Hey guys, my name's Dream Legion.
Some of you reading this might know me from the first story I wrote on this site, 'A Titan's Last March'. Over the years I've been writing, I've been driven to improve in every area of my storytelling. After writing an amateurish beginning that turned many away from reading ATLM, I'm hoping ten months later that I've learned quite a bit, and it will reflect in one of my newest projects: The Delicate Art of Pestilence. Some of my readers have asked me to write about Zaun, so I might as well take a swing at Slush Town. Enjoy reading!
Everyone has a different definition of a hell on earth. Some define such a place through a cruel social standing, complaining and wailing for their fruitless dreams they would wish to come true. Others state ruling under an oppressive tyrant is cause for an earthbound underworld. Environmental hostility or states in anarchy are also frequent answers. What the crowds fail to realize most of the time is that their demonic nature is cause for the creation of these systems and landscapes in the first place. Astonishingly, many deny this fact, and try to keep hold of their loose fantasies of pure-heartedness, brimming with contradictions and naiveté. However, on the other side of the spectrum, instigators and agents of chaos revel in their diabolical natures. In a place like Zaun, that minority is a vast majority.
The Gray drifted through the caverns, constantly spewed from the factories that made up the city's voice, featuring obnoxious pistons and the slow, duller groans of stressed hexdraulics. The underground steampunk city of Zaun is unanimously agreed to fall under the hostile environment category of a hell on earth. Green smoke and poisonous fumes from the industrial facilities favored clumping together at the bottom of the leveled city, where the poor and disabled constantly fought for their weak existences. Toxic runoffs were frequent, stagnating the city's lower reaches.
Conditions were much better in the middle class section, as they have access to markets and the upper levels of the city. However, awful working conditions and unfair wages still put many residents in a slump. Only the rich and smart truly thrived in this twisted metropolis, residing on the highest levels and granted the unique privilege of leaving the city. As an engineering and chemical manufacturing rival of Piltover, the shining example of invention that stood above Zaun on the surface, Zaun required scientific and magical prodigies, who were regarded above all else in the social hierarchy.
A man in a dark trench coat watched above the city square on a corroded, black iron bridge. He smirked as he observed loud, rich folk loitering below. There was humor in the idea that a large population of the prosperous bragged about their social status, when in reality they would be less than the acid-burned scraps of paper people stepped on without the success of a relative. His head turned to the small alchemist shop in the square, where customers commonly left with flasks, books, and boxes of potions piled in their arms. The figure was displeased with the current number of residents who alone attained fortunes through their ingenuity. For a city whose bricks were laid by the sophisticated and intelligent, he found too many hollow-headed rats living within the walls.
The man reached inside his coat and pulled out a handkerchief, wiping the lenses of his metallic, beaked mask. Those dullards are late, he thought impatiently, tapping his cane against filthy metal. It was not wise to test Rimgar's patience, or as he was more well known in rumors as the Count of Contagion. Arriving in this sub-level civilization, Rimgar placed an order in a popular black market shop for supplies. Transactions and deliveries were typically dealt away from the public, not only to eliminate suspicion but additionally to lower the risk of damaging goods. Imperfect items could lead to shattering a retailer's reputation, which for their kind of shady business, is treasured more than life itself. Life that would be quickly snuffed out if they kept the Count waiting any longer.
Rimgar tiredly glanced at a cultivair above him, built into the side of one of Zaun's myriad walkways. These shining, domed gardens that the wealthy called their home was one of the major illusions that stated the underground city was prosperous. Indeed, the surface of Zaun with its eccentric architecture and dull lighting had a charm of its own. Its reputation for blossoming entrepreneurs flocked small businesses from all over Valoran to the caverns below. However, Zaun was not only physically, but metaphorically sick. Lack of a proper police force allowed criminals to run rampant. Even the markets, which were the largest boosters for Zaun's economy, were diseased, greedily bargaining the misfortunate with their products which in turn transferred more money to the cash hogs who lived in one of the luminous spheres. A place like this was the exact type of testing ground Rimgar desired to be in.
The bridge was quiet. The darkly dressed man clicked open a pocket watch chained to his coat belt. "I am really not in the mood to hunt down buffoons," Rimgar sighed. The effort alone would be tasking. In the City of Iron and Glass, its multi-leveled structure meant that many platforms and overpasses were positioned atop streets, alleyways, as well as one another. This mazelike layout provided multiple occasions to slip onto a detour. Even the towers that hung from the ceiling and were built into the cliffside above the caves were a headache to navigate. Interweaving tangles of pipework that littered Zaun were also an alternative method of travel for the lawless. A person with high mobility in this city could be lost to pursuers within seconds.
Footsteps clanged on the run-down platform. "Have my belongings finally arrived?" Rimgar questioned mordantly, still gazing at the scenery.
"Yeah, we got 'em alright. Took us long enough to find you," a man said. Rimgar scoffed.
"Indeed. Especially when your retailer and I precisely laid out a mutual location."
"There are three different Mithril Bridges in Zaun," the same man replied gruffly. "Discreetly transporting our product is hard enough without going on a wild goose chase. We could really do without the rudeness."
"Ha! The man has the audacity to speak of rudeness, when his boss promises a set time and his subordinates are well over an hour late," the masked figure ridiculed, turning towards his visitor. Four goons stood in front of him, the one who spoke appearing to be the leader of the troupe. "Good evening, gentlemen," he said to the leader's friends, mockingly tipping his curvy brimmed top hat.
Rimgar saw the unease in his company's eyes. It was not all that uncommon for people to be uncomfortable with his appearance. His metallic, beaked visage that doubled as a gas mask scared most who walked in his direction. A black coil winded from a clamp on the side of his mask to his back for, specific reasons. Goggles covered in soot were strapped around the base of his hat. His ominously ornate trench coat covered gauntlets and leg bracers; the only visible armor on him were the thick, worn shoulder pads that extended almost to the middle of his forearms. The oddest thing about him however, was the giant black hextech sword that laid on his spine.
"Watch it, smartass. You're lucky we had the patience to come find you and deliver," the leader growled.
"Now the fool barks about patience!" Rimgar retorted. "Not only did you fail to make it on time, but now you are belittling me for your own shortcomings! I'm debating whether or not to spread the word of this terrible customer service to my associates. You well know what happens when a black market retailer's reputation falls."
"Friends?" A short, rat-faced man replied. "If by friends you mean freaks, then you'd be sorry to hear no one's going to take the word of a fruitcake."
"Boys, let's not get this out of hand!" another of them ordered. "He paid good money for these goods, so lets not get violent over our pride."
"Finally, someone with sense!" Rimgar cried out.
"Now, can we please just get this over with? The boss needs me on other shipping duties," the polite person continued.
"Indeed. I believe that would be best for all of us," Rimgar stated.
A thug whispered in the leader's ears. Sighing, the head man turned around and motioned toward something. Wheels whined on the bridge, a small, dirty boy coming into view between two of the hooligans with a rusty wagon. In the wagon was a cardboard box that filled the cart wall to wall. The Count smiled. His unnecessary waiting bore fruit. The boy stopped the wagon in front of the tall, black figure. "Much thanks, child," Rimgar knelt down, flipping the kid a gold coin. After he caught it and gazed at the metal piece, stupefied, he peered up at the man with a twinkle in his eyes and grinned.
When the boy ran off behind Rimgar, the Count removed the lid of the box. Flasks and syringes lined up neatly next to a stack of chemist notes and spell books. Lastly, a plastic container with a greenish black ore inside was positioned in the corner. At last, the Count could begin his precious work. His ears perked up to the sound of a gun hammer clicking. Rimgar chuckled.
"You're making a grave mistake," he said, peering up at four sets of guns trained on him.
The head hooligan snorted. "That's what they all say, freak. Now hand over that sword on your back and I might think about forgiving you for those comments earlier. Might."
Rimgar shook his head, veiling a smile under his mask. "Pardon me, but Malady prefers to introduce herself only when things get serious."
The barrel of the leader's pistol was pressed against the beaked mask. "You mockin' us? Piss me off again and there won't just be lead on the outside of your head."
"For your information, simpleton, this specialized face is made of purified obsidian," Rimgar stated, using his cane to get back to his feet, to the goon's protest. "Secondly, it'd be wise of you not to shoot me."
The rat-faced man spat. "Yeah? And why should we do that?"
The Count laughed wickedly. "Because I've rigged this bridge to blow."
For a second, his enemies were taken aback. "Impossible! There's no way you could've known we were coming!"
"On the contrary, I knew since you gave me that false excuse for why you were late. At one point, there were indeed three Mithril Bridges. However, when I came to Zaun, I spent two days studying the city maps. Both the District 2 and Cliff District overpasses have long since crumbled. My hypothesis is that you were gathering firearms and building contingency plans for this meeting. Even if you did not deceit me straight to my pointed face, I am a cautious man. I am not foolish enough as to assume the truthful outnumber the liars here."
The leader sniggered. "No way. Even if you're telling the truth, all I have to do is blow your brains out before you touch the red button. Problem solved."
"Incorrect. The detonator to the hexplosive charges is connected to my heart," Rimgar tapped the black disc on his belt. "If my heart stops beating for even a second, the bombs will trigger and everything within a fifty foot radius becomes rubble."
Now the goon looked scared. "Y-You're b-bluffing!" the thug stuttered, his pistol quivering with his hand.
"Would you mind if I tested it then?" Rimgar's finger hovered over the disc.
The four goons tensed. "There's no way! It's more than a hundred foot drop to the city square! You're p-precious rock would have no chance of living through that!"
"Do you honestly expect me to care about my possessions if I'm not alive to use them for my benefit?" A pale green gas from gadgets planted beneath the bridge sneakily snaked through the goons' legs, stretching toward the opposite end of the platform. Rimgar sighed. "It seems Zaun doesn't teach common sense in schools anymore. Then again, you monkeys likely haven't spent a minute for formal education in your whole lives.
The gas crawled upward, grabbing the attention of a goon. "Hey, dude!"
"Lil' busy at the moment, you idiot!" The leader growled, a tone more of fear than intimidation.
"D-Dude!" another called out.
"What?!" The leader jerked his head back, his gun still threatening the Count. His eyes turned to saucers soon as he spotted the looming fumes. "Though out of pure luck, a nitwit like you guessed correctly. I was lying about the hexplosives." The head thug turned back, sweat pouring on his temples as his head slowly inclined at Rimgar's growing height.
Rimgar's body expanded proportionately to his increasing height, his clothes morphing into a coat of what seemed like ruffled black feathers. "Bombs are too quick. You can't savor the priceless faces of your victims contorting in terror." The mask elongated outward, sounds like bone cracking as the false face grew. His lenses transformed into wide, pure white pupils. "Besides, demolitions were never my specialty. Certainly not my preferred method of dealing with nuisances. No, I desire to have a bit of fun with my subjects." Feathers like quills erected from his back, red eyes opening along each plume. "And with my favorite toxin currently flooding each and every one of you rats' bloodstreams, have fun I shall."
The monster that now took over the masked man stretched his arms, diddling fingers like Ionian katanas. "Y-Y-You aren't just s-some weak belly like the others! W-Who…what are you?" the leader asked, trembling furiously with his comrades.
"Who am I?" the horror replied satirically. "I am Dr. Lucius Rimgar, or as you all would familiarly recall me as the Count of Contagion." He shadowed over the entire bridge. "As for what I am, I am every person's nightmare."
The behemoth quickly rushed over top the four men. Their screams echoed across the city square. When the man who had been polite to the Count hesitantly opened his eyes, he was shocked to find his friends' corpses sprawled out, fear permanently burned into their faces. His sight turned to an ordinary Rimgar, who held his massive hextech sword. The gases that infected the bridge vacuumed into glowing red sockets built around the sword's rectangle-shaped hilt. The man dropped his gun, lost for words.
"For that comment you shared earlier, you will be spared," the doctor informed, returning his sword to its place on his back when the gas was completely removed. "Send a message to your employer: hire capable workers who aren't trigger-happy." The goon shot to his feet and clumsily fled the scene, shrieking all the way.
Rimgar sighed in relief. Finally. I knew it was a good idea to design a trigger inside the peak of my cane. Returning to his fresh belongings, Rimgar examined the contents of the box thoroughly. For such a bad impression the delivery boys made, he was pleasantly surprised to find everything in pristine condition, save for a few wrinkled, rough-edged notes. He turned to the green material in its casing. Rimgar jittered with excitement. The things I could accomplish with this! The potions to be made, the bodily responses to exposure to be examined, the-
The dark figure's thoughts were cut short as a thin bolt of lightning collided with his back, conducting through his entire form. As he spasmed on the ground, paralyzed, he witnessed a cloaked figure snatch the container with the ore from the box and booked it. Shaking almost as furiously as the shocks that pulsed through his body, Rimgar struggled to reach a button on the side of his cane. Through force of will, he clicked the button, a gas flooding into his mask. In a quick moment, Rimgar's muscles calmed down, the enraged man firing onto his feet, then pursued the thief. He had no time to worry about the box in the wagon, those items were expendable. What was in that container was not.
Rimgar's newest foe was light on his feet, practically dancing across pipes and rooftops. His agility was undoubtedly inferior, especially with Malady weighing him down. Luckily, his breathing wasn't hindered by his mask, designed not only for deep inhales but also quick bursts, especially useful when chasing down prey. He followed the bandit across the slanting rooftops and onto the glass ceilings of parks, over the bridges and the darting, smoky alleyways. The doctor thanked himself for keeping in shape, otherwise this chase would've ended a long time ago. However, the thief had much more stamina, and showed no signs of slowing down.
Stepping onto a wall, the thief sprinted forward, then sprung himself over to a building across the street. Rimgar cursed. His eyes frantically searched for an alternative route. Below him, scaffolding for a repaired sign, which connected to the two buildings, led to the left side of his destination. Shutting off his hesitance, he jumped. This will not be pleasant. Rimgar broke through two floors of the scaffolding before his descent was stopped. If not for the booster he fed into his mask prior, he could've easily broken most of his rib cage. Groaning as he slowly got back up to his feet, the Count sped up the wooden walkways across the scaffolding until he reached the other roof. Spotting the crook, who was now leagues ahead of him, Rimgar brushed off the burning in his chest and continued on the thief's trail.
The chase dragged on. Rimgar felt like he ran through the entire city, climbing pipe works and ascending bridges. Realizing his pursuer was not so easily avoided, the cloaked figure shot lightning towards the doctor once again on the metal belly of a bridge. Rimgar ducked behind a stone column as the projectile collided, circling around. More bolts were fired, the Count weaving through the columns of the bridge, dodging every attack. On the street again, the man caught a breath and peered at what he assumed to be the bandit's destination. Dammit, appears I won't receive any breaks today.
The two pushed through the moderate sized crowd up toward one of the peaks of Zaun: the conveyor station. Rimgar ignored the complaints of the people he pushed aside. His mind was set on retrieving the ore, and he would not allow his own fatigued body to quit despite how much it begged to. The two were now near the top. Ahead, guards stationed for body checks blocked the path to the station. Part of Rimgar hoped that would stop the thief. Lightning blasted at security, blowing up the detector machines and throwing them and every bystander off balance. Of course it wouldn't stop him.
That little distraction the bandit caused allowed Rimgar to slip through effortlessly. Inside the station, marble stairs reached upward for five floors, reaching for an elaborate ceiling far from its grasp. Much of the architecture was based off of Piltover's famous Grand Central Metro. The Count's muscles began to grow heavy, and the air inside his mask was returning to normal. He caught his breath and would've groaned if his lungs allowed it, clicking the button on his cane, the enhancer consuming the insides of his mask once again. Rimgar was running low on booster capsules, but he could always make more. The rare material in that container was more important, even if it meant fighting like an old man for what's his.
Ahead, a hextech conveyor was boarding passengers. Shaped in capsules, the conveyors were designed for maximum transport to Piltover, each elevator containing four floors for passengers. A very convenient means of transport when your only other option is scaling the cliffs. Rimgar tried to suppress the dismay that was welling up inside. If the thief made it to the city above, he would be long gone, and the Count's goals would be shattered. I'll fight in the open if I have to, he grudgingly decided.
Vaulting over the electronic gates, the bandit rushed up a smaller set of stairs toward an open door in the fourth, empty conveyor floor. As Rimgar approached, the bandit pivoted and fired bolts of lightning above. With a loud boom, a large chunk of the marble ceiling toppled to the ground. Rimgar just barely avoided the rock and almost reached the capsule until a ceiling beam plummeted in front of him. The doors to the conveyor closed, the thief mockingly saluting. Cursing, Rimgar frantically scanned the station for a detour onto the elevator. These matters weren't helped by the full-scale panic that stormed the station.
The masked man inclined his head. An opportunity came to him. As the citizens screamed, rushing toward a way out, Rimgar pushed through, and bursted up the marble staircase. At least he didn't have to worry about thinking to breathe running up five flights of steps, as the booster running through his system multiplied his lungs' air capacity. Reaching the top step, Rimgar immediately threw himself through the green glass window to his right. He sprinted across the terracotta and around a corner, where the conveyor was in sight. The thief's position he checked was out of reach, but there was still a chance. At full speed, the Count gripped his sword and leaped off the roof. In front of him was the lowest level of the elevator. Unsheathing Malady, he swung. The glass gave way, and Rimgar somersaulted into a hard landing.
After a few minutes of transit, the conveyor stopped. Sliding open, Rimgar was greeted with the largest, most brilliant overpass in both Zaun and Piltover. Aromas of exquisite food drifted through his air filter. Cries of wishful merchants, cheers, and laughter filled the bridge. Long red banners with embroidered Zaunite and Pilty insignias swayed off the structure with the drafty breeze. Dim lighting from the lampposts couldn't fool that there was a bright atmosphere. Store tents littered the square, their cloth roofs hung from Victorian-style arches that stood on the walls of the bridge. A few hundred yards away, people lined up to a pair of hextech conveyors. Dammit, that crook just had to flee to the Bridgewaltz, Rimgar clenched his fists. That bastard! How dare he expose me in the open so soon!
The doctor observed the lot on the bridge. No protests or disturbances in crowd movement, so Rimgar assumed the thief was blending in. However, if he wanted to cut off the burglar, he'd have to rush through all these people, causing a commotion and risking his prey changing course and sneaking away. With his current attire, the element of surprise was difficult to obtain as well. He'd have to find a way to close off the thief's escape as well as closing in from the back. This wouldn't be like Mithril Bridge: he didn't have any preparations set for this kind of event. All signs pointed toward going loud. Rimgar growled in frustration. Retiring Malady, the Count was absorbed into the masses.
Customers heatedly bargained with stand owners as Rimgar walked by. A few bystanders stared a few seconds too long at him, but he ignored them. Over a quarter way across the bridge, the masked man spotted a gap between the crowd. As he advanced, a large group dance flourished in the middle of the bridge. Hopefully, the thief wasn't too far ahead. The circle was pretty spacious, with its sides measured from the overpass walls about two people thick. Then something caught Rimgar's eye. One of the lampposts started flickering. Looking closer, it appeared the electricity in the bulb was being sucked out, then drawn behind a pair of burly men on the left side of the walkway. The Count grinned.
"Check."
Rimgar picked up his pace, casually pushing through the crowd toward the lamppost. Inching through the bulky men, he noticed the crowd was no longer as packed as it was behind him. Furthermore, he caught sight of a brown cloak headed for the conveyors. Using the mass as cover, Rimgar tracked the thief. The bandit's movements were for the most part inconspicuous, weaving through the festival without a second glance his way. Unfortunately, the same couldn't be said for the Count, often catching murmurs behind him. He was now three quarters across the bridge. Now was the time.
Rimgar gripped Malady. The sword faintly flared red for a second before subtly exhaling a yellow gas, laxly colliding with the ground. He made a circling motion with his cane, then tenderly lifted and pointed his cane toward the elevators. Rimgar now was before the iron-barred, arched sign for Bridgewaltz. Skulking between the feet of the crowd, the vapor hastily approached the elevator. The Count wagged his cane. Suddenly, the fumes split, circling around outside the bridge then back to the entrance of the conveyors. As the smoke sneaked to the bridge exit, Rimgar kept the target in sight. The gas was in position. It was now or never.
"Checkmate."
Rimgar clasped the top of his cane with both hands, and slammed the butt on the ground. All at once, the miasma exploded outward, shrouding the area in a poisonous smog. A quarter of Bridgewaltz was thrown into disarray, startled citizens overpowering the music and singing with their cries of horror. Others choked on the yellow smoke, keeling over. The thief stopped dead in his tracks. Quickly swiveling backward, the cloaked figure immediately noticed the darkly dressed man.
"Return the container," Rimgar demanded, holding his cane with two hands, positioned similar to a gatekeeper.
"It's too late for that," the thief replied with a young voice like static. Two balls of electricity formed in his hands. Rimgar smirked, folding his cane and slipping it into his belt. Then, he pulled out a hungry Malady and entered a stance.
"Let us dance."
The Count rushed forward. Winding up, the thief fired a series of bolts at his opponent. Rimgar was able to dodge most, yet was thrown backward when a sphere of voltage blasted Malady at point-blank range. The masked man landed on his feet, emitting this time a white vapor. He rushed again, attacking with an upward swing. The bandit sidestepped and attempted a counterattack. However, Rimgar swung sideways. The thief ducked again, spinning into a sweeping kick. Responding with a jump, the doctor impaled his sword into the ground, his foe rolling backward out of harm's way.
Shifty little weasel, aren't you? An irate Rimgar thought, relentlessly barraging his opponent with his massive sword. To the Count's delight, the white mist appeared to be working, as his opponent started to get sluggish. He swung at a downward angle, confident he'd finally strike. By mere millimeters, the bandit dodged the weapon, his arm swiping up in a circular motion toward Rimgar's chest. In a large burst, the man was blasted backward, rolling several yards away and dissipating his foggy aura. Then, the bandit peculiarly outstretched his hands. Rows of lamplights broke as energy soaked into his blue palms. Struggling to pick his heavy body off the ground, Rimgar retrieved his fallen top hat, noticing there wasn't much enhancer left in his mask. He had to finish this quickly.
The bandit clasped his wrist and arced the fingers in his open palm. By the hairs that stood at attention on his back, Rimgar at once knew this kid was conducting colossal amounts of electricity. As plasma danced between his fingers, the thief made a fist, his arm suddenly shaking violently. Still trembling, he lifted his arm and extended two fingers, pointing towards the Count. Energy howled out of his body, two blue dots forming on his fingertips. It was time for Rimgar to move.
A true lightning bolt fired from the kid's hand. Rimgar evaded the initial assault, however a thinner stream of voltage cut off from its main source and struck the man. Now on his back again, he clutched his chest. A small hole was singed into his coat's sternum, burning his torso even through his onyx-fragmented vest. If he had worn an ordinary chest plate, he would be dead right now. The masked man didn't even notice the boom. Once the dust cloud thinned, much of Bridgewaltz square appeared to be splintered in pieces, littered with multiple bodies. Rimgar gritted his teeth. Who is this child?!
The thief groaned, stumbling back a step, catching himself just before he entered the pernicious mist. Shocks sprung from his cloak, leaping through the gaseous air. Oh, this certainly won't end well. Momentarily, the gas lighted up to a bluish color, then violently exploded into a ball of fire. The resulting inferno scaled a quarter of the bridge. Rimgar reached one of the bridge's edges, patting down the embers that caught an arm of his coat. The conveyor section of Bridgewaltz was now a gaping hole, the unconscious hoodlum sprawled out in front of it.
A low moan reached Rimgar's ears. Slowly, the moan turned into a rapid-paced creaking. He peered over the side. The under-arching support beam right below him was beginning to come apart from the cliff side.
"Misfortune, you cruel bastard," Rimgar growled.
His gaze turned to the thief. When the man made step forward, the beam slipped from the cliff. Stone folded inward and plummeted around Rimgar, removing any safe footing left. He took off at a sprint, fully aware he only had a few more breaths before the booster was completely purged from his mask. In seconds, he was mere feet away from his goal. His luck rewarded him by crumbling the entire surface below the bandit.
"Dammit, dammit, dammit, dammit!" Rimgar yelled, diving after the boy.
Solid ground was now nonexistent. The masked man reached desperately for the thief. I'm so close! Just a little more! His fingers tightened. Rimgar touched the scruff of the cloak and clenched his fist around the cloth. With the thief in hand, Rimgar clutched a bending girder and swung himself to the right. The duo landed hard onto the support beam still connected to the cliff, almost sliding off into certain death. The Count inhaled his last breath of the booster vapor, then threw the burglar onto his shoulder, and sprinted toward a maintenance room built on the cliff below the bridge. Rubble flew all around them, whispering death threats as they plummeted to the city. A large chunk of rock nearly squashed them by inches. Rimgar roared, vaulting onto a midair piece of bridge floor, then jumped.
Next thing Rimgar felt was smashing through glass and rolling into the back wall of the maintenance room. He waited for the dizziness to end before he sparsely checked himself over. Other than the hole in his coat, the burn on his sternum, and his screaming muscles, he was relatively okay. Malady lay on the floor to his right. The thief was passed out next to him. The Count reached over and patted down the cloak, finding the container in an inner pocket, grabbing it and hiding the ore inside his own.
His body begged sleep, and about succumbed until his hand glanced over his belt. Rimgar's eyes shot open, searching the room. Finding the effort futile, he dragged himself to what was left of the window, struggling to peak over the side. A few minutes passed and Rimgar rested his arms against the windowsill. Scanning his surroundings once more, his sight locked onto a silver pocket watch that hung from a jagged shard of glass. The Count sighed in relief, snatching his possession. Slumping to the ground as descending debris thundered in his ears, Rimgar gave in to his body's pleas.
When next he woke, morning light pestered Rimgar's tired eyes. He glanced over toward the thief, who remained unconscious. After some attempts, the masked man managed to get to his feet. Retrieving his sword, distant voices caught his attention. Rimgar returned to the window, spotting Pilty Special Forces standing on what was left of Bridgewaltz. He had to exit the crime scene as soon as possible. Get arrested by Piltover's task force, and they'll show you that in a few ways, the shining city above was more sadistic than the some of the worst bottom feeders in Zaun.
Behind Rimgar was a maintenance closet in the corner. Inside, he found a few items he could work with. With supplies in hand, the Count tied the thief's hands and feet. Curiosity abruptly spoke to him. Rimgar tried removing the boy's hood, surprised to find it very difficult. As he finally pulled the cowl off, crackling light hissed at Rimgar. The count examined the face of a boy he assumed not much older than seventeen. It wasn't his age that demanded his attention however, but rather his…special features, to say the least.
"My, my," Rimgar breathed in awe. "How...captivating."
By smell alone, the boy realized he was in unfamiliar territory. Peeking through the slits in his eyes, he found himself in a rundown apartment with boarded-up windows. The faint smell of vinegar and other chemicals ambled in the musty air. He peered down, his hands strapped to a chair, completely covered in thick, black coils. The boy chastised himself for being captured.
"Has the nimble little bird finally awoken?" a voice cooed. The teen immediately shut his eyes.
"Oh, come now. Don't be coy. We both know you're conscious."
Giving up his element of surprise, he opened his eyes. Standing over him was tall figure dressed in black. On the figure's face was a short-beaked, metallic mask that encased the entire head. The odd character chuckled.
"You're a swift one, aren't you?" he said, using a cane to walk over to a mauled sofa.
"You look like the type who buys his entire wardrobe at Hot & Toxic," the boy retorted. "Tell me, is that tin can on your face a limited edition?"
The figure replied with a laugh. "Jests at a time like this? An admirable quality. But pointless nonetheless." Plopping down with a groan, the strange man turned back to his prisoner, reaching into his coat.
"You stole something valuable from me, and I had to run you down half the city. To say the very least, I am displeased." He pulled out the container with the green ore. The boy's eyes turned to saucers, fighting against his restraints in vain. Then he noticed lightning refused to exit his hands.
"Don't try firing voltage at me again," the figure stated. "Those coils tied around your hands are made of a broad rubber. An effective insulator." The boy scowled.
"Where am I?"
"In a safehouse a few blocks south of Bridgewaltz," the man replied. "Or rather, what's left of Bridgewaltz. Any farther and I would have collapsed outright." He glanced at a pocket watch from his belt. "You made quite the spectacle back there. I had previously hoped I wouldn't come out into the open so soon."
The boy smirked. "If you came out of the closet in a place like this, you're more of a freak than I thought." The figure sighed.
"Alas, I do not waste my time with childish slangs. Now, which company in the black market are you employed to?"
"You got any grub here?" the teen dodged. "Accidently demolishing a landmark makes a guy hungry."
"My apologies, but my supply of batteries has run dry." This remark shocked the boy, realizing only now his hood was off. He attempted breaking free again, to no avail. The masked man leaned forward.
"I must say though, your physiology is truly extraordinary. This form of self-regenerating bio-plasma is a sight to behold."
"Shut up!" the thief shouted. "This sight is hideous! And I swear, if you try prodding me with a needle, I'll…"
"Oh, come now, my dear boy," the man interjected. "I wouldn't do any of the sort. My field of expertise isn't in plasma or even meteorology." The boy couldn't read what his captor thought of him. With skin that gave off a bluish glow and crackled with electricity, the reactions he'd experienced in the past certainly weren't pleasant.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"Dr. Lucius Rimgar, toxicologist." Given the thief's befuddled expression, the man known as Rimgar sighed. "A toxicologist, or what simple men would dub me as, a plague doctor."
"A doctor?! Don't make me laugh!" the boy burst out. "You killed dozens with that poison gas on the bridge!"
Rimgar chuckled. "So you too see the irony in it all. That I don't eradicate pandemics, I create them. On a side note, if you hadn't shot lightning at me and ruptured the bridge, dozens more wouldn't have lost their lives. In fact, none would have been touched last night if you hadn't stolen from me in the first place." His cane tapped the floor. "Now, who in the black market are you working for?"
The boy stiffened. The doctor groaned. "If you simply tell me the identity of your supervisor, I will release you from your restraints unharmed." The prisoner scoffed.
"Like I'm gonna trust the guy who literally scared three men to death, and forced me to kill. Even if I did, you couldn't possibly understand my circumstances."
Standing, Rimgar limped over to the boy. "I have a theory. The people you're working for made you this way, and are now forcing you to get your hands dirty. That, or you have no place to turn to." Judging by the boy's expression, the doctor assumed both sides of his theory to be true. Rimgar pulled out a dagger, frightening the teen momentarily before he cut the rubber bonds.
"Why?"
The masked man slipped the dagger back into his coat. "I can tell your life has been misfortunate."
"I don't need your pity," the boy snorted.
"Sympathy, my dear boy," Rimgar corrected. "There's a difference."
"Yeah? And how's that?" The boy felt a dark stare originating from the mask lenses.
"I'm going to help you exterminate your oppressors."
The boy craned his neck back and roared with laughter, then bended over, clutching his stomach.
"Y-You can't be serious!" he said, unconvinced. "A guy who tried to kill me yesterday now wants to help me solve all my problems?" Even with the mask on, the boy felt Rimgar's seriousness.
"Why?" he asked again
"I see it in your eyes," the dark man replied. "You hate this city almost as much as I do. The rich, fat pigs that trample everyone under them. The malicious environment almost as virulent as the society it houses."
"You're right. I have had a rough life. I hate this city. But if I don't bring back the rock in your pocket or try to desert, they'll track me down and kill me."
"All the more reason for you to accept my help."
The electric teen walked past Rimgar, moving the top hat on his noticeably singed cloak to another hook, then pulled the cloth over his shoulders.
"I'm not even sure you can pull it off. These guys aren't pushovers."
The doctor laughed with a wickedness that could scare that toughest of men. "Nor am I. You saw my encounter with the goons on Mithril Bridge. I am well prepared. Besides, the public eye does not call me the Count of Contagion without good reason."
The boy froze. "What?" he muttered in disbelief, turning to face Rimgar.
"When you say Count of Contagion, do you mean the madman who massacred Kilgrove with poison gas? You smoked out one of Noxus' largest trade centers?"
Rimgar chuckled. "Last I heard, the Noxians were labeling me a terrorist. Madman might be a bit of an exaggeration."
This was nuts. The boy was in the presence of a Level 4 criminal. Then again, he was offering to help the boy destroy the people shackling him to this miserable life. Then something crossed his mind.
"What's the catch?" he inquired.
Rimgar pondered this for a moment. "Since arriving in Zaun, I've been on my own, dealing with problems by myself. I've needed an assistant in my laboratory for the longest time, and an ally who can hold his own in combat. What's the modern term for it…oh yes! 'Scratch my back, and I'll scratch yours'."
The boy shook his head. "Me? Help out at psychopath?"
"You would have more freedoms than you ever would with whomever you are working for," Rimgar countered.
The teen remained silent for a few minutes. "Would you force me to kill innocents?"
"I won't force you to do anything, dear boy. Simply put, my motives are to remove the sickness in Zaun using my toxins. Fighting fire with fire is another way to put it. With my expertise and your fascinating abilities, I'm certain it can be accomplished." Uncertainty still remained in the young man's heart. Rimgar held out his hand.
"Help me rid the scum that have polluted this city."
The boy smirked. "I touch that armor around your hand and you'll be electrocuted."
"No worries. My gauntlets are insulated for the cold down here."
"Aren't you still angry with me for stealing your rock?" the boy asked.
"Truthfully, not all of my frustration has left me. However, you were only an emissary. It is your overseers I will ruin. Toppling a questionable organization with one they expect is still under their control would be quite humorous, don't you think?"
The kid shrugged. "Oh what the hell, not like I've got much life to live anyway. Sounds fun." He gripped Rimgar's hand firmly.
"Excellent. For convenience's sake, introductions are needed."
"R-Right," the kid scratched his head. "Name's Celteus."
"Celteus? How intriguing," the doctor said. "If I am not mistaken, Celteus is derived from the name of one of the old Shuriman gods, Celtiome, which in their language means…"
"Voyager."
Rimgar blinked. "By Celtiome, you're the first person I've met in Zaun whose head is not bone dry."
"You kidding me? Combining two dumb jokes in one sentence?"
Rimgar chuckled, this time more light-hearted than evil. "You aren't the only one with lingual talent." Celteus rolled his eyes.
"In your hands, its more of a curse."
The Count wrapped his arm around the boy, who pulled up his hood. "Come, we must recharge our batteries."
"Are you serious?!" Celteus groaned. "First day on the job, and now you're spitting electric puns at me?!" Rimgar chortled.
"Oh, my friend, the things we will accomplish."
The duo walked out, returning the dilapidated apartment to its vacancy. The eccentric doctor now found himself a new partner, one who hopefully would become a trusted companion. However, if he were to cripple Zaun, at one point the Count would have to deal with him. In the bigger picture, the City of Iron and Glass was only the beginning. With Celteus by his side, Rimgar will purge the Noxian Empire.
So, what'd you think of the story? Debating on whether or not I should continue this, depends on how popular it gets ( which considering the friendless fag I am, it probably won't DX ). Either way, I had loads of fun writing this piece. If you like that piece, favorite and follow, if you have an opinion about how the story is written or what's in the story, don't be hesitant to pm me or drop a review. Anyway guys, thanks for reading my work, and hopefully you'll see me soon!