"This place is familiar."
Pain ...
Is this pain?
Just anger... Maybe.
All that was left was an empty heart dipped into agonizing hatred. What could he do but hurt?
Kill.
Kill them.
Kill all of them.
Memories were never been his forte since he turned from rat to wolf - rats only likes eating crumbs, wolves loves bigger preys ...
"There are more rats than men in Zaun."
Blood was sauce.
The blood in his eyes said that ...
The blood in his claws proved that. He tasted it.
The more blood, the better. The more pain, the more ire. Who else could bring this greatest satisfaction but those who turned him into such aberration? Who have caused him so much anger to the point of destroying his own heart?
"You know what you've done ... You made the monster!"
He had no aim, rampant, everything was a trigger for his fury ... But he wasn't the only one, not in Zaun.
There was someone as impulsive as him.
A hole like Zaun, under the magnificence of Piltover, was crowded with rats - not just rodents; men could be even dirtier. Over there, a single rose never flowered and its rosebushes would have only thorns.
Beauty was for Piltover, Zaun was only the rest under the smoke of the great city.
A child ran in front of his canine and chaotic eyes under the smoke of a forgotten past. Warwick was chewing something, flesh. He had not even bothered to remember which one had been ... Maybe a thief or a poor wretch who had had the bad luck to cross his path.
"All roads lead to me. I can smell blood."
Her hair swayed in the wind, ephemeral, evanescent blue sky. The girl was delicate, she should be nice, she should be smart ...
"I'm crazy ... I'm crazy ... But I know her."
It must have been something in his head, something that had not gone out of his mind, not totally. Something that would still make the sheep hide under the wolf's skin and not the other way around ... The child's eyes met the beast's. He had seen her before, he knew it ... Did he kill her?
"You were there…"
"Let me forget ...!"
There was still a human heart, though not a physical one.
Although the tears no longer existed - it would kill anyone who tried to wipe - he cried. He didn't understand why he was feeling that way, or why he was feeling something so different and stifling, hot.
Piltover exploded before his vision in the distance, while a neurotic mind laughed and shouted at the authorities, waving the weapon with which she spoke; but all Warwick could think of was his loneliness. Maybe he'll have to wait.
Wait for someone to scratch behind his ears ...
And maybe - who knows - only with her he could be a good boy ...
But as soon as he feel the scent of blood, he will forget about her again.