Disclaimer: I do not own, nor do I claim to own, any character or region besides my original characters and storylines. All characters and regions not originally created by the authors credited in this work of fiction are the intellectual properties of Riot Games, Inc. and their respective partners.
Author's Note: There is a subtle hint to the nature of Heron's powers somewhere in this chapter, just to help expand on his character a little. See if you can spot it.
Also, for those who knows where the excerpt below was actually taken from, you're a legend and I salute you. I'll give credits at the end.
The Noxian army was large, diverse. But in the grander scheme, most of them were merely like-faced savages, a vast violent ocean at the Trifarix's command. Mired in masses of steel and flesh, casting hordes from flock minds and bloodlust, they inspire nothing.
The Demon, rumored to have emerged from the Chaos that birthed Creation itself, was different. Unusual. Singular. Its weapons a reflection of itself. Crafted without cast, wrought of the finest ore, slender and queer.
Sight without eye. Wrath without sound.
Not a soldier, but a myth. Not a warrior... a spirit…
A testament of Noxus.
– excerpt from The Mythos of Noxus, Chapter XXI: The Noxii Demon, page 183 –
Master Bedroom, Medarda Mansion House, Bluewind Court, Piltover
Caitlyn let out a frustrated sigh as she leaned over to examine the wound on Jago's corpse. The blisters and shade of green around the wound looked and smelled like Bilgewater sea serpent venom, which matched the substance they found coating the blade. The stroke was clean but shallow, deliberately cutting his vocal chords while letting him bleed out long enough for the venom to kill him first. He died slowly and in pain, conscious throughout it all. This was personal. This was a message.
The other message was the blade itself, embedded into the Medarda sigil. It wasn't subtle. Piltover had a longstanding trade partnership with Noxus, and as a Councilor's daughter she'd been forced to learn the culture and customs of the empire. But even without that education it was clear: This was a declaration of war against Clan Medarda, perhaps even Piltover itself given Jago's station, former station, as Head Councilor.
"Shit just got real, huh?" Vi asked from over her shoulder before wincing at the frankly disgusting wound. "How long do you think we have before people catch wind of this?"
Caitlyn suppressed another sigh as she was reminded that there was also the public reaction to worry about. The moment Jago's death becomes public knowledge, the Clans would tear each other apart to get their hands on his significantly large piece of Piltover. The comptrollers within Clan Medarda were already doing the same to each other, especially now that there was no heir. Jago had never bothered to make an official line of succession, Jae had been an only child, and Galob, the kid's cousin, had been disowned years ago. Nobody's seen him since.
"A day, maybe two. Any longer than that and we should consider ourselves lucky", Caitlyn responded. And she was certain that the Duke knew exactly what the fallout of his actions would be. He was deliberately destabilizing Piltover's economic and political structure, for what reason she didn't yet know, but she was sure of at least that. Just like she was sure that Camille Ferros, and whatever other intelligencer or agent Bluewind Court decide to dispatch, would be tracking him down, and that they'd all have orders to kill.
Killing officers of the law was one thing, killing a Councilor was a completely different matter. The difference was that one of the two threatened the Clans directly, and as such they couldn't just turn a blind eye like they did with most other problems happening under their noses. Caitlyn moved away from the body to examine the rest of the room, not that there was much to examine in the first place. According to Eloise Hedersett, one of the maids assigned to the residential wing and the first person to discover the body, the room was precisely how it was when she was summoned late last night to draw the late Clan master a bath. The intact and untampered windows were locked from the inside, guards were posted right outside the only entrance, and there was no sound heard from within the room all night. It was like he'd just appeared in the room, killed Jago, then disappeared again without a trace. Magic being used was almost a certainty, considering the open secret in Zaun that the Duke was a mage.
She was really starting to miss Heron. As a mage himself, he was far more qualified for a case like this than anyone else in the force, and Caitlyn had been relying on him to deal with magical-related cases, mostly artifacts, ever since he joined the Wardens because she didn't want to have to owe Ezreal anything. But he was still in Zaun, still deep undercover, which meant no contact, so she'd have to rely on her own instincts to…
"I was gone for two weeks, and everything went to shit"
She turned around to see Heron, crimson hair and all, leaning against the doorway. He wore his usual outfit but only had the single blade on his back, a charming smile gracing his features. Despite the situation, along with everything else, Caitlyn found herself smiling back. Heron walked into the room and glanced around, his irises a shade of red she'd learned to mean that he was using the arcane power at his disposal. He stopped by the sword first, let out a contemplative hum, then did the same by the windowsill, then the bed, so on and so forth. Everyone, including forensics, knew to leave him alone while he inspected the scene. He had a knack for seeing things that no one else could.
"No fucking way", she heard from inside the ensuite bathroom and went to investigate. Heron was staring at a spot on the marble floor, as pristine as everything else around it. Knowing that it was probably something that can only be seen with the use of magic, Caitlyn didn't bother to look.
"Care to tell me what it is exactly that you're looking at?"
"Remnants of some sort of totem ward", he responded, then squinted and leaned forward a tad further. "Traces of an invisibility spell. Small scale, concentrated, more focused on longevity and potency than size, but how would that…"
Heron made a show of sighing in frustration, closing his eyes a though he was trying to keep himself calm, which he hoped was convincing enough to fool the Sheriff.
"Of course. Tricksy K'naad."
Caitlyn raised a brow at the Va-Nox profanity, waiting for an explanation.
"Wards, or other artifacts connected to a mage can be used as location anchors for that mage to perform a teleportation spell", he explained.
Her eyes widened as the final piece of the puzzle clicked into place, raising her head to look at the small ventilation shaft directly above them. The opening wasn't wide enough for a human, a vastayan, or even a yordle to squeeze through, so she had dismissed it initially, but it was enough to maybe drop something down into the bathroom itself from the upper shaft that connected this room to hundreds of others all over the house before leading off to a central ventilation system on the roof. An upper shaft that, for maintenance purposes, was more than wide enough to crawl through.
That's how he did it. Which meant that he was either trained in stealth and infiltration, or there was at least one mole in this mansion who gave him access through the gates. No reason to dismiss the possibility of both being true either.
Heron was looking at her out of his peripheral and could see the gears turning in her head. He knew that blatantly assassinating Medarda in his own bedroom meant risking the reveal of some of the pieces at play, but it was a gambit he was willing to take, especially now that he had even more promising options.
After their initial confrontation, he had a private chat with his father upstairs. They've sorted out the specifics of his return to High Command and the restoration of his public standing in Noxus when this operation finally comes to an end before it even started, but it never hurts to go through things again. The two then spent the next three hours putting the plan through dozens of hypothetical worse-case scenarios and adjusted the details to compensate for the squad of Crimsons now readily available to him, along with the entire regiment back home if needed.
It felt good, being able to pick the mind of someone more strategically talented and far more experienced than himself. It was a shame that he had to leave so soon, but a member of the Trifarix couldn't be away for long without appointing a proxy, and this visit was too unofficial to use one.
They left the bathroom and returned to the main crime scene, where Medarda's silhouette had been lined with chalk and the body discreetly removed. There would eventually be a funeral for him, a memorial service 'befitting his station', but for now he would be just another corpse in the Warden's morgue, waiting for an autopsy. The memory of seeing the high and mighty Jago Medarda brought low and broken, reduced to a bloody corpse frozen in fear by his hand, sent a sickly tingle of pleasure down Heron's spine that was eradicated immediately. Now was not the time to deal with the twisted sense of gratification his mother instilled in him, he needed to focus on navigating what was probably the most delicate part of this plan.
"I found out something pretty important when I was down there", he spoke up, causing Caitlyn and Vi, who was right outside the door, to turn his way expectantly. "The Duke receives guests right above The Last Drop. You can meet him up there at any time as long as you come upstairs unarmed and he's not busy with something else"
Caitlyn nodded her head, contemplating the possibilities that this new information offered. Vi, on the other hand, was seething at the thought of yet another kingpin using her adoptive father's home as a base of operations. Heron had of course heard the stories of the legendary Vi, daughter of Vander. About how, after he adopted her from Hope House orphanage, she had proven herself to the Lanes with her fists and willingness to get things done, no questions asked.
He also knew that, after Vander died and the undercity clashed violently against itself with Silco holding the reins, Vi was abducted and shoved into Stillwater without even a name on her record and stayed there for seven years before Caitlyn got her out.
He had to be careful, steering the dynamic duo to where he needed them should be easy enough, but one slip here could destroy two years of hard work and force the Trifarix to revert to conventional warfare. Despite his hatred of the noble court and his despise of the Piltovan habit of exploiting the poor and downtrodden, not everyone in this city deserved to be killed. Most were just trying to live their lives to the best of their ability. But if Noxian warships meet resistance on Piltovan shores, the cobbled streets of this city would run red before the first soldier even made land. He didn't want that to happen, not again.
Give them too much and Vi would storm the bar by herself to get answers but giving them too little would make Caitlyn hesitant.
"He has a squad of guards in there at all times, six squads total on a four-hour shift with thirty seconds of overlap between each rotation. They're mostly unarmed, but they are augmented for combat", Heron continued, choosing his words carefully.
He was dangling a tempting bait in front of them, one that Vi wouldn't be able to ignore, and by nature of their relationship neither would Caitlyn.
"There shouldn't be any problems as long as you don't bring an army down there and try to storm the place."
"When is he usually there?" Vi asked, not even bothering to hide her intent. Heron choked down a smirk lest Caitlyn notices.
"I heard there was supposed to be a show three days from now, a monthly tournament at about nineteenth bell. Apparently, with so many people drinking and betting, he thought it was a good way to get some extra coins for the orphanages in the Sump", he said, watching closely as her brows rose at that last tidbit.
She was hooked, all he had to do now was reel her in.
"It's an open event, and the guards don't care who you are as long as you follow the rules."
"What rules?" Caitlyn asked from his right, finally snapping out of her contemplation.
"No fighting inside the bar, keep your weapons to yourself, and make sure to get the courtier's consent first", he listed off. "Those are just the big ones off the top of my head. There are a few more but follow those and you'll be fine. You'll get a warning the first time you break a rule, and security will keep a close eye on you all night. Do it the second time and you'll get banned permanently. But if you kill someone inside that bar, you're not walking away, no matter who you are"
Caitlyn looked surprised, but Vi didn't. The Last Drop was always considered a safe haven, a relatively safe spot in an otherwise 'kill or be killed' city, even under Silco. There wasn't an army guarding the place before, but then again the undercity was tamer back then.
"Go walk a beat with Mir and Kepple, cool down, relax for a bit. You've earned it", Caitlyn told Heron with a light smile, one that he returned. He didn't notice the way that smile slipped from her features or the way her eyes followed him, tinted with suspicion, as he walked away.
"All right, here's what we'll do", she turned to Vi and spoke up again once Heron was comfortably out of earshot. "I want you to case that bar for the next few days like you're going to rob it. Number of guards, time of rotation, line of sight, points of entry and exit, both inside and out. I want to know that place better than my own house."
Vi nodded and, with a subtle gesture from Caitlyn, departed. The Sheriff's frown deepened as she returned her attention to the case at hand.
Sheriff's Office, Second Floor, Hall of Law, Piltover
One Hour Before
Caitlyn sat, slumped against the leather backrest, hands shaking from disbelief and eyes seething with rage. A small package was on her desk, its contents strewn across the mahogany surface from when she'd dropped it moments before. The silk cover was a beautiful shade of black, its surface unmarked, but the files within was different. It was a vanilla folder, a red stamp in the bottom right corner indicating it as a Warden file, most likely from the Archives. There was a faint smell of Zaun Gray emanating from the cover, which was suspicious, but it was the content of those pages that drove the usually composed Sheriff to her current state. The first thing she saw inside was an uncannily lifelike illustration of Heron, only with hair a shade somewhere between black and indigo instead of the crimson she'd come to associate with him and seemingly younger by at least a few years. The page that illustration was clipped to held only two lines of black ink in cursive, elegant handwriting, but it was enough to turn her world on its head.
"Heron Rekam Swain"
"The Crimson General"
If this file was to be believed, then the man she had considered her friend had been lying to her the entire time they'd known each other. More than that, it would mean that Heron is a Swain. As in Grand General Jericho Swain, the most strategically brilliant man in Valoran, maybe even Runeterra. Hands still shaking but slightly steadier than before, Caitlyn picked up the journal and took a deep breath to calm herself. She had suspected Heron to be hiding something, even more so after their first talk about the Duke, which meant she was vulnerable to confirmation bias. For all she knew, this folder was fraudulent, another ploy by the Duke to turn her against her own people, and she won't allow that to happen.
Caitlyn would discern the contents with the objectivity and rationality of a detective, not the mess of sadness and rage of a betrayed friend. She'll deal with her emotions when she was done.
Later That Night
The rest of the folder held a plethora of information, but Caitlyn had gotten distracted when a pneuma-tube about Medarda's murder dropped into her office. After making sure that they'd collected every piece of data possible, she'd spent the rest of her day pouring over the folder, along with every single text, tome, and article related to Noxus that she could find, searching for mentions of the Crimson General. She went to her mother about getting back in touch with their unofficial trade partners in Demacia, specifically the Crownguards, and placed an order for certain items just in case Heron turned out to be what she suspected.
And good thing she did, because according to the folder, which had passed every authenticity inspection available to her, the Crimson General was supposedly one of the most dangerous generals in Noxian High Command after the coup, not because of raw strength, but because of his skills and abilities. He was listed as the one who led that legendary assault through the Raedsel ranks and dragged Darkwill out into public view, where Jericho Swain executed him in what had long since became a pivotal moment in Runeterran history. The 'Crimson' part of his title came from when he revived the Raedsel Guard remnants into a fearsome regiment of warriors known as the Crimson Elite. Somehow the entire file had slipped by unnoticed during routine background checks. Stolen, perhaps? It did smell like the Gray after all.
And then there was the fact that the Zinralei family doesn't seem to exist, at least not according to the Archives. Given that Piltover had a longstanding trade relationship with Noxus and therefore have extensive records about the Empire, that fact, coupled with Heron's sizable wealth, raised a red flag in her head.
But that only pointed to her suspicion that Heron lied about his origins, not that he was the Duke or even involved. Given his father's reputation, it was understandable that he would want to be disassociated from his origins, something that, as a Kiramman, she especially understood. No one would've given him a chance, because no one would've been able to look pass his father's name. Still, it was enough for her to personally justify a discreet investigation into his activities.
She'd have to track Heron alone. Vi was nowhere near inconspicuous enough to tail him, but there was another way for her to be involved. And if he did turn out to be the Duke…
He'll get that war he wanted. And she'll make sure he regrets it.
The Black Lanes, Sump Level, Zaun
Three Days Later
And that was how Caitlyn found herself dashing from one roof to another, staying beyond the range of bright chem-lamps as she tailed Heron into the Lanes, dashing behind walls and crates to avoid the sporadic glances over his shoulder as the clocktower above her rung its bell for the eighteenth time. He was sporting a trench coat and heavy trousers, which was practical attire, but had no visible blades on him. The man was on his own, walking with a purpose.
Caitlyn dashed ahead to a spot that acted as a pretty good vantage point and crouched low, completely hidden by shadows. She had a petricite box on her back, concealing the hextech core of her trusty rifle from any detection spells. Apparently the crystals are like beacons for mages who knew how to look.
Heron slipped into an alleyway unnoticed and took the coat off, turning it inside out, revealing a different coat on the other side, and putting it back on in one smooth motion. She saw that there was a hood built into this side, kept hidden by intricate folds in the fabric.
Her eyes widened as she saw a shade of green bleed into his hair, displacing the crimson before he flipped the hood up to cover it and left the alleyway. A hand reached into his coat and pulled out an esophilter, which was secured onto his face just as he stepped into sight of The Last Drop. Caitlyn narrowed her eyes as a sharply dressed and decently armed bouncer held the door open and gave him a respectful nod before he slipped through the doorway and out of her sight. She could only hope that Vi had a good vantage point inside.
Now, was Heron's house warded?
There was a gnawing at the pit of Vi's stomach and a tight knot in her chest as she walked towards one of the last remnants of her childhood, armed with only a small steel knife tucked into her waistband, just under the small of her back.
The place was bigger than she remembered, much bigger. It seemed the Duke decided that he needed more room.
At least those damn neon lights were gone.
On the way, Vi took the chance to really look around, as she was too preoccupied with threatening suspects the last time. She was surprised by what she saw. Clean and intact streets, bright chemtech lights, solid walls and intact windows, wires and cables running from door to door, and not a drop of shimmer in sight. Minimal fighting all around, though she still saw a few disputes being settled in alleyways. The people were different, too. For the first time since she could remember, Vi saw residents of the Sump seemingly well-fed and wearing clothes that were clean and in good condition, clothes that seemed professionally tailored and not like it was sewn together from whatever scrap fabric topside threw down the cliffs.
The Zaun Gray was nearly imperceptible. The air no longer burned her nostrils, no longer smelled like runoff and death. There was still pollution, clusters of light fog that was probably impossible to get rid of completely, but it was faint, dominated by a smell akin to those cleaning liquids and air fresheners the maids used at Cait's place.
Vi barely got a chance to eye both bouncers as she stepped through the held-open door of The Last Drop before being hit with a wave of nostalgia inside. Flashes of her playing with Powder and the mechanical monkeys, arm-wrestling with Claggor or Vander, and chasing after Mylo after one of his stupid pranks shot through her inner eye, and the pinkette heard a small chuckle emit from her own throat.
"Didn't think you'd stoop back down here, Fat Hands"
Vi jolted at the voice, her voice. Her head snapped towards it to see Pow- no, Jinx, manning the bar, polishing glasses with a small towel. She'd grown another couple of inches over the past few years and had put on some lithe muscle around the arms and shoulders in recent months, much to Vi's surprise. What surprised her most, however, was her sister's eyes. The pink glow was gone, replaced by a familiar shade of blue. Thinking back, Vi realized that her voice sounded more stable, more sane than usual.
"Jinx?" she asked shakily. The unspoken question was clear in her tone: Jinx or Powder?
Jinx ignored her in favor of turning to the two guards by the stairway. It was a testament to how much her presence had shocked Vi that the Enforcer didn't even notice the two until the bluette addressed them.
"Check our inventory downstairs, make sure we have enough booze and snacks to last through the night, then go to Babette and get the usual list. Take your time"
She waited for them to leave before turning back to Vi. "It's still Jinx, sis, just a lot less shimmer in my blood", the younger woman said, dropping the crazed façade completely in favor of a tight, measured tone as she answered her sister's question.
That's what they were, in the end. Still sisters, even after everything. A bond so broken yet unbreakable at the same time, kept hidden from the elitist Piltovans who were waiting for the smallest excuse to throw Vi back down to Zaun and replace Caitlyn with a more 'suggestable' Sheriff. And Jinx was one hell of an excuse.
"Speaking of shimmer", she added before pulling out a glowing blue vial from underneath the bar and downed it in four long gulps. Her eyes glowed for a second before she spit a wad of purple into the sink and wiped her mouth.
"What brings you down to this old place, Vi? Here to arrest my boss?"
"He has you working here?" Vi managed to choke out, still stunned by the fact that Jinx, her sister, was here.
Jinx raised an eyebrow at that and blew a humored raspberry. "As if. I volunteered for the night. Thieram needed a break and Fight Night's always entertaining. Besides, I need to heal, and it gets super boring upstairs after a while"
She hopped over the bar and Vi tensed instinctively, ready for a fight. That was until she saw the gauze and bandages wrapped around her sister's left leg, just underneath her shorts, along with the way she stumbled slightly upon landing.
"Turns out I didn't escape unscathed as often as I thought. The shimmer just healed me before the adrenaline wears off", she explained with a small chuckle. "Now, are you gonna stand there all night like an idiot, or are you gonna sit down and have a drink?"
Vi made her way to a familiar booth, right in the middle of the back wall where she would eavesdrop on conversations and pick up leads and tips about potential jobs back in the day. It felt like an eternity, yet no time at all, had passed. She snapped out of her reminiscing when Jinx placed two glasses of cavernberry mead onto the table and started to sip on one. The Enforcer raised a brow.
"Wouldn't have taken you for a drinker"
"I'm usually not, but since you're here, something tells me I'll need it. It's not like I'm underaged", she replied nonchalantly, and Vi had to acquiesce. Their meetings these past few years were notoriously destructive, as the Council had condescendingly stressed every time they see the bill for property damages, much to her annoyance and amusement equally.
"So, what's Fight Night, exactly?" Vi asked, trying to keep the conversation going. This was the first time in a long time that they'd met without Jinx being insane on shimmer and trying to blow shit up, or Vi trying to catch her with a pair of gauntlets literally designed to pulverize boulders in the mines. She wasn't about to let it sink into silence. Besides, she still had a job to do.
Jinx thought for a few seconds, trying to find the words as Vi not-so-discreetly case the space. It's been too long since she's held a lengthy conversation with anyone other than Heron, and he she was comfortable with. Ironic, for a Sump-rat from the Lanes, that a foreign man would be a source of comfort and safety while her own sister was the suspicious stranger.
"It's a monthly thing. All in the name, really. A series of fights to start the night off, decent money for all fighters, and everyone can bet their coins at the counter over there", she explained, gesturing to a counter next to the bar, a blackboard behind it showing the scheduled bouts and each fighter's odds.
Vi recognized some of the names and was mildly impressed. The Duke clearly wasn't messing around.
"After that, the Duke steps into the ring and anyone here can challenge him for something of his, but they have to bet something of their own equally as valuable. We've gotten people betting everything from whole factories to hextech prosthetics to a single washer. Everything made here tonight goes to the foundling homes that he offered patronage to, which is to say all of them, so most people bet whatever they can afford to lose, which still ain't much", she explained to the Enforcer. "Some are arrogant enough to think that they'll beat him, but most know that he's undefeated for a reason. Still, it's a really good way to just bring everyone together for a good cause, ya know? Brings back that sense of community from the olden days, before all these Barons took over"
The way she spit out 'Baron' like it was a toxin didn't go unnoticed, and Vi quietly took a sip of her drink. She never tried cavernberry mead before. Never had the chance. It was sweet, but not overwhelmingly so. She liked it.
All the while her eyes were on Jinx. That anger wasn't new, and therein lied the problem. Vi knew from experience that Jinx was at her most dangerous when she was angry. When she was manic it was playful, if destructive. But when she gets angry, she was terrifying. Ekko could attest to that.
"That's good to hear", Vi said, treading carefully. Silco was the first Chem-Baron, inspiring an entire generation that followed suit, and the 'Eye of Zaun' was probably still a touchy subject for Jinx even now, years after his death.
"The streets seemed better too", she decided to deflect. "Can't remember a time when people down here looked…"
"Healthy? Relaxed? Not destitute? Yeah, you can thank the Duke for that. He came down here, either enticed or bullied the Barons into submission, then used the shitload of gold that came here with him to just… rebuild Zaun in his image, basically. And I gotta tell ya, sis, it's a pretty image. You saw it on the way here, right? Consistent power supply, good medical care, intact housing, somewhat clean air, abundant food, and plenty of new jobs that's paid really well", Jinx listed off, a small smile gracing her pale features before abruptly turning to look Vi in the eyes, suddenly deadly serious.
"We finally have someone truly powerful who genuinely gives a shit, Vi, so I'm asking you, as your sister: Leave my brother alone. Tell your girlfriend to stop hunting him, 'cause otherwise there'll be hell to pay. For her and for you. I'll make sure of that."
To say that Vi was shocked would've been an understatement the size of Ferros' pocket. In the same breath, Jinx had just appealed to the sun-kissed Sump-rat, pleaded to her sister, threatened the Enforcer, and affirmed her loyalty to the current leader of Zaun, her tone leaving no room for doubt or argument. Hearing her call the Duke 'brother' twisted Vi's heart into knots. Whatever the elder sister would've said in reply was interrupted by the door opening. The Duke stepped through the threshold, coat already halfway off his body as he paused for a split-second to take in the scene before continuing on his way, draping the coat over the countertop with his jacket following suit swiftly after.
Vi eyed the outfit, ignoring the knot in her chest as she remembered what Cait had taught her about how to profile a person based on their clothing. The suit was clearly expensive and specifically tailored to him, but the color palette was understated and the outfit as a whole lacked the opulent jewelry common on most of the Barons. She realized that, unlike the usual crime lords who love to flaunt their wealth and status to assert dominance and prove themselves 'better' than others, here was a man with reasons to be truly secure about his power.
There was something else that she couldn't explain. The moment he came in, she felt like something was tugging at her. She couldn't explain it, but it was like her existence was trying to pull itself apart. In hindsight, she should've been terrified by the implications of that, but for some reason she wasn't. Like something was protecting her.
"Here to take me up top for prosecution?"
His voice was also a surprise to her, a venomous warmth reverberating through the custom esophilter. Protector and executioner, promise and warning, one and the same. Between that, the scenery on her way here, and what Jinx told her, she was starting to understand why everyone seems to respect him so much. He could've easily gone down the same old road of subjugation like all the others, but, even after securing his place atop the power structure, he chose to give back to the people and trust that they wouldn't turn against him instead. On the other hand, that warning was still there, hinting at the consequences of betrayal.
All of that conveyed solely through the way he toned his voice. Aimed at her, that tone felt like a blade to the neck, ready for the killing stroke. It would've been terrifying if she hadn't stared down Jinx on her worst days, but still, she took the warning to heart.
"No, just curious about how much has changed down here since I left"
He slid into the far side of the booth and leaned back, eyeing her up and down as one arm wrapped loosely but protectively around Jinx. "I figured. If you wanted me topside your arms wouldn't be bare"
She gave an affirmative hum and let the conversation die out, now content with sitting in silence. It gave her an opening to case her surroundings more thoroughly without having to sustain a conversation. She tried to be as discreet as possible, but with his eyes burning two twin holes into her face she was limited. She'd have to wait for the fighting to begin and hope that he gets distracted.
The tempting thought of simply detaining him here and now flitted through her mind as she took note of the fact that he was unarmed, and the bar was currently unguarded. That thought was entertained for exactly two seconds. Jinx was still by his side, Zapper snug on her hip. Even without her, the Duke was suspected by Cait to be an experienced and dangerous fighter and judging by the way he carried himself she'd say her girlfriend was correct as usual. There was also the fact that her arms lacked the comforting weight of those gauntlets that gave her the ultimate edge in most hand-to-hand fights.
So there Vi sat, sipping on mead and watching as people slowly trickled in, dressed casually but still in their best clothes. Everyone looked happy and relaxed, ordering drinks and trading stories and laughing at jokes. It brought a large, genuine smile to her face. Men and women in various outfits ranging from classily provocative to downright slutty flitted around, delivering drinks and flirting with customers. Vi remembered what Jinx told those guards and realized that these were Babette's people.
The Duke surprised her once again when he took part in setting up an octagonal cage that took up most of the floor, a thin mat surrounded by large metal fences, one of which had a gate. The Chem-Barons would've turned their noses up and scoff at the idea of getting down from their perch and help the grunts in their employ, but he was actually first on the job. Another thing that chipped away at her prejudiced expectation of him.
The moment he declared that they were open for wagers, The Last Drop instantly became a gambling den. People damn near trampled each other to place their bets. Vi let out a short, amused laugh and shook her head at the sight of everyone scrambling at the chance to make some extra coins before the counter closes. Despite the class and propriety with which the Duke conducts business, at the end of the day he was still operating in Zaun, and some things will never change. Speaking of, he had disappeared into the crowd amidst the chaos, and Vi couldn't find him anywhere.
Glancing around to confirm that she was being ignored, Vi took a very well-hidden pouch of hexes out from inside her jacket and gave it a look, weighting the decently large amount of gold in one hand. Tobias had given it to her two months ago, his way of helping her get something for Cait for their five-year anniversary a week later. She had gotten a rifle maintenance kit for free from a gunmaker in Midtown that owed her a favor, so the pouch remained unopened. She thought about giving it back, but past experience said that it'll be futile, so instead it was going towards the engagement ring she'd paid down for in the jewelers-quarter, a beautiful gold and blue sapphire piece that she knew would look perfect on Cait's finger when they finally make their relationship public. Vi understood that dating Caitlyn Kiramman would be an intricate game of politics, and that they'd have to hide for a while, but both of their standings were solid enough now, more so Vi's than Cait's, to go public. She was planning to drop by the shop earlier but never got around to it or had an opening to cut back to the house without raising her partner's suspicion.
Vi knew she should save it, she knew that, but there was an itch in the back of her brain, an urge to put the entire pouch up there on the counter, to play the odds with these fights the same way she gambles her life with every jump from the rooftops.
To feel adrenaline coursing through her veins.
And just as abruptly as it appeared, the urge was gone. Vi was confused before finally noticing the feeling of eyes on her, the one that consistently makes every hair on the back of her neck stand on end. She turned her head upwards to see the Duke staring down at her from his spot against the catwalk railing. Even through the mask, she could tell he was smirking at her. There was a glint in his eye, a second warning: He wasn't restricted to just her body, he could get in her mind too, so play nice.
He was also glancing at the door every so often, then tilting his head slightly like he was listening to something, even though there was no one nearby talking to him. Vi took note of that, along with the way he continuously twirled a stone around with his right hand.
"He's nervous", she realized, trying to ignore the invasive violation of her mind just moments ago. "Why?"
A mix of cheers and curses pulled her attention as one of the fighters emerged from a back door that was probably connected to some sort of locker room. She would recognize Cassius Berz anywhere. They called him 'The Sledge' for his penchant of wielding a giant sledgehammer during his days henching for Midenstokke. Even had to get both his knees augmented because he missed a swing once and shattered them. The fact that his arms were the size of her torso, with a large body to match, meant that he was almost as big as Benn Ferron, wherever that guy was.
He was wearing the same uniform she saw on every other henchman working for the Duke, a simple white shirt and black vest with the green tie wrapped around his right bicep like a tourniquet instead of around his collar. She would hazard a guess that the Duke was using this event to also check the quality of his men. Quite pragmatic of him. Vi took note of that as well.
Another cacophony of cheers and jeers erupted as his opponent stepped out into the light. Her eyes went wide, not at the fact that this woman was severely disadvantaged in terms of size, or that she was so heavily augmented that the only bit of flesh Vi saw was the upper half of her face, but at the fact that she had a burgundy tie wrapped around her arm. Velveteen Lenare's color.
This wasn't just a brawl. This was a debt match.
Ever since the Barons were established under Silco, one of the biggest running problems was a clear division of territory. Every street near the borders were risky places to operate in, and the Barons would often claim that others were conducting business on their turf without permission. When that happens, there were several solutions. One was for either side to admit that their claim was false, which was the most straightforward and also the least common solution due to ego and reputation from both sides. Another was a turf war, which became increasingly common after Silco's death. But the solution that was used most often was a debt match, where both parties pitch their best fighter against each other for a predetermined piece of territory. Most of the time, it was through death or surrender that a debt match is resolved, although sometimes special rules applied. This was Zaun, after all. Rules were suggestions down here.
Berz twirled the hammer above his head, a massive block of steel on a stick that would give Talis a run for his money, in a fashion that Vi realized was to drive the crowd crazy. More people put money on Berz, although she saw a fair chunk of coins on the woman too. The house wasn't gonna make much on this one, if at all. But, as Caitlyn had briefly revealed to her one night, the house never makes money on the first bet. Or the second. Sometimes not even the third. They make it seem tempting, predictable, easy to win, then waited. When, and only when, everyone possible had coins on the counter and leaned towards a particular side, they would fix the bet against it and cash in.
Capitalism's nasty business.
A whistle was blown somewhere, and the fight began. Berz swung horizontally first, a sloppy but heavy strike that would've dented at least a few of her limbs if it connected. The woman reacted with inhuman speed, leaping around the hammer and over his head. But Berz surprised her by leaning into his missed swing and twirled around for another strike, this time in perfect form, sending her into the metal bars and eliciting a mix of cheers and boos, along with a few surprised gasps. To be honest, Vi was surprised too. Berz was not known to be intelligent or tactical. He was arrested once after trying to deny that he had broken down a Vault door with said door still in his arms. After observing the fight and seeing the two trade blows a little longer, she could clearly see that Berz was more refined in his fighting than before, more calculated. He knew when to press, when to block, when to break away, and his footwork was impeccable, which was even more impressive for someone with a reputation as a lumbering sack of bricks.
The woman was in a league of her own though. Leaping and dodging and dishing out blows at speeds Vi could barely keep up with, she was starting to wear Berz down. Poor guy had bruises and cuts littered all over his arms and chest. His swings were slowing down, his form was getting sloppy, and she could clearly see the moment he shut down. A solid steel foot to the face had him slumped against the fence, hammer dropping with a dull thump by his side. He was breathing heavily, his eyes were drooped, and he was bleeding in at least fourteen different places. From her spot, Vi could barely hear a weak "yield" wheeze out of his throat before half the bar erupted into cheers, while the other half threw their ticket stubs to the ground in frustration.
Glancing upwards, she saw the Duke toss Lenare a set of keys before hopping over the railing and landing soundlessly right in front of Berz. Her eyebrows damn near Ascended when she saw him put Berz's arm over his shoulder and helped him walk out. As they passed her on the way to the back door, she heard a snippet of conversation.
"-ust too fast, boss. I couldn't do much. I'm sorry", Berz said, head hung low. Vi couldn't tell if it was due to fatigue or shame.
"Yeah, it's alright. I just wanted to see how you'd do against someone like her", she heard the Duke responded. "I was actually surprised you lasted as long as you did. I've trained you well." Vi heard the smile in his voice, and apparently so did Berz, 'cause he gave the smaller man a bleeding smile of his own.
Vi watched as Berz was hauled towards a backdoor, where a sliver of a man, probably a doctor, held the door open as the giant slab of muscle was dropped onto a nearby table. The Duke and the doctor exchanged a few brief words before he waved his hand and the next two fighters were introduced, causing the crowd to go wild again.
Vi didn't notice, her eyes glued to the backdoor that Berz just went through. She'd glimpsed a staircase at the back wall, could be an opportunity to scope out potential pathways. The problem was those two guards standing nearby. Oh, they were in plainclothes, and both were mingling with drinks in hand, but Vi had pulled enough jobs as a youth, spent enough time in Stillwater, and worked for the Wardens long enough to pick screws out from a crowd, even if these two were more competent at blending in than any guard she'd ever seen, along with the other eight littered around the place.
Vi waited, idly watching the scheduled fights while looking for an opening to sneak in. It never came. While a few heated arguments broke out between patrons and the uniformed guards went to break it up, those two never left their spots. One of them looked at her suspiciously when she was eyeing the door, so she turned back around to the main spectacle.
And there he was, the host himself in all his glory, fighting, no, toying with his opponent. The opponent in question was a man about Vi's height, dark hair, brown eyes, and augmented limbs, dressed in the most ostentatious outfit she had ever seen. His jewel-encrusted jacket was so glaringly expensive it somehow looked cheap, and his shirt looked like it was dipped in liquid gold. Even the pants were lined with gold. He seemed to be very angry with the Duke for some reason, swinging at him with blind rage, no thought put into any move. The Duke easily and expertly dodged every punch thrown his way, countering with a single hit every time. A gut punch here, a leg swipe there, even an occasional slap. It was clear as day that the only reason the other guy wasn't bleeding on the mat yet was because he wanted the fight to drag on a little to give everyone a show.
"Hey, why's he so pissed off?" Vi leaned over to ask the nearest person, genuinely curious. Her impression of the Duke so far was that he was generally loved or at least respected by the people, so seeing someone hating him so fiercely and visibly was sorta jarring.
"The guy owns a bunch of different apartments and jacked prices up constantly even though most of his tenants are usually from Lower Entresol. When the Duke took control, he forced him to keep prices down and improve living conditions. His profit's been cut in half ever since, and scuttlebutt around the factories say some of the Barons are looking to scoop up his buildings for Sumpward prices. But the way this is going, the Duke's gonna beat 'em to it"
Vi nodded in understanding. That would explain it.
As she watched the fight, a risky and somewhat idiotic plan began to form. Vi glanced down at herself, at the pouch hidden deep in her jacket. She'll have to work overtime after this.
Heron's head wasn't in the fight. It wasn't needed. The man in front of him was so sloppy and slow one had to wonder if he even grew up in Zaun at all to have survived all these years. His Noxian-honed instincts and reflexes were more than enough to toy with the guy. His head was actually connected to a Targonian sending stone, a parting gift from his father, which was being used to check in periodically with Talon, who held the other stone and was prowling a perimeter around the bar. Jago's death was a declaration of war, and he had to be ready for retaliation. Not just from the Medardas, but the other Clans too. Camille in particular made him nervous. Thinking about the possibility of that confrontation sent a shot of genuine fear down his spine, his first since Demacia. He saw what that woman could do when they went after Khada Jhin in that concert hall last year. Neither he nor Talon can afford to slip up against her.
Then there was the fact that Caitlyn had followed him all the way from his apartment. He couldn't turn back inside, might as well have just told her outright that she was made, so he was forced to go through with his routine, looking for an opening that never came to create a clone. He diverted to a backup plan after that, shapeshifting in front of her, convinced that there would be an opening to tell her that he had to put on a disguise to safely navigate the undercity. That opening got shut in his face the moment he saw Vi sitting there, chatting with Jinx. He felt his control over the plan slip by a significant amount and had to take a split second in his stride to recenter himself. His cover was all but blown by now, but the situation was still salvageable. He grimaced internally at the additional suffering he'd most likely have to inflict to pull it off.
Caitlyn knew. Somehow, she knew. Heron had a nagging suspicion that it wasn't actually her own deduction that led to his trail. Two years of nothing and she suddenly gains a lead, eliminates all of his patsies, and figures it out in two weeks? No, someone told her exactly who he was. His mind instantly thought of LeBlanc but couldn't figure out the reasoning behind it.
A warning passed through the stone in his pocket into his brain, snapping the Noxian out of his thoughts. Possible enemies in the north, four streets away. The distraction costed him, as he reacted too slowly to a straight jab, a gold ring drawing two drops of blood from his neck as it scraped by, the scratch healing instantly. Weaving under a sloppy right hook follow-up with ease, Heron ended the fight swiftly and decisively with a roundhouse kick to the occipital lobe, dropping his opponent, if he could even be called that, like a sack of rocks, blood splattering from his mouth as a tooth flew loose. The entire thing was wasted movements, which chaffed against his training. Du Couteau's voice echoed in his head, screaming at him for not being more efficient. But this was a show, first and foremost, so he needed the extra flair to keep people entertained. And by the roaring cheers just outside the ring, he was successful.
Quickly exiting under the pretense of needing the bathroom, he made sure no eyes were on him before dropping the calm veneer his body had employed since getting the warning. "Talon, report", he thought through the stone, increasingly nervous.
Silence.
"Talon, report! What was that warning?" he frantically tried again. Either Talon was ignoring him, nigh impossible given that they were both consummate professionals when it came down to it, or someone took him out before a message could be sent. The list of people who could do that was ridiculously short, and only two of them, as far as he knew, were in Zaun, one of them being himself. Did LeBlanc…?
"Nothing, Heron. False visuals", the reply came in, tone as flat as the Dalamor Plain, much to Heron's relief. "Just a street gang prowling the neighborhood"
Heron visibly sagged with relief. Not for himself, no. He was pretty sure he could survive just about anything short of Camille Ferros herself that topside had to throw at him. He was worried about the gigantic crowd milling around. If Enforcers, mercenaries, or intelligencers were on their way, he needed time to clear out the place, because, as was demonstrated throughout both cities' history, Pilties couldn't give less of a shit about Zaunite lives.
"Hey, you better get out there. Got a new challenger."
He turned around to see Jinx poking her head through the door. There was a strange look on her face.
"This one's uh… this one's a little different." And with that, she bolted back towards the bar. Heron frowned in confusion; what was going on?
His confusion was resolved when he saw a familiar mop of pink hair on the mat, its owner stretching her limbs and shadowboxing lightly in a corner as she waited for him.
Heron narrowed his eyes as his tie slipped off and his collar loosened. What was she planning here?
He cracked his neck, it had gotten a little stiff for some reason, and stepped into the ring.
"What's your bet?" he asked her, loud enough to be heard over the jeers from a couple of patrons, the ones that were too old to not know Vi as the 'sun-stained traitor' but too young to remember her as Vander's daughter. She took out a small pouch and tossed it at him. He felt around as his hand caught the flying object on instinct. The material and craftsmanship was too fancy for Vi's usual tastes, and he could feel a decent chunk of coins. A quick check showed at least a hundred hexes jangling inside.
"Hundred fifty hexes, newly minted, all legit", she said confidently. Heron knew Jinx had briefed her on the rules, so he expected a plethora of demands for her reward.
"And if you win?" he asked calmly. Her answer was so very predictable.
"You surrender to the Wardens"
He laughed, so does everyone else. Vi's ears turned red in anger and embarrassment. Her face twisted into a scowl, but otherwise her infamous temper was reigned back. He gestured for the crowd to simmer down before long, feeling a little bad for her, along with not wanting to subject his janitors to 'bloodstain duty' any more than necessary.
"You'll have to bet a lot more than this to make me accept that", he said, deliberately condescending as he held the pouch up between his fingers. He wanted her riled up, needed her to slip and jeopardize whatever mission she was here for.
"Okay, The Last Drop then", Vi retorted without missing a beat, and the crowd went deadly still. The symbolism wasn't lost on anyone, even the jeering youngsters who were filled in on her upbringing by older patrons. Even as the Barons settled on their perches up in the Promenade, it was widely considered that this bar was the real symbol of leadership in Zaun, especially after the Duke made it official.
This fight just turned into a power play.
Author's Note: The excerpt at the beginning was an adapted version of Ballas' description of Banshee Prime from Warframe. For those who recognized it, I salute you, my fellow Tenno.
Next chapter would see another major player who've been teased so far come into play, and the power dynamics will start to shift. Until then, leave a review if you have any opinions, follow to be notified when I update and favorite this story if you've been liking it here so far.
Also, follow me on Twitter for progress updates on all my stories. Details in my bio.