"Hey, Black Cat! This is our playing spot! Get lost!"

Veigar sighed. He thought he had found a pretty good reading area this time around, but as per routine, it didn't last long. As he closed his book and stood up to take his leave, a forceful kick straight into his back caused him to lose footing, and he fell back down, eating dust and dirt. His book had fallen from his hands as well, causing him to lose his place.

"Take a hint and find somewhere else to be a bore next time."

The thick furred yordle stayed down. If he didn't humor them, they would leave soon enough. This much, he had learned from experience. After a few seconds of no response, the other yordle kids took off as planned, leaving the lone black kid and his tattered book to recuperate. He crossed the third alleyway on the left side of the outer village off of his mental list of places that he wouldn't return to. It was becoming a big list. Big enough to consider that the other kids were seeking him out just to drive him further and further away, until he had nowhere left to read. This case was further supported by the fact that he had begun having to look outside of town for reading spots, even going so far as to read in the forest, amongst the wildlife. But the plant life was pestersome and gossipy, and the animals were always looking for somebody to bother, so he didn't quite like it there either.

Veigar feared that soon, there would be no places for him to coop up and enjoy a good novel.

That there would be no place, nor person, that he could feel close to no matter how far he ventured.

That he would never taste freedom from the cold, rancid prison cell he was confined to.

That there was nobody who would make use of his destructive power, nor justify his wicked ends.

That he would never fill the gaping void in his heart, telling him that something was missing.

And then the realization hit him.

Ah, that's right. There is already nothing left. I've already lost to all.

The troubled yordle awoke to a faint pounding far below him. He ignored it at first, focusing on regaining himself from such a feverish sleep. Such fears were completely irrational for him now. The great and powerful Veigar had nothing to fear, for all of his worst nightmares had already come to pass. His heavy breathing slowed, cut with small fits of chuckling to himself at his own unreasonable misgivings.

The ceiling he had opened his eyes to was one of dull brick and mortar, lit by dim flames of candlelight. He arose from the cold, hard wood of the floor, his bones and muscles aching to no end in reaction to his heavy movements. A few angry yells and calls now accompanied the hollow banging, causing Veigar to stumble up to his feet, unable to ignore it any longer. He forced his way through the pain just enough to rest his weight against a nearby cabinet. As his trembling legs struggled to hold his full postured body, he pulled open a drawer and took hold of a glass bottle, glowing a soft bluish green with the aura of life. Impatient, and unable to uncap the encased fluid with his one arm, he smashed it against the edge of his temple, feeling the cool, refreshing liquid pour down the side of his face as it broke free from its confines. He guided it down through his fur into the mushy, scabbed flesh that was exposed where his right arm once was, and fell backwards into a nearby chair with a sigh of relief. The pain is his body began to pull back, as he let the liquid seep down further on his figure so that he could knead it into the other flesh wounds on his body. They all began to close up and scar over almost immediately, with the stabbing aches disappearing almost entirely.

Veigar relished in the feeling, as he only had a few of these regenerative ointments left in the stash he had found. They weren't strong enough to heal him entirely, given his lack of proper eating and bodily care, but they had happened to be just enough to get him by day by day, so long as he didn't tax his body too heavily so as to reopen his wounds. As he began to wake more thoroughly, the mage levitated the glove he had left on the far end of the room the night before, moving it into position to act as his right hand once again. He clothed himself in some oversized garbs he had found several nights before, then headed downward toward the entrance of the wizard's tower he had decided to make a temporary living in, passing by a near-unrecognizable human corpse of what once was the previous owner at some point along the way.

Veigar had made a habit of breaking an entering when in more desperate situations, but rarely had he ever been caught, or faced with real consequence. However, this particular resident had been very aware of his entrance, and was not pleased. In his arrogance, he attempted to use magic against Veigar to "make him pay" or something along those lines, and incidentally, the superior mage found himself with a newly vacant living space.

While he didn't care to stay in one place for too long, he also found himself unable to ignore his waning health any longer, so the yordle took the opportunity to take a break from his travel for a while and recuperate.

As he stumbled down the long, winding stairway that led to the entrance of the stone structure, he cursed at its inconvenient layout. Shouts became more audible to his twitching ears, and plagued his waking head all the more. He felt old, and rickety.

"Wizard! Show yourself!"

"Come out at once!"

"We will not stand for this any longer!"

Ah, they must have been looking for the tower's previous inhabitant, he thought. Veigar began to get excited, curious at their reaction to know that he was cold and dead. Maybe he'd puppet the corpse to scare them away? The thought intrigued him, but his head was pounding too much to be willing to re-climb the stairs and go fetch it. So instead, the yordle settled for dawning the late wizard's hat and staff stationed on a coat hanger by the front door, then prepared to fight back at the bothersome ruckus. The staff wasn't made for dark magic, so it would serve as little more than a prop, but that didn't matter to Veigar. He only wanted to radiate a more clear image of power.

The much worn front doors of the tower blast open with the loud rattle of wood and rusted steel, making way for the bite sized warlock's grand entrance.

"Insolent fools! What do you want with the great and powerful Veigar?"

His cracked voice roared across the front entrance, causing what seemed to be a small group of humble villagers to cower back in fear. At their front stood a red-haired female warrior with fair, pale skin, garbed in leather and chain. She held her confident pose, with her long hair tied into a bushy ponytail that draped down her left side. She was not pleased.

"You--! You…"

She looked down at the little animal before her suddenly confused, before quickly turning to frustration.

"A pet!? Where is your master?"

"P-pet?!"

Now it was Veigar's turn to be frustrated.

"Y- you filthy, pale, hairless mole rat of a human dare call me a mere pet of some second rate party trick magician!?"

The woman was not looking to waste her time. She drew her sword swiftly, pointing it right at Veigar with a strong conviction. The villagers cowered back a bit further, realizing that they had not actually come prepared to face bloodshed.

"I did not come here to be mocked! Where is the great wizard, Caltherus!"

Her confronting voice boomed at Veigar's sensitive eardrums, causing him to shut his eyes in an attempt to null his senses.

Great, she says? So these people must have thought him quite powerful then.

He grabbed the point of her sword with his gloved hand. Its freshly sharpened edge cut into his palm like churned butter, and the blood that seemed from it blanketed his wrist with a comforting warmth. Veigar condensed the steel at a halfway point down the sword, causing it to snap in two, the blade's end releasing into his bloodstained grip.

"Great? That man screamed like a newborn out of the womb as I tore him limb from limb, begging for mercy. I'd hardly call him good."

The eyes in the swordswoman before him turned to confusion once again, and he relished in it.

"What defines great, anyway? I've never once been declared great, and yet there's plenty of blood on my hands. Maybe I should pawn that garnished sword hilt of yours for a flashy robe or staff, and then the cheap titles will begin flooding in. What do you think?"

This little creature wasn't pulling any bluffs. The woman understood that now. She backed up a bit, losing her aura of confidence as the villagers had fearful looks in their eyes.

That's right. That look in your eyes is what I came to see.

"You- killed the Caltherus? Just like that?"

Veigar stamped down the staff in his hands onto the stone doorway, and made himself clear.

"A- and why shouldn't I have!? He had sought to strike me first! That naive fool tried to take my life, so it's only natural that I cut him down like the nuisance that he was! After all, I am no good to begin with! A no good, rotten warlock who takes lives at the drop of a hat! Yes! So if anything, I should have killed him earlier! And I could cut you all down with the snap of my fingers as well! So you'd better not think of crossing me!"

Veigar suddenly wondered why he felt the need to justify himself, realizing that nobody had even been paying attention to his rant to begin with. The villagers were all whispering amongst themselves, with even the warrior before him looking off into the distance, deep in thought. It frustrated him terribly.

"What is it that you want!? Out with it!"

He created a roar of thunder above, with a sudden storm forming around the area. The woman in front, concluding her thoughts to look at the now darkened skies above, came to a realization, once again looking confident in her conviction.

"May I… have your name again, if you would so please?"

Her tone changed. Veigar couldn't tell exactly for what reason, but he complied, curious as to her next actions.

"I am Veigar… the Terrible! Yes! Remember that well!".

"I see…"

She proceeded to kneel in front of Veigar, with her head down and an arm strung across her mail to meet her other shoulder. The other villagers, still mildly confused, followed suit.

"The great-- the wizard Caltherus has been terrorizing the surrounding villages in this area for decades. He demands tolls, takes a portion of our crop harvests, and--"

She was choking up. The woman had been putting up a facade up to this point, which she now clearly had no interest in continuing.

"--and takes hostages… I grew up here, living with this fact believing it was 'just the way that things were.' But last month-"

"I care not about your filthy sob story! I did not ask to hear it!"

She wanted something from him. He could tell that much. Veigar wanted only to know what it was, as he knew he wouldn't be persuaded by some foreign tragedy.

"I- I apologize, Veigar- no, Veigar the Terrible! Is my little sister still alive? If- if so, please... let me see her!"

Their eyes had met, as she looked up from her kneel towards the yordle. The girl was holding back tears. It suddenly hit him, that she was actually quite a young looking human. And she had a little sister, too; family that was important to her. Veigar could feel her sorrow. He had looked to the rain clouds above that he created. He suddenly wanted to break them up, but had never taught himself how to do such a thing, unfortunately.

"There is nobody else in this tower. Now leave me be."

The yordle slammed the door on the pleading girl in front of him, quickly redialing his focus to the entrance floor of the tower. It was laid out in a pretty standard manner; two to three larger rooms connected at the center, meeting at a spiral staircase that led all the way up to the top. He took the decorated staff that he was holding so valiantly earlier, and began banging it as hard as he could on different parts of the floors and walls, looking for any hollow spots. At first he was doing it at a leisurely pace, but after a bit of time, it became more urgent.

Had there really been hostages taken in this tower? And young girls, at that?

What poor taste that man had. Good riddance.

As his focus honed in and he became more serious, suddenly, it occurred to him. Anguish. There was an faint aura of anguish far below him. How had he not noticed it in the days before? Amongst the villagers, it was more difficult to properly grasp, but he could just barely feel it there, in the back of his mind.

Veigar wasted no time crushing the thick stone flooring to rubble, finding a small pit that had been exposed amongst the building's foundation. He quickly dropped down, not caring to take the ladder provided, and found himself inside a marginally larger facility, very clearly laid out like a prison. The stench was foul, and nostalgic. Veigar's muscles grew sore and tight, as he got up and stepped forward into the open hall. At the very far back wall, there were open cuffs, chains, and a wash bucket full of browned water paired with a sponge, as well as many cruel tools hung up on the wall to which he paid little attention. Twelve total cells were sectioned off by rusted steel bars and magic imbued locks, which he wasted no time blasting off of their chains. Few were empty, but most were not inhabited by anyone that hadn't already passed.

And then, likely in response to the abrupt destruction he had been causing, there was a faint whimper to his right. Veigar immediately snapped his head in that direction with a hurried desperation. His eyes fixated on her.

Red hair.

Fair, pale skin.

Freckles.

She was the splitting image of her older sister.

Recently bathed, he could clearly see every inch of her slender, cruelly tortured body. Cuts, bruises, scabs, gashes, and swells. Time froze for the little yordle, who was suddenly helpless in examining the horror scene in front of him. His own scars, long healed, began to pound with the quickening beat of his heart. He could almost feel them opening back up, as if his own blood, guts, and cruel history were trying to free themselves and swallow him up.

Every inch of injury inflicted on this frail girl's body was laid with open eyes, and clear intention. Veigar was confident of that. He attempted to open the rusty cell door and fetch her, but at its creak, the girl quickly scurried to the far wall and assumed a fetal position, shivering.

And then he stopped, able to clearly see it. He could see himself through her eyes, opening the cell door as an unfamiliar figure, just as Mordekaiser had done with him. He was simply on the other side of his own past hell.

He caught his breathing, frantic and unrhythmic, and tripped onto his backside shivering, crawling away from the doorway.

Is she like me? Will she become like me? Can I save her? Can she be saved? Or is she already broken? Already Doomed? Saved? Doomed? Food? Torture?

His mind was in an unrecognizable scramble reliving the trauma of his past, and the smoothed stone beneath his feet began to crackle as mana leaked from his fingers. The girl would not look at him. She would not look at anything. She only stared off into the distance in fright, closing herself off from her small, cruel world.. And then the final realization set in. She had found her way to the corner of the room.

That's right.

It was her safe corner.

Veigar had been staying here for days and had not even lifted a finger; had not even considered that she could have been there. If he had been a better person, he would have thought to check; he would have thought to find her. But he wasn't a good person at all. Yes, that's right. He was rotten. A no good, rotten warlock who would take lives at the drop of a hat. He simply was not worthy of being the one to save her.

He couldn't help but begin to laugh, but it was a strained, unnatural cackle. For the first time, he knew that surely, that was the wrong reaction. But to him, it was simply all he knew how to do. Veigar laughed even harder, finding the whole situation nothing short of horrifying, as tears ran down his eyes. Coming here was a mistake. Inhabiting this tower, was a mistake. His very existence was a mistake.

Veigar cried out for help, losing himself.