. 

But… what about changing your principles? If the filter is replaced, what happens then? If of similar quality, simply different actions will go through the strainer. Perhaps the previous filter wasn’t working as intended, or breaking, or incapable of sorting the right actions. If the man is what’s below, how much would a broken filter corrode him? If an immaculate filter is replaced with a new, untested one, how far gone will the man be before its flaws are found out? 

Viktor has been adamant against weaponization since Hextech’s inception. This project is to help those in need, not continue the cycle. But, with the Solver and chem barons threatening Piltover, the cycle may end at a frightening place. But, once he endorses this, there’s no voice of pushback. Heimerdinger believes the weapons can simply be destroyed once the conflict is over. The yordle thinks blood can just be wiped from Piltover’s hands or covered up by a fresh pair of gloves like any other stain. Viktor knows, though, that won’t be how this ends. Jayce has already made and field-tested his Mercury Hammer, and the Atlas Gauntlets have unwittingly become a brawler's second pair of hands. 

Standing in the heat of the forge, Viktor is faced with a third, new one of these weapons. Like the hammer, it’s made for war, crafted to destroy. Three magnifying lenses are set aside, ready to be used to aim the weapon at long range, obliterating with pinpoint accuracy any unsuspecting target. A net launcher, too, has been made, capable of ‘harmlessly’ subduing targets and incapacitating them. Many other components are laid out neatly on the desk, but the one part that matters most is still being forged, shaped on the anvil by Jayce. Viktor feels every strike that lands on the Hextech rifle’s barrel, the heat that falls off, the flat iron face of the hammer, and the sheer force of each blow. He can hardly stand it.

In fact, ever since he drank that stuff, his body temperature has been slowly building. Light fixtures, however small, bother him. Even the dim red light of the forge makes his skin itch. The sensation feels like centipedes crawling on his nerves, tickling his senses with thousands of legs. Something wrong is gestating inside him, an unholy abomination whose mother he knows too well now. Whatever the destination of this transformation, he dreads to reach it. Only one creature knows what will happen then… so he needs to apprehend it–then kill it. The Solver is the key to everything, the source of his greatest miracle and darkest demon. That simple symbol has been haunting him since the hospital, flickering in reflections, shattering glass; Viktor has been distancing himself from mirrors and windows, the fragile victims finding their destruction just as sudden as the corrupted scientist does. 

The shattering sound plays through his mind, just as Jayce slams down the finished barrel. His partner’s face is solemn and determined, confident in what he’s doing. Viktor longs to have that same purpose, that confidence in every movement. But… what good is a determined mind if it pushes toward evil?

“Do you ever think… what you’re doing is wrong , Jayce?” Viktor mutters, fixated on the compilation of innocent parts resting nearby, oblivious to what they’ll soon become.

“Of course… I don’t want to make weapons… but… what other choice do we have, Viktor?” Jayce receives Viktor’s words as a cutting jab, a judgmental remark to remind him of his partner’s disapproval. Jayce can’t help but repeat himself, clinging to the same explanation that convinced him to follow through, “We either compromise with ourselves, or we die. If things turn out worse than they were before, that’s… bad, but we weigh the alternatives. We can’t let the chembarons or the Solver run free, so, if this is what it takes: so be it.”

Viktor glides his hand across the warm barrel, the feeling in his fingers weaker than ever. He barely feels the pain of his fingertips burning, the barrel still searingly hot. His hand only moves away because of the scent of burning skin.

“I will not endorse the creation of more weapons,” Viktor states with finality, a confidence in his voice usually reserved for that specific opinion, “But—” Jayce lifts his head, his eyes widening.

“—I endorse their use… for now. I remain adamant that our focus should be on tools and utilities development, but the council is not wrong in regards to the threats that lurk in Piltover,” his eyes flick up, meeting Jayce’s resolve with his own, “If more weapons are needed, I say we adapt them from already existing creations. The Hexclaw and Atlas Gauntlets–both extremely useful tools–but also dangerous. This way, the weapons can be un made, so to speak; They’d only be weapons by circumstance,” Viktor finishes with fading confidence, like he’s trying to convince himself with this argument more than he is Jayce.

Neither of them speak for a few moments. But, as Jayce’s muscular hands press two components together, the snap of the metal clicking together cuts through the silence. Finally, the counselor mutters, “Weapons can’t be unmade, Viktor.”

“Maybe not completely unmade, but they won’t be real weapons. It’s preferable to have a use other than war,” Viktor lifts up the lower barrel of the rifle, staring down the hollow metal tube which launches the nets, “When the fighting is done, what could this achieve? In a peaceful world, all it could do is explode an animal or painfully apprehend one. But, what of the Hexclaw? The Atlas Gauntlets? Both of them are better used for productivity, their aptitude for violence only being a coincidental feature of their design.” 

Jayce lifts up the net launcher, his iron grip squeezing it like a stress ball, “So what? I just disassemble it when we’re done?”

Viktor lowers the cool barrel, turning the pristine metal around in his hand. Holding it by the end, he hands the tube to Jayce like a king passing a scroll to a messenger, “You said yourself weapons cannot be unmade. Actions, too, cannot be undone. The Mercury Hammer, this rifle… they’re ugly dents, but if the shield of peace is otherwise holding, I’d say it’s a worthwhile trade,” Viktor smirks, “Best not to mess it up anymore than you have to, though.”

Jayce smiles back, taking the lower barrel in his hand and spinning it, “Thank you, Viktor,” Setting both the net launcher and lower barrel to rest, Jayce removes his gloves and leans against the table, “What will you do next? Heimerdinger said he’ll be returning to the Undercity to work with the—“ Jayce hesitates, still uncomfortable with his mentor spending time with them, “—the firelights… but, he did ask if you wanted to join him. Searching for the Solver, I believe. With the streets being filled by enforcers, it might be a good time to look without gangs getting in your way.”

Viktor considered that advantage, actually, but he worried for a few things, “The Solver isn’t stupid: I doubt it’d peek its head out and risk getting exposed. It seems scarily cautious… so maybe the outskirts of the fissures could be promising,” Many still live in the sumps: addicts and exiles mostly. People who wouldn’t be noticed—even among the Undercity.

Jayce picks up a pen, “I’ll write you a letter, orders for any enforcers to assist you and Heimerdinger should you need it.”

“Thank you, Jayce,” Viktor clutches his hand, rubbing the burnt skin away to touch the warm, smooth steel of his finger.

That same, metal finger glides gently across the perfectly spherical form of the Hexgem. Its blue depths drown him in an ocean of magical power, flooding his mind with distant visions of what could be. But, what it could be is irrelevant, for right now, it is just a tool. Soon, it will be a weapon.

The Hexclaw, one of his many pet projects, idly stretches before him. In each of its joints, he sees bone instead of steel, flickering seamlessly between the realm of his imagination and reality. Without even arming it, Viktor feels the Hextech staring at him, analyzing him. He can almost picture that soft blue turning gold, giggling as it slices him apart…

Viktor squeezes the gemstone, holding it close like an anchor of lucidity, tethering him to the truth. The Hexclaw is uncorrupted and motionless. Its plating is pristine and completely metallic; There are no traces of organics in sight.

Viktor places the Hexgem inside the corresponding leather glove—a remote controller, essentially—that seamlessly tracks his hand movements and conveys it to the Hexclaw. While not as precise as a rifle or pistol, the tool is able to follow his motions to perform snappy, instinctive movements that those weapons couldn’t replicate well. Additionally, with the agility of the Solver and its metal carapace, the Hexclaw’s beam would be invaluable. It was made, after all, to slice through metal. 

With how lightweight the device is, it isn’t difficult for Viktor to adapt into a portal framework. How to hold it, however, would be a more challenging issue to solve. A backpack couldn’t hold it: its precision would suffer immensely and it's still metal– not much of a purse item. So, although not the safest thing he has done, his solution for the predicament is an invasive procedure that… well… grafts it to his body. 

Theoretically, it wouldn’t even hurt him much if worn for extended periods of time. This belief comes from one, quite risky idea: 

What if I connected it to my back?

The Hextech engineer already wears a back brace. It was installed because of his illness–which is no longer an issue–which means it’s now just a redundant structural support for his body. It was great for when he needed it, but now he can’t un install it, since his Solver-modified leg is apparently connected to it by wires and nerves. That creature sure is resourceful, so he should be too. Time to make the most of it; After all, what better use could there be than attaching a laser arm?

Chapter Text

It’s been such a short time, but already the Undercity has already–once again–changed drastically from what he knows. Such a short time ago he saw the effects of Silco: the shimmer deals, petty crimes replaced with organized ones. With the kingpin having disappeared after the attack—the consensus being that he died somehow—there was a struggle for power, a hanging question: Who would be next? 

Unfortunately for those ambitious chembarons, Piltover decided to answer that question for them. With enforcers patrolling around every corner in groups of three or more, Viktor couldn’t see even an ember of crime that wouldn’t be stomped out immediately by the police force. It’s understandable: with their masks, they’re quite terrifying. It’s easy to forget there’s a person under there, many thinking about wanting to go home, see their families, or just sleep. 

He’s trying to remind himself that they’re all people–including him–in these streets. That is, with one notable exception. Notwithstanding, Viktor can’t help but feel as out of place down here as he does in Piltover. The budding thirst for blood like a wilting flower, the covering up of his mangled, enhanced parts, and carrying the Hexclaw on his back like contraband: all of it makes him feel less than them. Less than an enforcer, less than a gang member… but he’s not. He needs to remember that. Even if his whole body were transmogrified into rotting flesh and rusted steel, so long as his mind remained Viktor, he’d be good. 

Though, in present concerns, the Hexclaw is more than just a weight on his back: it’s a target. A relatively large, blue, glowing device strapped to a cloaked figure wandering the dark streets, ignored by enforcers? Anyone with any experience in the Lanes would find such an opportunity ripe for picking.

Most of all, he dreads that if such a thing occurs, he’d be forced to use the device. Simply put, it would be very bad for the thief. The Hexclaw lacks any amount of non-lethal force, so it will have to be his final resort in any confrontation. Except, of course, when facing his main objective.

Call it a stroke of luck, or perhaps attribute it to the enforcers, but Viktor arrived at the meeting spot without any problems. Envious and loathful looks were the worst of what he got on his way. He’s glad for both himself and the potential muggers that nothing came of their temptations. If he’d had to do something drastic so early in his expedition… his will to move forward with this may have suffered.

On a bench, overlooking a massive, foreboading cliff, is a small, cloaked figure. Wisps of orange fur peek out from the oversized hood, barely moving in the stagnant air around him. Viktor can’t help but smile, approaching his mentor once again. The chasm ahead is empty and dark, a vicious laceration in the earth that cuts deeper than his eyes can see. The walls of the cave stretch up high into a clear pocket, one flooded with trapped smog and dust like a pond of poison on the ceiling of the rocks.

“Horrid, isn’t it?” Heimerdinger spoke up softly, Viktor’s smile fading into a solemn expression, “Young Ekko said this cave used to teem with life, likened it to his own home. With Hextech, production ramped up, so the smog finally reached this far out from the main city…”

Looking closer at the dark splotches on the rocks, he can make out detritus and biomass, black and wilted from the toxic air, “Now imagine breathing it,” Viktor lets out with a deep, robust breath. The feeling of his lungs failing is something he can’t–won’t–ever forget, lest he become detached from his first home, however flawed it may be. There are still people that breathe this smog every day; There are people that still need his help.

Viktor sits down next to Heimerdinger, the Hexclaw backpack drawing his mentor’s attention. The Hextech scientist speaks up first, however, “When does Ekko get here?” Viktor’s eyes dance across the silhouettes in the walls, remnants of abandoned pipes and ventilation that no doubt stretch for miles into the underground. He knows, somehow, somewhere, in the labyrinthine network, the Firelights’ home lies. It tests the imagination to wonder how it has remained undetected all these years.

“Any second now, my boy. Ekko is a busy young man, I wouldn’t fault him even if he were ten minutes late!” Heimerdinger chuckles, though frowns with some worry.

That concern turns out to be unfounded, as not much later, the firelight leader—masked—flies out with an entourage of two others, all accompanied by the lime glow of their hoverboards.

As the gang flies closer, Viktor doesn’t recognize one of them. Ekko, obviously, along with Scar, he recalls, even without their faces visible. However, one firelight rides behind Ekko, unmasked, holding onto his shoulders uncomfortably.  He can’t really be sure she is a firelight. She’s dressed like a typical Undercity citizen, but not really like a firelight. There are no tools, masks, or anything on the pink-haired girl. Though, she looks even more toned than Jayce; She could probably knock him out with one combo.

As the trio starts to land, Viktor and Heimerdinger remove their hoods, causing a reciprocal removal of Ekko and Scar’s masks during their descent. Before introductions could even begin being made toward the newcomer, she leaps a few feet off the hoverboard and holds her gut with massive, very familiar gauntlets, slouching over as if about to puke. Taking a deep breath, she corrects her posture and straightens her jacket, fake coughing in the process.

The four men stare for a moment, but then, Ekko, realizing she wasn’t about to do it herself, begins introductions.

“This—“ he gestures casually, a tiny bit of exasperation leaking into his tone, “—is Vi. She’s a good friend, you can trust her,” Ekko then holds his hand out, gesturing in the same way toward the unhooded Heimerdinger and Viktor, who are attempting to shake Vi’s hand,” This is Viktor, and this is Heimerdinger.”

Vi hesitates, then looks down, two Hextech gauntlets around her hands, which she uses to shrug dramatically. Both scientists put their hands away, though Viktor is fully aware she knows how to—and could easily—remove the gauntlets should she have wished.

“You were with Jayce at the refinery?” Viktor asks, more as a statement than a question, but Vi nods.

“Yeah, saw that thing do it’s weird magic all over the room. Since I have some experience against it, I thought I could help,” She proudly holds up the Atlas Gauntlets, steam shooting out of their sides with a furious hiss. She mutters, barely perceptibly, “Nothing better to do anyway…”

Vi moves to Ekko’s side, nudging him and using her head to gesture toward the path. Ekko nods back, leading the group of five down the road where Viktor and Heimerdinger came from.

The Firelight leader starts to speak, explaining the plan while the group walks, “That thing is either really lucky, or much smarter than I first thought,” Ekko begins rifling through one of his belt pouches, “You saw the streets on the way here, right? The enforcers seem to be doing a number on the chembarons,” Ekko pulls something out, an object as white as ivory that glistens unnaturally in the darkness. It has a wide base that tapers into a curved point. A tooth–a big one–about the length from the tip of his finger to his wrist. Tendrils of half-rotten flesh wriggle like bloody worms where the gums would’ve been, “We found this in a cave, practically lined with Smeech’s dead henchmen. He went missing not long ago, guess the rest of his gang decided to look for him. Don’t know if enforcers or the Solver took out Smeech, but I definitely know what left this behind.”

Ekko tosses the tooth to Viktor, who catches it in a panic, nearly dropping the almost living fang.

Vi snorts, “You sure that can’t bite him?”

A hint of a grin crosses the firelight leader’s face. He watches Viktor turn the wiggling object over in his hand studiously, examining it like a doctor would an undiagnosed patient. The scientist’s eyes gloss over, a possessive curiosity inhabiting his mind. Viktor can almost feel his palm twice over, a phantom sensation emerging from the gums of the tooth.

At some point, his vision starts to shift. He no longer sees himself turning the tooth over, but rather, the tooth examining him. 

“…”

“-ey?”

“HEY!”

Vi yells into his ears, Ekko gripping the tooth, which is now upright, perched like a monstrous canary in his hand. The fleshy tendrils cease their writhing, wrapping around his finger like a squid. The end of the tooth aims toward him, its sharp point threatening to gouge his eyes from their tired sockets.

The tooth… is threatening him.

From Viktor’s back, something emerges. It unfurls like an elongated neck, rising from behind in a shroud of darkness. Three steel prongs frame the central ‘eye’ of the device, which itself glows with an azure radiance. The source—a small sphere—is clearly visible in its center. When Viktor raises his other hand to point at the tooth, the Hexclaw unleashes a beam of searing, concentrated energy that screeches through the air. The oxygen around them feels like it ignites from the heat and proximity of the laser. Viktor’s movements are languid—almost robotic—including a final pinch of his thumb and pointer. Viktor jerks his free hand to the side, and the Hexclaw follows, slashing with pure energy and severing the tooth.  Only the bottom tendrils, melting into goop with a sizzle, are left on his palm. 

The ivory fang drops onto the path below, but no flang or thud sounds out. Only a small whoosh, as it turns to a chalky dust and disperses across the ground.

Chapter Text

“What the fuck was that?”

Vi looks on in disgust as the fleshly tendrils melt away from Viktor’s palm, revealing the patchwork, rotting skin where a hole burned in his glove. 

Heimerdinger stands on his toes, trying to see what the others are gawking at. It takes Viktor a few seconds to snap back to lucidity, the Hexclaw staring at him like a concerned friend. Its singular blue… no… orange eye greets his own. Looking him up and down, its claw-like prongs move in and out in satisfaction. Like a cat curling into a bed, the Hexclaw folds into its portable base without a single command. Its languid motion feels natural, like something Viktor should be used to seeing.

The Hextech scientist attempts to ball his fist, but a much stronger grip forces it to stay open, “Viktor,” Ekko’s voice whispers, “We need to bring you to a hospital, come on. We don’t know what that tooth did to you.”

Viktor’s feet stay planted. When Ekko gives a more forceful tug, his left foot slides, but his right is immobile, “Ekko, the tooth didn’t do this,” he takes a deep breath, giving out a final statement, “I’ve been this way since we met.”

Every footstep stops. Vi and Scar look uncomfortably confused, but Heimerdigner and Ekko have a disturbing realization cross their minds.

“So this is what you meant by ‘cured?’” Ekko asks, already aware of the answer. When a nod comes from Viktor, the Firelight just shakes his head.

“My boy…” The professor mutters, shaking his head. Concern is flowing across every fur of Heimerdinger’s face.

“It has come with some side effects, but I assure you, I am fine. I’m cured, 

I’m dedicated,” Viktor contemplates for a moment, then, he lies, “It holds no power over me, don’t worry.”

Viktor has no idea if that is true. In fact, he strongly suspects the truth of the matter to be the opposite of his claim. Back in the lab, just the Solver’s words were able to lock his joints, freezing his nerves and muscles and making him into a half-flesh statue. It’s been weighing on him why exactly the Solver didn’t end him then. If it really had control over him, it could have thrown him out the window, stopped his heart, or any number of lethal methods, really.

But it didn’t.

Viktor could only construct two theories. The one he chooses to believe is that the Solver simply can’t do that: its power is to stop him, not to control every part of him. The other is far more concerning to the scientist; the second theory is that it wants him alive for some specific reason. 

A small part of him hopes it just didn’t think of it, but he knows that’s unlikely.

“You’ve been the one pushing to hunt this monster: I don’t doubt you, Viktor,” Ekko kindly reassures him, patting his shoulder. Heimerdinger pats his knee with a similarly kind intention, his gentle touch soothing Viktor. The two fellow scientists beside him do much to loosen up the tense atmosphere. Upon Ekko’s show of support, both Vi and Scar turn away, continuing forward. Viktor could see their reservations painted like graffiti across their faces, presented flamboyantly, but suppressed and restrained out of respect for Ekko.

When the group resumes down the dimly lit path, the silence is awkward, the walk becoming more uncomfortable than walking with a limp would be.

“It seems I soured the mood…” Viktor chuckles dryly to Heimerdinger, the Professor’s orange and white face easily able to be made out even among the scarce light.

“My boy, it must be a shock to those two. I haven’t met Vi before, but I guarantee Scar is a good fellow. A bit uptight, maybe, but it’s hard to blame him. They'll come around dear boy, I’m sure.”

“Your optimism is enviable, Professor, but I hope you’re right.”

It doesn’t take too long to reach their destination. Conversely, it takes Viktor a few seconds to realize upon stopping what the destination actually is. To the far side of the path—blended seamlessly into the stone walls as if sewed in—is a streak of red. Approaching the discolored section—Vi in the lead with raised gauntlets—Viktor fights the urge to gag.

The smell of burning meat fills his nostrils, but not in the good way. Nothing about it reminds him of charcoal grills, or a nice restaurant. The smell is rancid, like a rotting, dead rat trapped in the basement of an abandoned home. The gentle hiss of steam rings in his ears and blows into his eyes; Not horrible, but thoroughly unpleasant. It irritates his senses, making him squint at the harsh flow rushing toward him and the others in the group.

Ekko moves everyone back, raises his mask, and silently goes in. Scar seems surprised, but quickly does the same, trailing behind his leader.

Not even a minute later, a gloved hand emerges from the steam, beckoning the rest in.

Viktor goes in before Heimerdinger but after Vi. He finds the fissure much narrower than he anticipated, having to squeeze in sideways and shimmy against the steam. The ‘backpack’ that houses the Hexclaw doesn’t stick out far, but it’s enough to make the gap much more difficult to traverse than it should have been. 

Viktor brings his arm to the size and presses his gloved palms against the wall. A shiver runs up his spine like a train, making every nerve shake like a rickety trestle. A squelch overcomes the now loud, harsh hiss of rushing steam. The sound makes him think of tripping in the mud as a kid. The sound the mud made was almost as gross as what he just heard.

He uses only his fingertips to guide him, the close presence of Heimerdinger—who is still walking like normal—serving to help his anxiety. The tunnel narrows even more in the coming seconds, the Hexclaw’s housing scraping violently against the fleshly wall behind him. Viktor can feel the wall bleeding, spurting out crimson like a poorly butchered animal, staining his clothes and shoes.

With the steam almost blinding, Viktor can’t help himself… 

He opens his mouth and digs his fingers into the wall ahead, letting droplets trickle in like a thirsty man in the rain. It isn’t much, but it calms him, satiates him temporarily. Perhaps it’s just the illusion of satisfaction, but he’ll take what he can get at this point. His diet may be picky, but he won’t be picky about his diet.

He quickly shuts his mouth when an arm grabs his shoulder, yanking him sharply into an open area where Viktor can breathe clearly again.

Ekko kindly dusts him off, but the motion does nothing to the blood soaked into the scientist’s clothes. Viktor takes it upon himself to wipe his face, clearing the blood off his lips.

Heimerdinger emerges seconds later, walking out of the steam with an arm raised over his face. With everyone present, Ekko raises a light stick, the warm, fleshly walls, ceiling, and floor pulsing like the insides of a gigantic creature. 

Along the floor, Viktor gets to see how the steam begins. Along the ceiling, it flows like a river of mist, cloudy and flowing calmly before speeding up and rushing into the tunnel they came from. From the top, the steam drips, warm droplets of water occasionally plopping against his skin or plinking against the metal of the Hexclaw.

“Is this cave alive?” Vi asks wondrously, using her gauntlet to poke the meaty insides with brutish intrigue.

“Yes and no, it seems…” Viktor observes, rolling over a chunk of flesh in his hand, “There are blood vessels everywhere, but no nerves or receptors anywhere… and why? The blood is just looping, so it isn’t oxygenating anything…”

Heimerdinger’s small finger draws a line across the arteries. His eyes widen, and he rapidly touches different parts of the chunk in quick succession. A quick gesture from the yordle to do the same, and so Viktor repeats the motion with his left hand. Even through the gloves, he can feel the difference in temperatures. The flow toward the entrance is hot while the flow deeper into the cave is cold. It hits Viktor right then what the purpose of the blood flow actually is.

“Cooling!” Ekko slaps his mask, the voice distortion from said object making his realization sound much more like a threat than a ‘eureka.’

Viktor’s mind wanders to himself. It wouldn’t be a stretch to say then that he doesn’t need to drink blood, he only needs a coolant.

…

Why does it use blood, though?

Seems woefully inefficient…

It’s not like blood is necessarily terrible coolant, but supplying it must be—oh… the Solver probably doesn’t have an issue obtaining blood. Since his problem is overheating, perhaps Viktor doesn’t need to use blood. Maybe a more humane—and cheap—alternative can be found.

When Viktor tried eating a normal snack, he puked it up, so normal food is likely off the table. Water? Lots of steam is present in these caves. It’s probably not intentional from the Solver, since the steam seems to be coming from natural ice and water being released and then expunged from the caves. Maybe Viktor could use water though—it’s worth a try at least. 

Heimerdinger flicks the chunk away, averting his eyes to the darkened tunnel ahead of the group.

“I say we turn back,” he says seriously, his eyes squinting at the impenetrable steam and shade, “We’ll have better chances if we report this fissure and bring enforcers.”

Faced with the prospect of using a non-sanguine coolant, Viktor believes he has more time than he initially thought. Growing fangs and breaking mirrors is concerning but nothing necessarily illegal. The blood collection is his biggest hurdle to overcome.

“I concur. I vote we leave and request professional support,” Viktor begins to turn around, facing toward the fissure they came from.

A wall of steam blocks his view of the crack. The inverted river of gas was rushing into the exit, but it now strikes against stitched flesh, exploding outward in tendrils of fog before coalescing into gentle droplets and absorbed by the flesh.

Vi immediately rushes forward, slamming her mining gauntlets against the stitched-closed exit. Blood explodes outward, covering her gloves and face. She keeps digging, prying where the stitches—if those rusted metal clips could be called that—close the gap.

The walls clench, overcoming the combined strength of Vi and Hextech, closing shut with a fleshy snap. In just seconds, the stitches more than triple, growing rapidly like teeth from either side before digging into the other. 

“Shit…” Vi whispers.