Power.
What lied before Veigar was unimaginable power. It was simply a stone; a crystal; and yet, there was such an overwhelming aura of unfathomable energy that Veigar hasistated to move closer towards it. But despite that, he knew that it was exactly what he had been searching for, all these years. Surrounded by naught but ash and dust, he slowly, and carefully took another step.
Take hold of me.
It called out to him.
Use me.
Waiting for his touch.
Destroy.
Aching for his command.
It was a temptation like no other. Before he stopped to think, the yordle stood only inches away from the priceless power before him. His head was overrun with dreams of destruction and chaos. He wanted to fill the cosmos that he once loved with the ash and dust of his ruin. And this thing would allow him that ability.
This rune.
After what felt like a millennium of confinement and abuse, Veigar had suddenly found himself wrought with the curse of freedom. Freedom in a Runeterra that had changed during his time in the now fallen immortal bastion. But had the land really changed so much, or was he the one that had changed? It all looked gray to him. Gray and meaningless. As soon as he took a step forward, he was bound to live as part of somebody else's life; somebody else's plan. The thought shot his blood up to a boil.
But what of freedom? What point would there be to a life where he could do anything, if he already wanted nothing? You could flip as many coins as you wanted, but if there were no stakes on heads nor tails, would you still flip it? Surely not.
Veigar lay flat on prickly hay, hiding amongst the horses of an unattended stable he happened upon. As he let his thoughts consume him, he began to lose sight of reality. Gnawing on his fingers usually was enough of a sensation to keep his rational intact, but as he thought more and more, it became increasingly difficult to keep himself intact. The yordle pulled his bloody claws from his jaw, and pressed them up against his neck with an intent that disregarded his own body. It didn't feel as if he was going to choke himself out. The sensation, he noticed as his breath cut off, was no different to him than grabbing a slab of meat in front of him. There was nothing that could stop him from ending his suffering with his own two hands. But as the claws sunk into flesh and hot blood soaked into fur, his other hand came in without warning to stop him. It wasn't something he did himself, nor wanted to do. Was it the dark magic that planned to keep him alive?
He gave up, and shut the thoughts out of his mind. It wasn't the first time, and it wouldn't be the last. But ultimately, it was a waste of time. Between ruled and ruling, Veigar figured he, in the very least, would like to have the ability to choose that for himself. And so, surrounded by an unfamiliar world, the question at the forefront of his mind became a lot simpler.
Am I powerful enough?
Though he had a vague feel for his powers and his limits, dark magic was something that he fundamentally did not yet understand. He could feel its negative energy pulsing throughout his veins, and his mind was constantly amuck with thoughts of anguish, peril, and an insatiable urge to destroy. But not just physical destruction, either. He could tear down as much architecture as his power allowed him, but it would mean nothing if he could not make someone feel negativity. He wanted to see others helpless; stranded; devoid of hope.
Veigar understood immediately that he wasn't just selfish, or even greedy. He had simply become rotten. It wasn't that he thought that of these feelings as correct, or even that there was something to prove. Contrarily, he knew that it was sick; that he was sick. And he drew a wide grin across his face as he thought about it.
"I'm sick."
The yordle whispered to himself. The scattered pulses in his head, brought about by this new power of his, seemed to respond to his comment by repeating it over and over, as if obsessed with the phrase.
I'm sick I'm sick I'm sick I'msickI'msickI'msickI'msicIk'msI'micskicI'kmsIi'cmksisicIk'msI'micskicI'kmsIi'cmksisicIk'msI'micskicI'kmsIi'cmksisicIk'msI'micskicI'kmsIi'cmksisicIk'msI'micskicI'kmsIi'cmksisicIk'msI'micskicI'kmsIi'cmksisicIk'msI'micskicI'kmsIi'cmksisicIk'msI'micskicI'kmsIi'cmksisicIk'msI'micskicI'kmsIi'cmksisicIk'msI'micskicI'kmsIi'cmksisicIk'msI'micskicI'kmsIi'cmksisicIk'msI'micskicI'kmsIi'cmksisicIk'msI'micskicI'kmsIi'cmksisicIk'msI'micskicI'kmsIi'cmksisicIk'msI'micskicI'kmsIi'cmksisicIk'msI'micskicI'kmsIi'cmksisicIk'msI'micskicI'kmsIi'cmksisicIk'msI'micskicI'kmsIi'cmksisicIk'msI'micskicI'kmsIi'cmksisicIk'msI'micskicI'kmsIi'cmksisicIk'msI'micskicI'kmsIi'cmksisicIk'msI'micskicI'kmsIi'cmksisicIk'msI'micskicI'kmsIi'cmksisicIk'msI'micskicI'kmsIi'cmksick.
SICK.
Thoughts crumbling, and darkness consuming the little creature's corrupted mind, he ended it all with a single, hard chomp on his hand, sinking his molars deep into his rough, calaced palm. The blood that seeped out was thin, and tasted of bitter metal. But it was warm as it spilled, and the pain brought him clearly back to his senses once again. He coughed up a bit of red, then returned to his thoughts.
Simply put, he wanted more power. Enough to put his deep desire to rest- no, he knew it was insatiable. And yet, such a desire was the only thing that he had left. There was simply no other path for him but destruction. And he knew how to acquire such power, too. In his studies, there was a mysterious magic in the past that had been sealed away from historic records. One you could say shared the same roots as the birth of Runeterra itself. But with his keen eye, he always took notice. Every now and then, be it missing parts of a timeline, inconsistencies in large events, or unexplained sites of ruination spanning the world, there were clues that could be pieced together about these ancient practices. Powers of creation and destruction; practically a myth to the common eye, but the dark sorcerer knew better. He could feel it, too. That there was a power with limits beyond what even he could comprehend.
And so he hid away. Studying and traveling, redrawing his old maps, prying for information at every corner and every opportunity, he spent countless years looking for that which he sought with nobody by his side. He found out many things along his travels. They were called runes. Small, crystalline stones which held unimaginable power, each one part of a greater whole. How many were there scattered about? He wasn't sure of that yet. But what he did know is that they were divided into several different classifications of ability, and were said to even be responsible for the formation of Runeterra itself.
But Veigar soon found in his studies that he wasn't the only individual working towards the acquisition of these supposed tools of creation, as the fear of war and chaos brought about in part by Mordekaiser's conquest spawned a rapid magic research revolution across the planet. Every nation, many freshly birthed from the ashes of the Iron Revenant's reign, suddenly grew desperate for power and domination so that they may survive if such a destruction were to come about once again. And it was only natural that the top scholars would come to the same conclusion that he did.
At the first potential location he pinpointed, the rune had already been collected. At the second, he realized that he had been fed false information. The third and fourth locations yielded no results either. The yordle was beginning to realize, though he found it hard to admit, that his lack of resources and a proper information network put him far behind the top minds of current nations. And with runes uncovered left and right by the day, Veigar was running out of options.
But what were all of these elaborate plans of his, that he so desperately tried to craft and execute? Plans, plans, plans. He despised plans. The little yordle began to realize that his whole problem was that he was coming up with plans. He didn't need such a thing, with such power. He no longer had the patience to wait, or listen to others, or try and move with the world. It occurred to him that he was beginning to fall into the same cycle that he finally thought he had broken.
He laughed aloud at his own naivety, continuing on to the nearest settlement to settle things with a new, fresh approach. It was a small farm village, seemingly under the protection of a greater nation. At the first opportunity, he sent the weather into a frenzy, condensing the fluffy nimbus clouds of a leisurely day into a thick, heavy stormwind. Rain began to fall, and the sun was blotted out. As a finishing touch, he pulsed the sky above, causing a heavy friction above which caused a massive static charge. Controlling the weather with spatial manipulation at will was a simple result of Veigar's study and practice, one of many new talents he was eager to show off. Lightning quickly shot down right onto a freshly tilled field of seedlings, rendering both the crops and their soil unusable.
The warlock proceeded to make his grand entrance.
"I am Veigar, and I come with demands! Your food, your homes, and your people have all fallen into the palm of my hand!"
Villagers, who had quickly become frightened due to the immediate storm above, turned their attention to its cause. They were naught but confused. Fields caught fire by an ominous magic, and yet the culprit was seemingly a harmless woodland creature. Who was really behind this?
"What's this! Some kind 'ah sick prank!?"
A burly, middle-aged woman stepped forward, dawning a leather tunic and apron, thick smithing gloves, and a polished stone necklace. She was not pleased.
"Magic ain't somethin to be playin around with for funs and giggles, li'l creature!"
She promptly stomped forward and hoisted the black cat by his hand, staring daggers into his eyes. Veigar didn't blink for a moment.
"Yer smilin', ain'tcha! You'd better have a way to fix-"
Suddenly, she dropped him to take hold of her own throat, which was devoid of air in an instant.
"Shut up! Shut up SHUT UP! CAN'T YOU SEE I'M TALKING!?"
Veigar couldn't help but snicker through his grin. He enjoyed this kind of fun much more than any sort of plan.
As the woman fell to her knees, desperately reaching outward as if to grab the air and force it down into her lungs herself, those who began to gather were no longer confused. He was a being to fear, and he had their attention.
"That's right, you're all ears now, aren't you!"
He sent a steel boot into the woman's cheek bone, dealing just enough of a blow to get her out of his immediate way, then removed the suction in her lungs, allowing her to gasp for air. His shrill voice became louder and prouder, so that not one villager within the crowd could miss his words.
"Who here knows about runes? I'm sick and tired of scrounging around for them like some kind of sewer rat."
Not one reply. The tattering of pouring rain filled the empty silence.
Veigar ruffled his wet fur.
"Grrrh, of course not. Then… Bring me somebody who does! Or else-"
Or else… what? As he hadn't quite thought things through this time around, it took the yordle mage a moment to figure out some kind of dire sounding punishment for the village.
"Or else this human dies!" He pointed to the woman still recovering herself beside him.
"Yes! One of you ought to want to save her life, right?!"
Her eyes went wide and she suddenly sprang back up to lunge at him, but to no avail. Some unknown force pulled her down into the mud with unmatchable strength, pressing cracks into the graveled dirt. But still, not one voice was heard. Not a gasp, or even a movement. A few in the back of the crowd seemed to be running away, but he cared naught. Veigar only grinned, eyes wide and focused on the woman whose life he held onto by a single thread.
"Hehe! Mehehe! Nobody is even willing to try for your life! Your fellow neighbors are all worthless in the end, aren't they!? You poor thing!"
He erupted into more laughter, feeling his unhinged words mix both fear and guilt into the spectators, who were both helpless and unwilling. And then suddenly, he was angry.
"Nobody? NOBODY!? You spineless fools all deserve death! Hell, I ought to kill every last one of you! What if it was you up here, in the same situation?!"
…
He stomped his foot down, causing rips and tears throughout the tough ground below. The crowds of people were suddenly feeling an uncontrollable tenseness in their bodies, as if they were being slowly kneaded by the space around them. Many fell to their knees, unable to move. He had suddenly forgotten about his original intent on causing a scene, overtaken by the pathetic nature of the crowd. He could sense their fear and worry; their overwhelming sympathy for a woman who seemed to be well integrated into such a miniscule settlement.
But that's just it. It was sympathy for somebody whose fate they did not share. Worry that they might be next amongst the crowd. This woman who had tried to intervene without a second thought, while most others wallowed in hopeless confusion. Veigar thought he already knew that the world was hopeless. But that was wrong. He had only really known that his own world; his own life; was hopeless. But these people shouldn't have been the same as him; they should be helping each other in such dire straits, because that's what compassion was, wasn't it?
The continued silence amongst the crowd sickened him.
"SOMEBODY ANSWER ME, GODDAMNIT!"
His destructive impulses began to consume him, as he closed his eyes and let the influence of his dark magic take charge.
And as if on queue, a group of soldiers, accompanied by an older man in lavish robes, pushed through the crowd and joined the scene, unaware of the cause of commotion. They talked amongst themselves, before stepping forward to face the confusing threat that lay before them.
"Is that an… animal?"
"A yordle. And a strong one it seems; be on your guard."
At the mention of his race, Veigar's ear twitched. He turned his attention to the one who uttered it, which was the seemingly learned mage at the center.
"Somebody here's done their research, I see! How exciting!"
"What business do you have disrupting this mortal plane, spiritual being?"
"Spiritual… What? Cease your convoluted speech, and tell me where I can find a rune of domination!"
The mage's eyes went wide. Without another word, he swung his decorated staff in front of him and began a quick, concise chant. But Veigar, with the wave of his hand, shredded the man's arms all the way down to his elbows, splattering chunks of flesh and bone all around him, and staining his gold-threaded robe with bright red splotches. He immediately sought to screech out in pain, but there was no air in his lungs to do so. Before he could even blink at his immediate defeat, Veigar was already in front of him. He got in real close, and spoke to the man in a low, gargled tone.
"I panicked when I saw you begin to chant something, but now that I get a good look at you, you're actually quite weak, aren't you?"
Following a laugh aloud at his effortless victory against the man, he returned to his previously overzealous demeanor.
"Now, the rune! You have it, or you know something about it! Spill it!"
Veigar returned the air to his lungs, listening in closely.
"Such a power… This world would surely meet its end, if one like yourself were to wield it."
Veigar threw his boot up to the man's face, kicking him back, then proceeded to stomp atop his head. It was hopeless trying to get information from such a man. There wasn't an ounce of fear in him. The soldiers around him had quickly surrounded him, but Veigar didn't so much as flinch, only caring to talk to himself.
"Tch."
He wasn't having fun anymore.
"Onto the next town, I suppose."
He waddled away, the surrounding onlookers clearing a path for him without so much as a word, lest they meet the same defeat as the previous two who had just opposed him.
But suddenly, he felt something. In a split second, a magic power unrivaled by anything he had before felt unveiled itself behind him, as if a curtain had lifted to reveal it to him. He turned his head toward the sensation and tried to bend the space around him to defend, but it was already too late.
A bright flash of vermillion sped past his vision, blinding his senses. He quickly teleported himself to the outskirts of the village, only to witness a massive outgrowth of flashing colors envelop the town like vines of pure rage, destroying everything in sight. Veigar felt a sudden tearing pain at his right shoulder, and looked to realize that nothing but a bloody stump remained. His breathing got heavy and his chest tight, as he screamed out in agony. But pain turned to pleasure as Veigar's wails turned to laughter. He put pressure onto the exposed wound with his left palm, and ran back towards the village, pushing through the immense suffering it caused him. The rune of domination was here, in this village, and its power was more beautiful than he could have ever imagined.
As he reentered, dodging the flying rocks and debris that swished about, he made his way to the source of the ruination: the same woman who he had beat down just minutes before. She wasn't quite the same, however, as the magic had clearly overtaken her mind and body, hoisting her up into the air, her body glowing with an overwhelming ominous aura. He could sense her rage, but more potently, her anguish. A silver necklace chain hung down from her tightly clenched fist, which oozed heavy concentrations of mana.
Veigar called upon the skies, sending meteors to rain down from above, but they only got caught in the wake of the destruction around him. A heavy chunk broke loose from one and sent him flying backwards. His body was at its limit. Too weak to move towards such an overwhelming force, he surrendered to the impact of the blow, and let his body go limp, so as to focus on his magic. He no longer had a right arm, however he closed his eyes and gestured as if he did. He summoned a single, massive black hole above the mess of debris and magic, which began to grab everything within its reach and drag it all inwards. Veigar forced his own body downward against the ground, and let it grow larger with each object that it added to its mass. The rune's power resisted against it, but eventually the woman's grip gave in, and her necklace was sucked from her grasp into the void, with her own body shortly following suit. He quickly put everything he had into dispelling it, causing everything above to come crashing down, crushing what little of the ruined town was left into ruin.
The forces of his own magic had caused his already beaten body to become further torn and damaged, leaving him unable to move, and barely conscious. The woman who had held the rune was the same. Around them, nothing but broken ground and dismantled corpses remained. Veigar was barely able to breathe, but if he could, he would have been laughing. After a few minutes of recuperation, he reanimated his body with magic, and moved toward the woman. He began to pull the gloves off of her body, but paused when words began to escape her mouth.
"Look what- I did. I've always hated magic… Please, get rid- get rid of that stone."
Tears escaped her eyes.
Veigar could sense traces of mana left in her body. There was no more rage, leaving only her overwhelming sadness feeding the flame of her life, which Veigar quickly snuffed out, looking right into her dimmed eyes as he did. In that moment, he took no joy in killing her, nor in her negative emotions. He didn't feel much of anything, really. He simply snatched the gloves from her lifeless corpse, and animated one to act as a right hand. After taking a good, long look at the rune, feeling the call of its power, Veigar wrapped it up in the other glove, and then sat down for a bit, tending to his own wounds.
It was the first time he had taken a mortal life with his eyes open.