Once again everyone, we're back with a new chapter of everybody's favorite League of Legends fanfic! I know that isn't necessarily true, but this time excited because WE RECENTLY HIT ONE HUNDRED FAVORITES, BABY! WHOOOOOOOOOOOO! I finally achieved both my goals for this fic, which feels absolutely amazing. I somehow have 144 followers too, and I didn't even notice! I've said this plenty of times before over the course of this story, but from the bottom of my heart, thank you all for being so supportive. It's because of you that I've been as motivated and successful as I am now, and I can't help but continue to want to do my best. I owe it to ya. So, let's get down to what's happening this chapter, eh? As you probably guessed, Helios is finally going to be talking with Warwick face-to-face. You might find that they have more in common than you realize, but I'll just let you read on so that it can be properly explained. Now that I've said everything I needed to say, read on, dear readers. You da real MVPs.


"You're sure this is the right place?" I asked, staring straight down into the darkness. "This seems a little crazy, even by his standards."

The tiny blue bird on my shoulder trilled a series of chirps, using a vocal pattern that suggested she was wondering why I even bothered asking such a stupid question. Janna was a tad bit saltier on this world than she was on mine. I could've sworn that she even rolled her eyes, though I couldn't be sure, as she was a bird.

Despite that difference, not much was different about her. Still the same tranquil beauty, still the same wind powers, still the same everything, almost. The only thing I had no clue about was whether she was a Star Guardian or not. I prayed to whatever gods who existed that she wasn't. She'd done enough.

Was I even the sun on this world? Was I even sentient? Was Selene even sentient? That was another thing I couldn't help but pray for. If I was just a big ball of gas and Selene just a big glowing rock, that'd be a nice change of pace. If Janna was an example of the most gods interfered here, then maybe this Runeterra wasn't completely screwed over yet.

Warwick, it seemed, had deemed it appropriate to carve out his new territory in the remains of an old smelting pit, placed smack-dab in the middle of one of the scrapyards on the outskirts. This had previously been Chem-Baron territory, if Janna had told me correctly, but someone or something had kicked down the door and proclaimed the area as theirs. The Chem-Baron (couldn't bother to recall the name) had apparently made it out alive, but that was as far as Janna knew. I was willing to bet money that he'd cut himself at least once. He was a dead man if he had.

The scrapyard itself was nothing special. It had already been rusting away before Warwick had arrived, and now that it lacked proper maintenance it was in even worse condition. The twenty-meter walls surrounding the ovular compound were made of iron loaded with chemtech, and yet massive shards were peeling off around the entire circumference. Four watchtowers had once guarded the mechanical wealth within, but the chemtech turrets (oh yes, they have those) were now deactivated, stripped of the actual chem and left as rotting husks. They weren't even good for parts. There had actually been massive gashes ripped into the machinery when I climbed over by using the metal peels as handholds. It looked like they'd been ripped apart, decimated by something with massive strength and fangs.

Of all the stupid, crazy and downright suicidal ideas I'd ever had, this was probably one of the worst.

Once you got past the walls, that was where the scrapyard found its few redeeming qualities. Scrap metal flooded the entire area, ranging from simple nuts and bults to steam golems, which looked like older models of Blitzcrank. I wasn't entirely sure how to feel about that, but hopefully I wouldn't be around long enough to suffer another brooding session. Guard platforms stood like islands in the sea of iron, connected by flimsy steel bridges that had snapped in half in some areas, on account of rusting. The only way to tell how scrap was carried in an out was by the giant claw crane that jutted out from a watchtower, long enough to reach the other side. From there, it would dump the scrap outside, where it could be sorted and put to use.

And last but not least, there was the crown jewel of the entire set - the smelting pit. The actual pit itself was way down in the ten-meter hole at the center of the yard, which opened up in an upside-down funnel shape as you got further down. The pit hadn't been used for a while, and as of then was just a lake of ash. Platforms ringed around it below, with deactivated lighting running alongside them. There also appeared to be a network of corridors within the funnel, most likely for worker barracks and supply areas, along with a few escape routes.

In other words, the perfect place for a mutated werewolf to hide.

I sighed, looking at the wind spirit from where she was perched. "You can head off now, if you want. I'll be fine from here on out."

Wind swirled around her petite form, turning into a small funnel cloud that dove onto the ground like a slinky, expanding until it revealed Janna in her humanoid form. "Are you sure?" She asked. "It's my job to protect those who need me. I don't wan't to leave you here if you're defenseless."

My heart split open in my chest.

Janna was always so kind, so caring, so concerned with everyone's safety. She was one of the better deities in Valoran - humble, generous and loyal to the end. She always made it a personal affair whenever someone prayed to her, watching over them as their own guardian angel. What had I ever done to deserve having her in my service?

Nothing.

Which meant that she needed to stay as far away from me as she possibly could.

"Well..." I huffed. "I'm not defenseless, and I don't really need your help either, so I'm good."

She blinked, startled, before relaxing, moving a hand to rest on my shoulder. "We all need help sometimes." She said. "There's no shame in asking for it." True, but it wasn't like I deserved it. I'd forgotten that she could be stubbornly persistent when it came to this kind of thing.

"I'll be fine. Really." I rebutted. "This isn't the first time I've dealt with someone like him. I know how to put him down if he tries anything." This, of course, was a bald-faced lie. If Warwick tried anything at all, there wouldn't be much I'd be able to do about it. I would be dead before I even knew what hit me. But, well, Janna didn't need to know that. One little white lie wouldn't hurt her.

However, the Storm's Fury didn't look all that convinced. "Are you saying that because you'll actually be fine, or because you don't want me involved?" She crossed her arms, her scepter floating next to her. I inwardly cursed. This was not one of those times that I was grateful for her intelligence. Really, couldn't this Janna just be a little bit more oblivious? No? Figures. I'd been freeloading off of life for so long that I'd forgotten what it was to have a hard time. I guess this was life's way of saying "payback time, bitch."

"I said I'll be fine." I didn't budge an inch. "Don't you have other people to help out?"

"As of right now, no." She said. "You seem awfully anxious to get rid of me."

"What tipped you off?" I asked. "My witless charm?"

"If you're insistent about going down there alone, then I shouldn't be letting you go at all." Janna replied. "You're basically asking me to kill you."

I huffed in annoyance. "Maybe I am. Do you have a problem with that?"

She joined me in my silence. For a few seconds, it was just the two of us, listening to the soft hissing of the malfunctioning chemtech. "You're hurt." She said, after a while.

"My implants kinda made that obvious, don't you think?" I asked.

"No." She pressed hand to my chest, right next to the shard. "In here."

I dropped my gaze to the floor with a sigh. "I...please leave." I pleaded. "It's not that I don't want you around because I dislike your company. I don't want you around because..." I paused. "I don't want you around because I don't want you to get hurt."

"Why would you be so concerned for my safety?" She asked. "I'm perfectly capable of handling myself, you know."

"I know that better than most." I chuckled, before my serious demeanor returned. "I'm not asking for much. If I need you, I'll call for you. But right now...I need to be alone. It's for the best that nobody gets involved."

She furrowed her brow with confusion, then slowly nodded. "I've got my eye on you." She warned, wagging a finger at me. "Don't get mad at me when I say 'I told you so' after nearly getting yourself killed."

"Yeah, yeah." I rolled my eyes. "Now get outta here. It's time for you to get back to work. Wouldn't want to make your boss angry, would you?"

"My...what?" She asked.

By then I'd already begun climbing down into the smelting pit.

It was time to have a chat with an old friend.


There was one common trait that all smelting pits shared:

They smelled absolutely awful.

It was going to take weeks to wash the stench out, as I'd been wading knee-deep in...whatever it was, for about fifteen minutes. This seemed like something that would be inevitable, walking through a narrow corridor that was the equivalent of a sewer, but complaining wouldn't get me anywhere. If anything, it'd only alert Warwick to my position, and then I'd really be screwed.

"I thought alligators were supposed to be fans of places like this." I grumbled, after almost tripping into the noxious substance. "Though in all honesty I doubt that even Renekton would be interested in something this bad..."

The worst part was the dark. I hated it when it was dark in these situations. The only consolation I had was that Warwick's chemical augmentations would be glowing, which meant that I'd be able to see him coming. Still, I doubted that I'd be fast enough to react.

My hands kept my body upright by sliding around the curved walls of the tunnel, fumbling for purchase in the shadows. The smell only grew more rancid as I pressed on, which may have indicated that I was getting closer. It was hard to tell what exactly I was smelling.

My left hand suddenly fell into an opening in the wall, and I fell in the same direction, catching myself in what was revealed to be a doorway. After providing it with a healthy dose of furious insults, I took a moment to observe the room I was standing in. My fingers probed around for a light switch, and flipped the lever up once they'd found it. The bulb in the center of the ceiling barely had enough juice left to do an adequate job, and the glass had become stained with fungus and other forms of muck. Just like the rest of the city, the room was now bathed in green. Couldn't they ever just throw a little bit of blue or red in? At least it'd relieve the monotony.

The bed was caked with ash and grime, the sheets looking like they were about as comfortable as sandpaper. It appeared to be what was left of a barrack. I almost didn't notice the gigantic hole in the corner of the wall. It clearly hadn't been a part of the initial design, as giant claw marks were embedded in the metal around it. Warwick wasn't one for subtlety, apparently.

I trudged through the muck and peeked through the hole, wary for a sudden werewolf ambush. Instead, the hole led into another corridor, with another hole in the wall. This pattern repeated itself, going through multiple rooms and hallways until it trailed off into the blackness.

I huffed. "Well, at least he's making it easy for me." I muttered.

I gingerly stepped over the hole, then made steady progress towards Warwick's newest den, aided by the dim lighting the first room created. I was going to have to ask Viktor for implants that were capable of glowing in the dark - assuming he didn't kill me for this afterwards. Each room transitioned from barracks to washrooms to storage rooms, but they all looked like Zac had taken a shit in each of them. I couldn't help but wonder if he was here too. Probably.

I got deeper and deeper, losing my way again as the barrack's light failed to reach me. Luckily, the holes stopped shortly after, which meant that I only had to walk straight. Of course, there could always be a wall I'd run into, which would actually be more accurate in regards to my luck.

BONG!

I promptly fell flat on my back in the raw sewage.

Figures.

After the unfortunate demise of my nostrils, I ran my hands along the wall to search for a way out. I soon found that the tunnel went to the right, and promptly followed.

BONG!

I was going to kill Warwick just because he was being such a damn inconvenience.

This time, I'd crashed into the top half of a door, with the bottom half having been sliced off. It appeared to be one of those vertical sliding doors, which explained why the Laws of Physics weren't freaking out. Not that I ever gave a damm about the Laws of Physics. Who needs 'em?

There was a dim green light emanating from the opening, which elicited a gulp in response. Sweat starting coalescing on my neck, from both the heat and my nervousness.

This is such a stupid idea.My conscious told me.

No shit. I agreed. I honestly have no idea why I'm doing this.

But screw it, right? My conscious replied. We're probably gonna die if we try to back out, so we might as well go through with this.

I pressed my hands and forehead to the door, dampening it with my sweat. After stilling my pounding heartbeat, I clenched my fingers into fists, set my mouth into a firm line and nodded. "Alright, Warwick." I said. "Come get some."

I stooped down and squatted beneath the door, inching my way under it and out to the other side. I could just faintly make out the outline of a lever from the green light above. I really didn't want to focus on that until I'd acquired the not-really-advantage of the light. I guess that as a star, it was in my nature to seek out light if I couldn't generate it. And why wouldn't I? It's soothing. Calms my nerves.

I flipped the lever, squinting my eyes as I waited for them to adjust. After they had, I took a few precious seconds to take in my surroundings.

I appeared to be in some sort of supply room, circular in shape and wide enough to hold forty people at once pressed together. Overturned rotten crates littered the back of the room, spilling rusted scrap and moldy food. This would've been heaven for rats, but judging by the bits of bone and halfway-constructed skeletons that were scattered around the floor, Warwick had taken it upon himself to be his own pest control.

My nose wrinkled at a rancid smell in one of the room's makeshift corners (circles don't have corners - geometry lesson, scrubs). Were those droppings? Did Warwick seriously take shits in his own bachelor pad? Without flushing? I knew that he was an animal, but he was still at least partially human - there was no excuse for terrible hygiene.

I then noticed that the rats weren't the only dead thing in this room. Warwick had apparently taken to human corpses as well, stashing them away for later. His idea of leftovers didn't settle well with me. There wasn't a clean spot to be found on the walls, either. They were covered with dried blood, grime and slash marks, and extended down to the floor. I was fairly certain that while my world's Warwick was a pain in the ass, he at least knew how to keep his room clean. If this wasn't worth my time, I was finally going to lose it and throw a fit. It'd been a while since I'd had one of those.

Plip.

Something landed on my shoulder.

I slowly looked down to see that it was a goopy, contaminated scrap of meat, mixed with green chemicals and saliva. It started hissing on contact, so I quickly brushed it off.

Plip.

Another moist piece fell on my head. I almost cursed as I felt it begin to sear through my hair, brushing it off even faster than the last one.

I stepped back, letting the pieces of meat fall in front of me. Where the hell was that coming from?

...rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr...

I froze.

And then I looked up.

As expected of a typical Zaunite structure buried underground, there was a messy network of gigantic pipes that ran from wall to wall near the ceiling. It was almost like looking at a spiderweb, if you looked at it in a certain way. Each pipe was thick enough to make for an easy walkway, and they all intersected to make a sort of platform in the center.

And hunched down on that center, glaring at me with his burning red eyes while blood dripped from his jaw, was Warwick. He'd brought up one of his recent kills, and was currently devouring the remains.

This felt like more of a mistake than ever.


Warwick didn't waste much time afterwards.

In a flash, he'd discarded his meal and pounced, before I'd had even a second to react. He landed right on me, knocking me to the ground while pinning my arms and legs with one of his claws and both feet. Interesting advantage.

"Why have you been following me?!" Warwick snarled, spraying spittle and chemicals into my face. That'd leave a few burns, if I survived. "Who sent you here?! The Chem Barons?! Singed?!" The other claw was wrapped around my neck, clenching hard.

I blinked.

Now, this was probably a stupid thing to be thinking while I was being interrogated, but the only thing I could think of was:

What the hell is up with this guy's voice?

I should've been expecting it, but this Warwick sounded nothing like the original. Granted, he looked nothing like the original, but it was still surprising. The old Warwick had a thick, rumbling growl, one that was silky smooth, yet utterly menacing at the same time. This Warwick sounded way more deranged. Within just a few short sentences, his voice had gone up and down every octave repeatedly, words strung together with barely any control. It sounded...wetter, too. Like he was speaking and gargling saltwater at the same time. Warwick sounded like he was reigning in his primal urges with every ounce of his strength every single second, and he was fighting a losing battle.

Through the pinpricks of pain and phlegm that dotted my vision, I finally had the opportunity to stare into Warwick's eyes up close.

It was like staring into two miniature red suns, and as a star, I can confidently say that. It felt like they were going to burst into flames at any moment, just from the raw anger they emanated.

But most of all, through that animalistic rage and killing instinct, through the exhaustion that came from being strangled, I finally realized what else lurked behind that gaze. Why his kills felt so familiar.

"ANSWER ME!" He roared, baring his fangs. He tightened his grip on my arms, and I felt my implants groan under the strain. It was the shot of adrenaline I needed to get my mouth moving, and preferably moving fast.

I shook my head frantically, flinging beads of sweat everywhere. "No...no one!" I gasped, through his ironclad grip. "I'm...only here...of my own accord...and I came alone!"

"Then why?!" He demanded, as I began to black out.

"Because..." Rather unhelpfully, he squeezed tighter, hastening the pace at which I was falling unconscious.

"Because you-" I tried to breathe in, but nothing came from it, sucking on a void.

"Because what?! SPIT IT OUT!" He roared.

"BECAUSE YOU HATE THEM!" I belted out in a gasp, using the last wisp of oxygen I had.

I fell slack in his grip.

And then...he let go.

I coughed and sputtered as I refilled my lungs, everything coming back to me in a rush. Warwick had backed off, standing on both hind feet while hunched over. He regarded me with suspicion, but confusion had just been thrown into the mix.

"Them?" His eyes narrowed.

"The-" I hurled up one last coughing fit, wiping my mouth after I'd recovered. "The people you've killed. Whenever I stare at a new corpse you've made, all I can see in the remains is hate."

He didn't reply, briefly glancing down at the floor.

"You know, don't you?" He asked, looking back up at me. "You've felt it."

"I still do." I replied. "Every day."

We were quiet after that, considering what to do next. This was...odd, to be certain. We were both still on edge, but curiosity was getting the better of us. Me? I wanted to know why Warwick had gone on a killing spree. Him? He wanted to know I knew what it felt like to be in his position, among other things. It was why he wasn't acting so hostile, I guess. If I'd been anyone else, he would've either tried to kill me, or warn me to stay away and then leave. But I had his interest, and I wasn't going to waste the opportunity.

"You knew my name." He said, after a few minutes had passed. "From...before. How?"

I sighed. "I guess I wasn't being completely honest when I gave my reason for following you." I sat myself down on a crate, wincing as I felt its dampness soil my pants. "I don't really know how else to say this, but where I'm from...I...know you."

His skeptical-yet-curious growl told me to continue.

"We've never met before." I said. "Well, we have, but not you you." I wasn't really good at explaining myself. "Another you. From before."

"Before?" Warwick looked down at himself. "Before...this?"

"...Yeah. Kind of." I halfheartedly agreed. "You...hurt someone close to me." I brought my gaze to my feet. "I loved her very much."

"So it's personal." Warwick concluded. He tilted his head to one side, considering something. "I don't...remember. Before." He huffed. "I didn't even know my name, until you told me. Now...I remember some things. Not everything."

"Your transformation warped your memory, I'm guessing." I said. "Did your buddy Singed have that in mind when he pumped you full of the stuff you've got in that chamber on your back?"

"HE IS NOT MY FRIEND!" Warwick snapped, spraying saliva as he violently smacked his chops at me. "It's because of him that I am what I am now."

"Hm." I grunted. "That's a new one." So, Singed was Warwick's enemy on this world. That could be useful, in the right situation. "He captured you?"

"Then he tortured me. Broke me. And cast me aside when he was done playing with me." He bitterly confirmed. "Before the pain...nothing."

"You don't remember a thing?" I asked. "Not even how he caught you in the first place?"

He slowly shook his head.

I hummed. "What do you remember?"

"The operating table. The torment. The pain." Warwick bluntly responded. "Before that, nothing."

It occurred to me that I was trying to coax a psychotic wolfman into talking about his mental issues, but my life had been way weirder beforehand. This didn't even rank high on the list.

"Nothing at all?" I raised an eyebrow. "Anything of value would help. I'm still debating on whether to trust you or not."

Warwick paused, thinking. "I sometimes hear a girl in my dreams. She screams, but I don't know what she's saying. It sounds like a name, but then it fades."

"Warwick." I said. "That's what she was saying."

"Maybe." He replied. "Other times, when I killed gangers in the streets, I'd remember a knife. And blood. On my hands." He stopped, working things out in his head. It actually looked like it was physically hard for him to think. Whatever Singed had done, it hadn't been pretty. "I was one of them, once."

"A gangster." I guessed.

"And a killer." He looked down at his claws. They were still stained with his newest kill. "I still am. So I hunt."

"You hunt killers. Criminals." I concluded. "You weren't in control when you killed those innocent people months ago, were you?"

"No." He replied. "I only needed blood. It was only when I remembered that I remembered the hate. I don't hate them. I hate myself. The only thing I know about my life before is that I tried to be better. But I wasn't. Now...I can't run from myself. I can only hunt."

In that moment, I finally understood why Warwick was doing what he was doing.

He'd tried to do good, but things didn't go the way he wanted. He tried to be better, and to do the best he could, but in the end it wasn't enough. The city had taken everything from him as a price. He'd been broken down and strung back together with hate, and now all he could do was to kill as many of Zaun's criminals as he could. Not just because they were criminals - but because they constantly reminded him of the fact that he'd been a failure. He wasn't the good guy. In his mind, he didn't deserve to be. He was just the guy that got rid of the bad guys. He took care of everyone else's problems while he never fixed his own.

In a lot of ways, Warwick's problems were remarkably similar to mine, and it was pretty jarring. I'd tried to protect Demacia, to protect my friends and everyone that I loved, but I'd ignored my arrogance. I let Selene pull the wool over my eyes. In return, she kicked my ass and left me to die, while simultaneously enslaving everything and everyone that I'd been trying to protect in the first place. I didn't deserve to be with them. All I had left was hate. So I was going to kill Selene, eliminate her armies, and then...I'd leave. I'd never interfere again.

"It's a damning mistress, ain't it?" I chuckled. "It empowers us. It makes us stronger. But in return, it demands that we sacrifice our humanity."

"So you do know." Warwick said. "Who tore you apart and pieced you back together?"

"Someone who I intend to kill very soon." I replied, clenching and unclenching my fists at the thought. "I have to find my way back home first, I'm afraid. I'm not from Zaun, you see."

"I figured." Warwick grunted. "You don't smell like rot and the Grey. You smell...different." He sniffed in my direction twice, wrinkling his nose after. "You don't smell like you're from Piltover, either."

"Let's just say that I'm not from around here." I replied. "I'll tell you more later, depending on the answer to my next question." There was still one more thing that I needed to know.

"Which is?"

"What does the name 'Soraka' mean to you?"

There was no reply for a while. "Is she dead?" He finally asked.

"She might be." I replied, pained. "I don't know if she's okay right now. I'd be willing to bet she was alive, though." Only because Selene would want to play with her first.

"Then it means nothing." Warwick replied. "I've killed everyone I ever sought to kill. If you don't know, then I've never met her."

I slumped back against the wall on my crate, sighing with relief.

He didn't know who Raka was.

He'd never met her in the first place.

She might not even exist here.

I could forgive the deaths of the innocents that had died by his jaws. I couldn't forgive him if he'd hurt Raka too. But he hadn't. So with that in mind, and taking everything else into consideration, I was willing to trust him, at least for now.

"Alright." I folded my arms. "I'll make you an offer, then."

Warwick raised an eyebrow.

"Do you want to continue to be a monster, Warwick?" I asked.

"I don't have a choice." He replied. "It's what I am."

"But what if it didn't have to be?" I countered. "What if I could help you become human again?"

He laughed. "And how would you do that?"

"You know, Viktor, right?" I asked. "Robot scientist, likes making more robots, specializes in robots? I know him. He's interested in your...unique...physiology."

"I'm not interested in becoming his lab rat." Warwick snarled.

"He doesn't want to experiment on you." I assured him. "He just wants to meet you. Check you out. Maybe run a few tests-"

"NO!" Warwick roared, tearing his claws through a crate. "NO MORE TESTS!"

I cautiously backed further into the wall, holding my hands up in a defensive gesture. "Uh...okay. Will you at least consider letting him take a look at you, then? You've got a lot of problems with your body's augmentations. He might be able to fix you up a little bit."

"And if he can't?" Warwick asked. "If it only gets worse?"

I paused, pensive. "I have...friends. Powerful friends. Or...they used to be." I huffed. "They're kind of in danger at the moment. But if you help me, I might be able to help you through them."

"Is that right?" Warwick half-sneered. "And what do they have that everyone else in Zaun doesn't?"

"Magic." I replied. "Healing magic."

Oh, I definitely had his attention now. "Magic?" He asked.

"Oh yeah. The real kind, too - not just the small bursts you find in hextech." I smirked. "If you help me, I'll help you."

"But. Um. See...here's the thing." I continued. "If you agree to help me, you're going to have to...get out of your comfort zone."

"How, exactly?"

"By traveling to another dimension and helping me overthrow a tyrannical lunar deity hellbent on conquering the universe." I bluntly replied.

Warwick said nothing, stunned.

Then...he started laughing. It was just as deranged and wet as his regular pattern of speech, but it was genuinely humorous. This Warwick was so confusing on so many levels.

"I'm not kidding, you know." I deadpanned. "There's a very high chance of death."

"I grew up in Zaun." Warwick reminded me, after he'd finished. "What else is new?"

Oh. Fair point. With the Grey, the gangs and the Chem-Barons all taken into consideration, Zaun was definitely not the safest place to live. Average citizens had to risk their lives at least three times a week, and that was if they were lucky. Since Warwick went up against the Chem-Barons almost every single day, he'd probably been doing it three times daily.

"So...you're in?" I asked.

"Not just yet." He replied. "You have to do something for me, first."

"I offered you a chance to become human again. What more could you possibly want?" I asked.

"The deaths of the Chem-Barons." Warwick replied. "Every. Last. One."

I grinned.

"I was hoping you'd say that." I said. "This'll be fun." Just a couple of maniacs, a night out on the town, slaughtering gangsters left and right, it was going to be rather pleasant.

BOOM!

The ground shook.

Debris came loose, falling from the ceiling all around us

We both jumped, instantly tensing up. I sprung to my feet, Warwick doing the same and baring his fangs.

"The hell?" I said, looking up with confusion. "Is that the pit?"

"No. It hasn't worked in years." Warwick replied. "I'd know if it was."

BOOM!

The room rumbled with a thunderous echo, and I felt myself rattle from the feet up from the vibrations.

"It's coming from outside." Warwick noted. "I smell arsenic. And smoke."

"Bombs. You're smelling bombs?" I said.

"Big ones." He replied. "It's coming from the industrial district."

"You can smell that from all the way over here?" I raised an eyebrow.

"I know Zaun's streets like the back of my claws." He grinned. "And that's without my nose."

"Who do you reckon's causing trouble this time?" I asked. "My money's on Jinx." To be fair, this felt exactly like something she would pull. She was into explosions. And the occasional mass murder. Before joining the Star Guardians, that is. But, the Star Guardians didn't exist here, which meant that she was probably still a psychopath.

"I know her weapons. They smell different when they fire." Warwick shook his head.

"I guess we'll find out, won't we?" I gave a feral grin, feeling a murderous itch race through my fingers.

Warwick returned my expression, flashing his claws and giving a growl of anticipation.

"Let's go hunting."


And that's it for this chapter. Don't really have much to say this time, so I'll see you all next week. Until next time!

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