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Chapter 30

One Big Problem

"Security is pretty tight," Ephrial presses his back against the dark corner of an alley as a drone floats by.

Riven joins him, watching their rear. "It can't be that effective if there's fear of an explosion at any given time."

"This part of the city has already been evacuated, so that saves us some trouble, at least. There's our destination," he nods toward the other side of the street.

With deft silence in their steps, they creep across the road behind the shade of an abandoned truck. The two crouch low, watching a pair of robotic feet that belong to Piltover's automated police step along the other side. As the patrol passes by, the partners slip ahead, avoiding the bright light of a streetlamp.

Police presence is heavy, but the number of living beings in the area runs thin. The night is ruled by search lights as floating sentries scan the area in a systematical pattern. They hover slowly, no lower than ten feet off the ground, each as big as a baby raptor. At the helm of each is the tireless gaze of a red lens, pivoting on a dome that allows for a full view at any angle. These flying submarines stalk the streets with a dull humming, like watchful eyes of silent wraiths roaming a ghost town.

Amidst them is the bulk of the Piltover police force. A vast number of Cybernetic Operatives of Piltover Security, or COPS for short, comb the streets on foot. Akin to their creators, they have a humanoid shape donned in riot gear, armed with standard issue hextech pistols. Like their flying allies, these units bear the lifeless stare of a crimson-tinted glass. Their movements mimic that of a living person, but are far more precise and direct; earnest and cold with the lack of hesitation in their programming.

Sneaking past a few more operatives, the partners dive for a pile of stacked crates from a shipment that had been left behind during evacuation. They lie without moving a muscle, patiently waiting as a drone whirrs by. The light emitted by it dims, and the pair pick themselves back up. Tracing along a brick wall covered in advertisements and graffiti, it's clear that this building is far older than most. They pass a large, worn poster of a classic hotrod, the slogan below, in a vintage font, reading: "Ride the Aether." A few steps further, and they reach a rolling gate used to receive and export shipments. Thick plates fold together like square scales, barring their passage.

"It's locked," Riven whispers plainly, having anticipated this as an inevitable obstacle. She raises her blade, preparing to open it by force.

"Wait! These drones are programmed to detect signs of forced entry. We can't just break the lock, leaving an inviting trail for them to follow us," the mercenary-knight stays her sword, and begins fidgeting with his belt.

"What do you propose, then?"

"We ask nicely," taking out two small, very thin tools.

"You carry a lockpick set with you…?"

"You don't?"

"I'm not a thief!"

"Well, we are both here to break an entering to take something that doesn't belong to us."

"…I see your point."

"Besides, I mostly have these if I need to break out of a place. Mostly."

A few subtle clicks, and Ephrial finishes coaxing the lock to release. The two carefully lift the door open and slide under, gently lowering it behind them. Buzzing bulbs connected to the city's power grid illuminate their surroundings. Even the walls teem with the grinding of gears inside of them. Around the room lie piles of undelivered crates of varying sizes and shapes. Mechanical claws dangle inertly above, and the belt of a large conveyer track that weaves around the outer edges of the room rests dormant.

"It looks like they left in a hurry," the Exile notes spilled contents of broken boxes and containers.

"Perhaps they were evacuated directly after a nearby explosion, as opposed to being part of a preventative measure."

"So, what do we do now…? We can't possibly check all of these."

"There must be some sort of office in possession of a manifest. We should check there."

Pressing onward into the courier depot, they spot a room on top of several flights of stairs. A large window spans around the entire corner, allowing for view of the whole department.

"That seems like a promising start."

Riven points to a large break in where the stairs part ways, far too wide to jump over. "We'll have to figure out a way to close the gap."

"Hm…there must be a switch that operates that bridge somewhere close. We'll just hav—"

A distant thunder cracks out in another part of the city, loud enough for them to hear a muffled echo inside the depot. The lights flicker and dim, leaving them in the dark. The whirring machinery and clockwork behind the walls wind down with a sigh.

"Was that another explosion?"

"I'd say so… Perhaps the city's power plant found itself the target this time," Ephrial unsheathes his blade to act as a torch.

"What now?"

The mercenary-knight ponders for a moment before answering. "This building is clearly older than most. You heard the pistons and gears inside the walls, right? There aren't any such sounds inside the structures we've traversed along the way. If I had to guess, this place used to run on its own independent power supply, before Piltover expanded into a city-wide source. Perhaps in the basement, if anywhere."

They start down the nearby hallway, footsteps echoing in the ambience of a dead depot. Searchlights strobe down through small windows around the ceiling as a flurry of patrol units rush overhead, speeding in the direction of the explosion.

"You seem to know a lot about Piltover," Riven surmises at his quick solution.

"I've been here once or twice before."

"What did you do here?" becoming curious.

"Heh. Let's just say that the noble families here have a way of tangling some webs...and they're always seeking out those that would get their hands dirty for them."

"You did wetwork for them…!?"

Riven gives him a shocked look as they turn into a stone staircase that leads downwards, below ground level.

"While many of them so relentlessly implored me to do just that, no. It was an extraction."

"What do you mean?"

"The nobility here are always vying for control, using whatever underground resources they have at their disposal. Two families in particular became so heated that one had the other's daughter kidnapped. In the world of politics and control, it was the ultimate underhanded trick."

"Why didn't they just alert the police? The detective forces here are supposed to be quite superior."

"As we already know, things are quite different for those seated in power. Turns out, the system in Noxus isn't much different than in most places. The wealthy are held above the law, and the lower classes struggle to find, much less keep, a place in the city. It's just monetary dominance rather than strength, and barons instead of generals. Even so, there was a similar drift in power in Noxus before Darius went on a decapitating spree on the nobles there."

"So, they had to resort to the Underground?"

"Not quite. With their daughter held hostage, the Arvino family had no choice but to succumb to the demands of the Thatermauges. The nature of their leverage over them was well-known to the Underground, and because of that, the Thatermauges gained that much more influence. Even if they had invoked the aid of the police, it would only prove to be the Arvino's undoing, as they would no doubt turn up a lack of evidence in the Thatermagues' involvement of the kidnapping. Eventually, it would only expose the backroom deals of their own design. They needed an outside source with no connection to Piltover whatsoever."

"They hired you."

"You could say that. Sophia, being so young and kept sheltered all her life, was quite naïve to the nature of her father's business. The whole ordeal was quite a wake-up call for her. Once things were settled, the Thatermauges lost an immense amount of influence, and became a laughing stock amidst the Underground. I haven't exactly kept up with things since, but I'd imagine it would have been impossible to recover from the massive retaliation they faced thereafter."

"They must really want you dead."

"Probably."

The two follow a large pipeline down a narrow hall, passing rooms with boxes of various documents and files. A left turn, and one last stretch awaits them, leading to a deformed doorway.

Shining his sword over the scene, "That's odd."

Riven kneels down, inspecting the soot on the floor. "This door was blown open."

The sound of a few metal rods dropping cause them to spring to alert, snapping to the direction of the noise.

"There's an intruder here besides ourselves?"

With an exchange of nods, they lower themselves and move quietly, heel to toe. A concentrated breath, and the flames of the blazing sword dims to a low burn, keeping the light from being too revealing. The two stick close, navigating toward the origin of the noise with large box-bearing shelves as cover. A frustrated grumbling becomes apparent, amidst the sound of shuffling objects clinging against each other.

A turn around the corner of a pillar, and the pair see a man rummaging through a mess of broken crates and metal containers. He is dressed in an odd fashion, with a brass coloration of gears and cogs melded into plates, like decorative armor. A mildly pulsating glow of teal emits from his gear, and his left arm is a mechanical replacement of articulate design. A tight, ornate jacket of purple and red drapes over him, giving off a vibe of an aristocratic arrogance. The artificial digits of his hand effortlessly tear away another lock off a steel storage unit, and with an irritated grunt, sends it flying across the room.

"Where is it!?" the gear-clad man spits, looking around aimlessly.

"Is he a Zaunite…?" whispers Riven.

"Don't know. Why don't we go ask him?"

Sharing a taste for a direct approach, the two step out of the shadows. The mysterious intruder twists suddenly in the direction of their footsteps. Scraggly black hair drapes over half of the man's face; the unkempt curls telling of a slipping descent into madness.

"Who's th—!?" he cuts himself off, eyes catching on the fiery sword. His expression changes, and his head lowers with his face hiding behind a raven curtain.

"Perhaps this question comes off as ironic, considering we shouldn't be here either…but, who are you and what are you after?" Ephrial cuts to the point.

The mechanically-altered man remains silent, holding eerily still, like a lifeless mannequin.

A lack of any kind of response forms a deeper suspicion in the sword-wielding travelers. Riven, with a particular displeasure of not getting answers, approaches the silent figure. Before she can take a third step, the man snaps back up, eyes wide with fury.

Ephrial reacts like lightning, poising his sword out in front of himself. A blindingly fast object collides with the fuller of his blade, and drops harmlessly to the floor. The swordsman lowers his weapon to see the smoking barrel of a hextech magnum, pointing right at his head.

The Exile snaps into action, swinging her blade toward the gunman, green runes glowing faintly in the dark. To her surprise, her attack is stayed at the palm of a metal arm. Eyes of a ruined man flick in her direction, and throws her aside. Rage turns in Ephrial's direction once again, and three more over-sized slugs streak towards him.

A nimble mercenary-knight rolls out of the way of the destructive blasts. The very force of the projectiles, backed by the explosive sound upon discharge, easily outclass any hextech revolver he has previously encountered. Ephrial dips behind a stretch of dormant machinery, switching cover in between bullets.

Riven leaps from behind the marksman, returning to the fray in a set of fierce strikes. With an odd, yet precise set of movements, her foe dances in between the blows, catching only the air that drifts from the razor's edge. A spin of his gun parries the runic blade away from his face, and he counters with an open-palmed strike into her stomach, launching her into an offline conductor.

The fiery bladesman dashes in close, a blaze streaming with a heavy cleave. A sturdy forearm of advanced hextech blocks the attack, and the bottom of an empty pistol whips into his cheek.

A clip dispenses out of the firearm, and a mechanical hand tosses a new one into the air. Sparks fly as a blade grazes over the armor of gear-like plates, and a swift hand twirls the gun to meet the airborne reservoir of ammunition. The clicking sound of a fresh bullet locking into place reaches Ephrial's ears, and a precision cut slices the speeding round just as it exits the barrel, barely in time.

Split in two, the pieces of the projectile thunder into the ground behind the swordsman, ringing out crashing vibrations of a close call. A tense scene sets in motion, fire blazing from sword and gun. Quick movements and speedy weapons duck and collide with each other, blocking fatal strikes in a vicious ballet of misdirecting each other's attacks. Remaining in close quarters, they virtually take turns in their motions, alternating between offense and defense with every move.

Bullets rampantly whizz past Ephrial's head, and a golden blade glides along brass cogs. The mixture of martial arts and ravaging weaponry scars the very floor they stand on. A sudden motion of sure-strikes brings the fight to an abrupt standstill.

The silvery sheen of a large handgun points right between the eyes of the mercenary-knight, and the scorching tip of an arcane blade just short of the gunman's throat. Solid glares lock, poised for a sudden death. A small chuckle grows into a loud laughter from the raven-haired man.

"Just who are you? If you're still a person, that is…" Ephrial peers into the mechanical madness.

The manic laugh dies down to a toothy grin. "You really don't remember me, do you? Well, who can blame you… I've had a little work done…after you left me to DIE!"

"You'll have to be a bit more specific than that."

"Hah! As impertinent as ever. You destroyed all that my family had built…all that we were worth!"

"Huh. Doesn't sound like me."

"And for what…!? You had no stake in our affairs! You didn't stay for profit or control! Do you know how much I have lost all because you wanted to save that little brat!?"

"Okay. Now it sounds like me."

The infuriated madman lowers his weapon, and Ephrial warily returns the favor.

"And THIS! You did THIS to me!" lifting his hair out of the way with a robotic hand.

Underneath lies a scarred face with a mechanical eye. Together, with the rest of his altered body, paints a picture of Zaun's handiwork, only much cleaner, and far more articulate.

Ephrial switches his gaze back to his human eye, digging through the past with the clues he has been given. "…Thatermauge."

"Slater Thatermague! I was next in line to inherit my family's legacy… We finally had our ambition in plain sight—complete control of Piltover's industrial revolution, and all clans of the Underground beneath our heel. It was not your concern to meddle with! Outsiders have no place in our matters any more than a dog has at a dining table."

A broken blade slices out of the darkness, colliding with the cybernetic limb. Slater turns his head toward the white-haired exile with a look of weary disapproval.

"Now, now, dear…it is rude to interrupt a business meeting…" a red eye peers down at Riven, and a glint of silver rises to her face.

"Riven!" the Blazing Swordsman hurls himself after her, the only option available without risk of his own blade being used against his partner, should she be thrown in his path.

The air explodes with the sound of gunfire, and the two travelers slide across the floor. A motionless second passes, and the mercenary-knight lifts himself up from off of her.

Wincing cerulean eyes ask the impending question, "Are you okay…?"

Riven's gaze quickly goes from him to the madman walking slowly towards them. Slater savors the locking of a new clip with a sinister grin, about to take his revenge after years of seething anger.

"That's it! Save the girl, just like before! Only this time…this time will have a different ending!"

Swifly, the Exile grabs Ephrial by the chestplate, and twists him over, causing them to tumble behind the cover of a large control panel. Bullets trace their path, sparking along the floor and obstruction.

Slater laughs, preparing another magazine of high-powered projectiles. "Come on out, mercenary! I have a proposal for you! I'm a business man…mercenaries are businessmen…we're not so different, right? So how about a deal. You poke your head out…and I'll make it painless!" toying with a small pool of blood with his boot.

"Ephrial, are you—"

"Yeah… I just got grazed," pulling a hand from his bloody side.

"That's a lot of blood for just being 'grazed'!"

"I'll bleed when I'm dead," quickly analyzing the situation at hand. "We're just free target practice at a range. We'll need to get close to him and attack together. A distraction would be nice," looking around the dim room for anything useful.

Without warning, a portion of the ceiling collapses inward, on the far side of the room. The surroundings become illuminated with red and blue lights, flashing rapidly. Dust and debris settle, revealing a large mechanical behemoth. A mech, painted in the colors of Piltover's police department, towers in the room. Triple-barreled machine guns take the place of arms, and a high-pressure water-cannon rests below the unmanned cockpit. Moving slow and steady on giant legs, the bipedal prototype enters the fight with an emotionless conviction born of circuits and wires. On the side is a phrase clearly altered with spray paint that reads: "To Punch and Serve."

A monotone voice speaks with enhanced volume, echoing loudly. "CLASS FIVE GUNFIRE DETECTED! PERFORMING SEARCH AND SIEZURE!"

"That constitutes a distraction, I suppose."

Slater's excitement elevates, and he greets another challenge. "Hahahaha! Bringing out the big toys, eh, 'Piltover's Finest'? WITNESS ME!"

Shots from his magnum begin to collide with the armor of the giant. "ASSAULT ON OFFICER DETECTED. PERMISSION TO UTILIZE LETHAL FORCE: …GRANTED."

The barrels of the police mech's guns begin to rotate with a high-pitched winding sound. Loud blasts tear the air up, and bullets pepper in the direction of Slater. Flying sentinels respond to the alerts and begin swarming inside, filling the room with lights. The disgraced nobleman leaps out of the way, and starts to engage the flying units, shooting them down with great accuracy.

"Looks like we're going to have our hands full," Ephrial states plainly.

"One of us will have to distract that thing while the other deals with Slater," Riven watches the mess unfold.

"Agreed…" he reluctantly concurs, the scene of her death still fresh in his mind.

"What is it?" unfamiliar with the look of uncertainty on him.

"…It's nothing," shaking it off. "I'll handle Slater. Try to distract the mech, but just…don't engage it directly."

"…You don't think I can handle a giant can-opener with guns?!"

"That's not it!"

"Then what!?" feeling insult to her pride.

Ephrial examines her, battered from the skirmish with the Thatermauge, yet still holding up like a true warrior. There is fire in her eyes, to which he holds an admiration. Yet, he fears if he would tell Riven of her former fate, one he had inadvertently set in motion, she might become hesitant, or even doubtful. There's simply no telling how one would react after telling them that they had died, much less how they are still alive. Some secrets must remain a secret.

He takes a deep breath, then opens his eyes again; a cerulean gaze brimming with conviction, forcing certainty as the only possible reality. Though the future holds many risks, he will accomplish his self-imposed mission.

"Humor me," a solid voice requests.

Riven's anger swiftly dissolves with the intensity of his determination and mystique. The swordsman stands up and dashes out of the cover, slashing through drones on a straight path to Slater Thatermauge. An ex-soldier takes off in the opposite direction, shifting her focus on her objective as her military training would have her do.

"The future is here, Mercenary! You're looking right at it!" Slater calls out.

"If the future is that ugly, then I'll just have to make sure to cut you out of the picture."

"Your sly tongue won't help you! You destroyed my family legacy, and now I will rip everything you have away!"

Bullets and blade collide, dancing between, and on top of, the floating sentinels as they wind around the room, granting the police mech vision through their optic relays. Sparks and explosions shower around the two, old-fashioned grit against technological enhancements.

"For someone who claims to have lost everything, you sure have some advanced augmentations. Far more than any Zaunite I've seen. Tell me…what did it cost you?" Ephrial slices through a bullet and spin-kicks Slater through a railing.

Thatermauge grins as he descends ten feet to the floor, flipping in mid-air to land on his feet. He leaps away from Ephrial's follow-up attack, emptying his clip in retaliation.

"Nothing I can't take back, I assure you."

The agile swordsman rushes straight ahead, weaving around the paths of the bullets, and charging into the last few with the flat of his blade. "I thought when it came to souls, all sales are final."

Slater launches a metal fist into Ephrial's oncoming blade, and he slides back a few feet with the fiery momentum as the two grind to a brief halt. "Always an answer for everything. 'Twould seem you would then have no problem answering to all those you've slain in your quest to save that little girl!"

"They made their choice. You have made yours…and I've made mine!" A flurry of sword strikes, fists, and kicks challenge the hextech-powered nobleman.

Another clip of ammo is tossed into the air, and a fiery slash burns through it. Slater raises his arm to block a heavy cleave from overhead, and is pressed to a knee. The heat begins to slowly eat away at the limb replacement, causing it to glow a bright, hot orange.

"So, you've come back all the way to Piltover to finish me, have you? Or perhaps you've taken another contract to topple another baron?"

"I don't make contracts. I won't be confined to a piece of paper, and I won't be chained to people with deep pockets. I'm not driven by any pursuit of money. A kidnapping was brought to my attention, and I did what was necessary because that's what I wished to do."

"What a waste! Destroying generations of work and toil, all for the sake of a girl not even of your own kin!"

"The value of her life far outweighs the likes of those who only live for murder and money. If there was even a chance of her making a choice to deviate away from the ways of your precious Underground system, then I consider that a fair trade."

"Hah! Any one of us were worth more than the Arvinos combined!"

Pushing down on the blade, "Yet, you would all be so quick to sell each other out for a copper coin."

Screeching metal and bullets storm through the stairs next to them, and they leap away from the bulldozing police mech. Riven, staying just ahead of the stomping machine, dives out of the way as the fumbling tower of metal trips and grinds along the ground. As it awkwardly rises upward, Slater hangs on, bashing the windshield with a wearing fist of a resilient alloy.

Ephrial and Riven evade the wild paths of automatic fire as the mech twirls about, attempting to shake off the crazed nobleman. One last punch breaks the reinforced glass, and he tears away the rest at its hinges. Ripping wires out and rearranging circuitry causes the COP mech to sputter and twist wildly, then powers down into an abrupt silence.

The swordsmen regroup, looking at the silent hunk of metal. Red and blue lights start up again, and the death machine springs back to life. It turns around, revealing its new, grinning pilot. Without hesitating, the partnering legends run for cover, bullets biting at their heels.

"You can't hide from me!" Slater, further improvising with the controls.

Each of the remaining sentinel drones ceases for a moment, then begins to move faster than before. Flying in a unison pattern, they start to scour the area for the travelers.

Taking refuge under the cover of a fallen pillar, the duo avoids the hijacked optics of the sentinels.

"Well, I guess now we only have one enemy to worry about," a fiery blade slides into a sheath.

"My sword can barely dent that thing," Riven huffs.

Ephrial carefully peeks out, looking for something to turn the tide. Towards the end of the room, he spots two large conductors, exposed and uncharged. Behind them, a large steel cap, like a lid covering a deeper chamber.

"If we can pull it off, we may be able to solve two problems at once here."

"Do you have a plan?"

"More like a bad idea, but, sure, we'll call it a plan."

"What is it?" a wary curiosity.

"Do you remember when I mentioned this building used to run on its own source of power? This room definitely converted steampower into electrical energy. That means that giant cap is covering a furnace of sorts," the mercenary-knight points it out. "It just needs the right spark to ignite."

"Just how are we going to open that lid? It looks permanently sealed."

"With a giant can-opener."

A faint grin recognizes the callback to a moment of anger, now into a moment of humor mixed with adrenaline. "How should we proceed?"

"There should be a manual pump to prime the conductors. Look for a lever connected to a large conduit."

"A what…?"

"Er…a rubbery pipe that connects something to another something."

"I see…" trying to picture a device foreign to her.

"Keep priming the lever until it just won't go anymore. There should be a switch near it that triggers the charge into the conductors over there. Wait until the lid is open and Slater is in between those giant metal rods."

"G-got it…!" puzzled by inexperience with Piltover's technology.

Red lights peer over them, revealing lenses focusing on their position. With one last exchange of glances, the two split up, just in time to avoid being torn by a barrage of bullets. The reprogrammed drones divide their chase, following their targets to keep a visual.

Ephrial takes the role of distraction, evading the crushing steps of the police mech and weaving between lines of gunfire. He ducks and slides through a narrow gap, below slabs of collapsed stone and metal. Relentlessly tailing him, Slater uses the barrels of the mech to smash through the obstructions with a crude, but effective punching motion. The mercenary-knight leaps onto the giant cover of the furnace, running to the edge before turning around to face his foe.

"There is no place left to run! I shall thoroughly enjoy this, 'Hero'!" the madman shouts as he climbs onto the platform.

The joints of the mechanical wonder manage to step up without an issue, and the sheer weight rumbles the cover with each step.

"We've already seen how much you're worth as a man… Let's see how much you're worth as a mechanical monstrosity!" Ephrial taunts as he flourishes out his sword with a spin, loosening his wrist up for battle.

A loud metal screeching sounds as the mech charges forth, almost as if the machine itself became sentient with a battlecry, reflecting Slater's thirst for vengeance. High-powered projectiles stream down in lines toward Ephrial as it rushes, punching holes through the surface of the platform.

With a daring challenge, the Blazing Swordsman dashes straight forward, preparing for precision of timing. He leaps over the path of the ballistics, somersaulting through the narrow gap between the lines of fire, just above their focal point. Hitting the ground running, he retains his momentum as he continues toward Slater.

The shadow of a large, metal foot rises over him, and Ephrial swerves to the side, dodging several thousand pounds of crushing pressure. He sweeps his blade along the outer ankle of the other leg, and uses the newly-carved handhold to clasp firm on the flailing machine. Nimbly climbing the crevices in between heavy armor plating, he ascends the titan's structure, surrounded by the red gazes of weaponless sentinels.

Holding fast with determination in his grip, the mercenary-knight hangs on as the mech spins its upper-body on a pivot separate from its legs. Spotting a panel and handle used for maintenance, Ephrial reaches out, nearly falling off as he grabs hold. Getting dizzy himself, Slater halts the spinning, and the swordsman braces. Taking his sword in both hands, he plunges the fiery blade into the side of the panel. Gritting his teeth, a fiery spirit begins to melt away at the protective exterior. He begins cutting through a plate of seething metal, glowing hot from the intense heat.

Slater begins rapidly typing away at the control panel before him, and the swarm of remaining drones begins to move angrily. One dives low, slamming straight into the mercenary. With a loud metal thud, Ephrial crashes back onto the platform. Skipping next to him is a deformed plate, sliding away after being snapped off by the force.

"Heh heh…I can see what they mean by fighting fire with fire. Maybe it isn't wise to fight you in your own element. I should have been using this instead!"

Ephrial picks himself up, forcing the pain out of his mind. A cerulean gaze meets the barrel of a water-cannon adjusting itself in his direction. What was intended to be a non-lethal alternative to crowd control is being overridden into something devastating. Narrowly jumping out of the way, he avoids a laser of extreme water-pressure. The metal of the platform squeals as it tears asunder at the mercy of this innovative weapon.

The nobleman laughs manically as he sends more drones to pummel Ephrial, making him an easier target. The jet of water trails along the path of the evading swordsman, carving through a foot of reinforced steel.

Facing immeasurable odds, the adventurer keeps on the move. Ducking and weaving between blimp-like rams of metal, he keeps his distance from the hydraulic beam of death. A sentinel just behind him gets caught in the wake of the jet, splitting in half. The resulting explosion knocks Ephrial down, sending him tumbling forward. A raging spout of water reflects in his eyes, and the mercenary rolls himself out of its path, falling into a large gap of ripped metal created during the chase.

The water clears, and all the remains in sight is an arcane sword in the middle of a scarred battlefield. Ceasing the cannon, Slater looks anxiously in the quiet scene lit up by rotating lights of red, the sentinels now circling above. He stands up, balling his fists in triumph.

"It's over! IT'S OVER! I have claimed my revenge, and now I will claim Piltover!" an insane laughter ensues.

Cheating death, an enduring knight pulls himself up. Covered in blood and water, he manages to climb out, taking the blade of everlasting fire back into his hand. He stands, looking up at the man in the towering mech; a gaze of pure resolve burning a hole in the nobleman's celebration.

Slater takes notice, and his expression drops. Shock immediately turns to rage, and he sinks back into the cockpit with haste. Taking the levers and controls in his hands once again, the mech springs back up and adopts his aggressive stance. Concealing panels on the back of the machine loudly pop off, revealing an arsenal of small missiles tucked in a compartment.

"WHY WON'T YOU DIE!?"

Rapidly, the rows of explosives take flight one at a time in very swift succession, spiraling high in the air with trails of smoke tailing each one. The drones begin to wildly twist in Ephrial's direction, spearheading themselves on a direct collision course with him. Tightening his grip on the hilt of his blade, Ephrial charges forward with intensity.

A shower of tiny explosions begins to erupt all around him, as the missiles pepper down on the furnace. The first sentinel closes in, and the swordsman sidesteps it at the last moment, letting it crash into a fiery wreck. Ephrial slashes straight through the next two, leaping onto the one behind them. Before it can collide with the platform, he hops onto the next, ducking below a missile as it whistles past. A sea of explosive destruction covers the entire ring in a deadly blaze, creating a lively inferno beneath.

Taking a leap of faith, he hurls himself forward with all his might, cutting through an obstructing drone in mid-air. Turning the grip on his sword around, he dives straight forward to Slater. The machine jerks to the side, moving the cockpit safely away. Ephrial hits the next-best mark. A fiery blade plunges down into the exposed wiring of a compromised panel.

A malfunction in the system causes the mech to take an awkward step and stumble backwards, off of the furnace. The machine slams into the ground, sending Ephrial sliding along the stone floor. Silence takes the air, if only for a brief moment. None of the drones cruising the air remain. The only light that fills the room comes from peering moonbeams, leaking through where the mech had crashed from above, and the glow of a blazing sword.

Ephrial wearily rises, using his blade for support until he is on his feet. Rubble and dust begin to shudder, and the prototype mech sparks back up. Whirring and sputtering, the mechanical marvel raises upright with a pilot that is only half man. Torn clothing and exposed hextech parts reveal the true nature of what used to be the future kingpin of Piltover.

The mercenary, holding his bloody side with his free hand, looks over at Slater Thatermauge. Both host an expression of fatigued frustration at each other.

Slater holds a human hand over a damage mechanical eye. "Why…?! Why do you keep getting my way…!? You didn't belong here then, and you don't belong here now! You should be at the 'League of Freaks' with all the rest! Yet, still, here you are…in Piltover! Tell me, for what purpose does an outsider that has no ambition for this city come here!?"

"This time, it's none of your business."

The madman can't help but let out a laugh of lunacy at Ephrial's sharp wit—a turn of phrase based on how the mercenary toppled his future empire, and how it left the Thatermauges out of business permanently.

"So, what's next? You're going to sentence me to death like the rest?!"

"Whatever you and your family had coming to you, I had nothing to do with. Yet, I can't help but feel it wasn't exactly undeserved."

"Hah! Washing your hands clean of responsibility! Then again, that's what 'heroes' do, don't they!? Is this the true face of the so-called 'chivalrous mercenary'!?"

"I don't recall ever referring to myself as a 'hero'. I have always fought for what I believe in…for the people I believe in. Perhaps you're right to infer that my hands are not clean," Ephrial spots the hextech magnum lying in front of him, and picks it up. "Yet, this is the path I have chosen. Peace is fleeting. It cannot exist without war…without death…without blood. Yet, if someone doesn't try, it simply won't exist at all."

A partial pull of the slide with his finger reveals one slug left in the chamber. He releases it, letting it snap back into place, and lets out a sigh.

"A thousand souls await you in the next life! Forget the Underground! I will build my empire in the underworld! All of Hell will be waiting for you! The Thatermauges do not forget those that cross us, and we never forgive!" insane enthusiasm spits blood.

The barrels of the mech begin to wind, humming with the strain of rerouting power. A loud click echoes within the walls of the room, and the exposed conductors next to the battered mech begin to glow. A large band of electricity begins crackling between them, joining with violent prongs of lightning. Caught in the middle of the massive flow of electrons, Slater screams out in pain as they course through his body and that of the prototype. The controls in the cockpit begin to spark and combust wildly, starting small fires all around the chassis of the police unit.

"N-NEV…ER…FORGET! NEV…NEVER FORGIIIIVE!" the mad nobleman laughs through the agony.

"Tell them not to get too comfortable down there," Ephrial, still looking downward, closes his eyes and stretches his arm out to his side, steadily pointing the handcannon. "Eternity is a long time to have to contend with me."

The sound of a small click, and a thunderous boom lets out. A speeding projectile hits its mark, and the impact sends the silenced noble and ruined mech tipping backwards. Ephrial dismisses the firearm with a casual flick of his wrist, letting it fall to the dust.

Metal creaks and grinds as the giant legs fumble over the edge of the furnace, falling into the dark pit opened by excessive force. The jolting electricity of the conductors ceases, allowing for a moment of odd stillness before the machine crashes to the bottom. A fiery ignition sets off, spouting out of the pit, and the room begins to hum with lively energy. Old lights from a previous generation glow a dim yellow through glass tainted with age. Steam begins to fill the space through the furnace and various leaks around damaged piping, humidifying the atmosphere.

Riven traverses the ruins, the basement still somehow holding up the floors above. She approaches Ephrial with an array of questions in her mind. The Exile had heard everything between them, creating speculation of misdeeds or extreme overzealousness in Ephrial's past. Not one to judge on such things, she holds back reservations on him, yet cannot help but be unsettled.

"…What happened with you and the Thatermauges?" she inquires, sensing a deeper tale.

"…You already know the story."

"There's clearly more to it! He spoke as if you killed his entire clan! What did you do…?"

"I don't know…" he speaks softly.

Riven senses a perturbed suspicion in his voice. Knowing she cannot vice the answer out of him, as well as having already decided to trust him, the Exile leans off the subject. Despite the straightforward honesty he has always given her, Riven sees only mystery in Ephrial, and a wariness brews within.

The mercenary-knight opens his eyes again, turning his head toward the uncovered chamber of steampower. An article of paper rests where the maddened enemy used to be. He walks over to pick it up, eyes scanning the blood-splattered parchment.

"What is it?" Riven looks over his shoulder.

"It's an invoice for a work-order."

"Repairs…? Why would someone who wants to destroy place an order to fix things? A guise?"

"A clue."

With a loud clash, a light fixture that was barely hanging on a cord slams into the ground behind them. Another look at their surroundings, and they know their time is short.

"Why haven't we been overrun with Piltover's police yet?"

"I assume they must have sent almost every unit to that explosion from earlier in an attempt to finally capture the culprit. With all the commotion we've caused here, I'm sure they'll be back before long."

"Then let's get Heimerdinger's screwdriver and leave."

Ephrial stores the valuable piece of paper and rushes alongside Riven. Despite the weights in the back of their minds, their headstrong attitudes keep them on course. A dark yesterday cannot get in the way of a brighter tomorrow. In their own way, they realize this, though the struggle remains. Progress often looks back to the past for guidance…

Yet, hope exists only for the future.