The explosion reverberated through Piltover, its echoes shaking the city to its core. News of the chaos spread like wildfire, igniting whispers that reached even the shadowed depths of the Lanes.
"An explosion, indeed," Silco murmured, his gaze fixed on the murky waters beyond the cracked window. The leviathan stirred faintly beneath the surface, its monstrous silhouette a fleeting shadow in the dim light.
He traced the edge of the letter before him, its creased parchment smudged with soot and damp.
"And the suspects... Vander's children?"
His voice carried an edge of curiosity as he glanced at Singed.
The doctor didn't look up from his work.
"It's likely," Singed replied, adjusting a glowing vial. "An enemy of Vander's, perhaps. Using you to deal with him indirectly."
Silco didn't respond immediately, his thoughts drifting as his gaze lingered on the leviathan circling below.
The letter had arrived days ago—a cryptic warning of a future explosion, naming four children as the culprits. What intrigued Silco most was the mention of Vander. These weren't just any children—they were Vander's. And the letter's suggestion was simple: take the children, use them to pin the explosion on Vander, and let the enforcers do the rest.
Between capturing a few orphans and dismantling Vander's hold on the Lanes, the latter was undeniably the better prize.
But the word that lingered in the letter—"dream"—gnawed at Silco's mind. Vander had once shared Silco's vision: a Zaun free from Piltover's chains, an independent nation thriving on its own terms. But Vander had betrayed that dream, casting it aside to play peacekeeper.
Killing Vander outright would be satisfying, but watching him suffer as Silco brought that dream to life? That would be even sweeter.
And yet...
"Is it a trap?" Silco mused aloud, narrowing his eyes. His enemies were many, but few had the cunning to orchestrate something this elaborate.
After a long moment, he straightened, smoothing his coat.
"Trap or not," he said decisively, "it's worth the risk."
He turned to the two men standing in the shadows, their features obscured by the dim light. "Bring them to me. Vander's children. Make sure they're unharmed."
The men nodded silently and slipped away into the gloom.
Silco turned his attention back to Singed. "And the progress, Doctor?"
Singed barely glanced up from his work. "Stabilizing," he replied curtly, his hands deftly adjusting a needle that pumped glowing green fluid into the veins of his latest subject.
The creature on the table—a grotesque amalgamation of flesh and fury—shuddered violently, its muscles spasming before settling into an uneasy stillness. The acrid stench of chemicals and decay filled the air, but Singed remained unfazed, making precise notes in his journal.
"The process takes time," Singed continued, his tone clinical. "Rushing it risks losing the specimen altogether."
Silco regarded the abomination with interest, his sharp eyes calculating its potential. "Time is a luxury, Doctor. Don't squander it."
Singed didn't respond, the steady hiss of his equipment and the scratch of his pen were the only sounds in the room.
Silco turned back to the window, his distorted reflection staring back at him. Below, Zaun pulsed with its familiar rhythm of desperation and defiance. The explosion was a reminder that chaos still thrived in the world—a weapon waiting to be wielded.
"Dreams," Silco murmured to himself, "Let's see whose dreams survive this night."
....
The sun began to rise, casting long shadows over the tired streets. Violet and her gang trudged through the alleys, their faces haggard from a sleepless night.
"So, Vi," Mylo began, his tone edged with frustration. "What are we even gonna do with that crystal? We got it, sure, but how's it supposed to help Duke?"
Violet didn't answer immediately, her mind racing with possibilities. Mylo, Claggor, and herself weren't exactly strategists—and while Powder was clever, she was still just a kid.
"We'll figure it out," Violet said firmly, though her confidence wavered.
"Yeah, well, maybe we should find someone who knows what they're doing," Mylo suggested. Then, more hesitantly, he added, "But... how do we even find that kind of person?"
Before Violet could reply, a cocky voice interrupted.
"Well, look who we have here," came the drawl of a blond youth. Deckard stepped into view, flanked by three of his thugs.
Violet's expression darkened. "What do you want?"
Deckard smirked, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Someone sure made a mess topside. You lot wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"
The gangs exchanged sharp words, the tension building as neither side backed down.
Deckard finally shrugged, a sly grin spreading across his face. "You know, trouble has a way of finding people like you."
He turned and began to retreat, his tone almost mocking. Violet narrowed her eyes, unsure of his game.
"What's he playing at?" Claggor muttered.
Then they saw them—three massive men stepping into the alley, their imposing forms blocking them.
"What the—?" Mylo hissed. "They're not with Deckard, are they?"
Deckard stopped at the corner, glancing over his shoulder with a smug grin. "Nah, these boys aren't mine. But I'd say your odds just got a whole lot worse." He gave a mock salute before disappearing down the alley.
The leader of the newcomers stepped forward, his scarred face twisted into a menacing sneer. "We don't care about him. Our boss wants a word with you lot. Unharmed, preferably—but we don't mind roughing you up if it comes to that."
Violet clicked her tongue; the situation was much worse than she had anticipated.
Powder clutched it tighter, stepping closer to Violet. "Vi... what do we do?"
"Vi," Clogger muttered, his voice low. "I don't think we can take these guys."
Violet's expression grew serious as she scanned the alley. Fleeing was the right choice—this wasn't a fight she could win. Not here. Not now.
"Powder," she said sharply, turning to her younger sister. "Stay close to me."
"We run!" she continued, her voice firm.
"Nice decision, Vi," Mylo said. "And here I thought you wanted to fight."
The brutes began advancing, their footsteps heavy and deliberate.
"Move!" Violet shouted, grabbing Powder by the arm and bolting toward the nearest side street.
Clagger hesitated for only a moment before following, grabbing Mylo by the collar. "Come on, dumbass!"
The gang took off, their footsteps echoing in the narrow alleys. Behind them, the larger men gave chase, their speed unnervingly fast for their size.
"Split up!" Violet commanded as they reached a fork. "Clagger, take Mylo left! Powder, with me!"
Clagger nodded, dragging a protesting Mylo with him. "Vi, you better not get caught!" he shouted over his shoulder.
Violet and Powder veered right, weaving through a maze of darkened streets. Powder's breathing was ragged, her small legs struggling to keep up.
"I can't—" Powder started, but Violet cut her off.
"Yes, you can!" Violet said, pulling her along. "We're almost there—just a little farther!"
They rounded a corner, and Violet spotted a stack of crates leading to a fire escape. She didn't hesitate, boosting Powder up.
"Climb! Go!" Violet urged.
Powder scrambled up, her small hands gripping the metal ladder as Violet followed close behind. The men reached the alley just as Violet hauled herself onto the fire escape.
"Keep moving!" she told Powder, who was already climbing to the roof.
The brutes cursed below, one of them attempting to grab the ladder, but it gave a loud creak under his weight.
"Damn it!" one growled, slamming a fist against the wall.
Violet didn't stop to look back. She and Powder kept climbing until they reached the rooftop, their lungs burning, their hearts pounding.
As they crouched behind a chimney to catch their breath, Violet peeked over the edge. The men were gone—for now.
Powder hugged the bag tightly, tears in her eyes. "Vi, I'm sorry. I—"
"Don't," Violet said, her voice soft but firm. She pulled Powder into a brief hug. "You did fine. We'll figure this out, okay?"
Powder nodded, sniffling.
"Next time," Violet muttered to herself, staring at the distant lights of Piltover, "we'll be ready."
"I'm sorry, little girls, but there's no next time," a cold voice cut through the air.
Violet turned sharply to see a woman emerging from the shadows, her black hair slicked back, her muscular frame towering and intimidating. Beside her was a wiry man with unkempt orange hair and jittery movements, his eyes darting erratically like a cornered animal.
"Just follow us," the woman said, her tone almost bored. "You don't want to make this worse."
Violet clenched her fists. "Over my dead body."
The woman smirked. "If you insist."
With a speed that belied her size, the woman lunged. Violet sidestepped, throwing a punch at her attacker's fist. The impact landed with a dull thud, but the woman didn't even flinch. Instead, she swung back, driving her fist into Violet's stomach. The blow sent Violet stumbling, gasping for air.
"Vi!" Powder's voice trembled from the rooftop edge, where she clutched the bag tightly against her chest.
Violet gritted her teeth, standing her ground. She launched another punch, but the woman blocked it effortlessly, retaliating with a brutal strike that knocked Violet to the ground. Blood trickled from her nose as she struggled to sit up, her vision swimming.
"Vi, help me!" Powder's desperate cry snapped Violet's attention upward.
Her heart dropped. The orange-haired man had Powder pinned, one arm around her small frame while his other hand reached into the bag.
"Let go of her!" Violet growled, dragging herself to her feet despite the pain.
"What's this?" the man muttered, pulling out the glowing blue crystal. His eyes widened in fascination. "Oh... this is beautiful."
Powder squirmed and screamed, trying to free herself, but the man held firm.
Violet staggered forward, but before she could act, the man's grip faltered. The crystal slipped from his hand, tumbling through the air.
"No!" Powder shouted, reaching for it, but it was too late.
The crystal hit the edge of the rooftop and shattered on impact. A pulse of blue energy rippled out, distorting the air like a heatwave.
Suddenly, the entire building shook violently. Cracks splintered through the walls as the rooftop began to collapse.
The air was suffocating, filled with smoke and the acrid stench of burning rubble. Violet staggered forward, pushing past the pain in her bruised ribs and the haze clouding her vision.
"Powder! Where are you?" she shouted, her voice hoarse and desperate.
She tripped over a jagged piece of metal, falling to her knees. As she caught her breath, her eyes scanned the ruins. Her stomach turned when she saw the orange-haired man's lifeless body, a sharp beam piercing through his chest. Blood pooled beneath him, the crimson stark against the gray rubble.
But there was no time to think about him.
"Powder!" Violet yelled again, her heart pounding in her chest. The faint sound of crumbling debris made her whip her head around.
Nothing.
She clawed through the rubble, her hands raw and trembling. "Powder, answer me!"
As she frantically searched, she found Powder's small bag, torn and lying amidst the wreckage. Her breath hitched as she picked it up, holding it close to her chest.
"No, no, no... She's here. She has to be here," Violet muttered to herself, her voice cracking.
But deep down, a gnawing fear clawed at her.
Footsteps echoed faintly in the distance. Violet's ears perked up, hope sparking within her. "Powder!" she called out, rushing toward the sound.
As she rounded a corner of the rubble, she found nothing but shadows. Her heart sank again.
Unbeknownst to Violet, the woman with black hair stood in the distance, watching from the cover of the ruins. Powder dangled limply in her arms, unconscious but alive.
"Such a fragile little thing," the woman muttered, adjusting her grip on Powder. "Mission done."
The woman smirked before slipping away into the shadow, disappearing into Zaun's labyrinthine alley.