DISCLAIMERS
This chapter is the first of Act V in the The Unofficial Acts series. It is optional, yet advised, you have read all chapters of TUA Act IV before proceeding.
While being fanfiction, each chapter was formatted as if it were a 'scene' of a whole episode which is this work, as part of a hypothetical season which is the The Unofficial Acts (TUA) series.
This, once again emphasized here, is a HYPOTHETICAL SCENARIO and UNOFFICIAL, established far before the release of the teaser trailer in June 2024, so it shouldn't be taken with severe scrutiny.
Care was taken to approach this work as close to the canon element as possible, but there are no guarantees of non-discrepancy, especially in regards to added elements that are introduced here.
Some other elements from the original LoL universe (especially but not limited to origin stories) have been altered in as much a sense as they were originally in the series.
The elements depicted here contain multiple SPOILERS from Arcane: League of Legends Season 01. This is a warning to those whom have not completely watched the entire series, prior to start reading this fanfiction.
Elements of graphical violence, angst, psychosis and paranoia might be included across not only this chapter, but also the series. You were warned.
Based on Arcane: League of Legends by Netflix and Fortiche Studios. League of Legends universe and characters by Riot Games.
THE HOODED ONE
Right and wrong is what we're always taught first, when we're children.
The nightly sky could barely make any difference in the darkness of the Undercity's fissures, being a place of constant lights provided by Chem-tech or electricity, for it's endless shadows. Often, in a single hour of day, the sun would pass by the fissures, wherever they'd be available, and shine wherever the sun could touch, the deepest part being overshadowed by rootops, tall buildings spiraling to the top and catwalk bridges and platforms.
And so it was in a shady, sad state that an abandoned, wall-stuck two-stored orphanage was in, it's door apparently busted, almost open to anyone, as well the windows left broken and in disrepair. The sign itself, which denoted the function of the place, was long run down, the letters forming the word "OHANGE" for everyone to see.
It was where a figure, a cloaked one with a hood covering the head, walked from the streets to inside.
It's what brings base to society. It's what brings base to law. And law brings base to justice. Good deeds rewarded, bad ones punished.
The figure did cross the doorstop, to see someone at the center of the hall, being tended to by the nearby children, as wrecked and thin and ravished as the figure at the hall, downed and clearly wounded. The nearby children took notice of the children whom backed away, frightened. The figure could hardly blame them. It was as the same as always...
At least it's what I thought, before I ever saw it.
The figure came close by, looming over the felled one, whom clearly missed his arm, the wounded scarred and burned, cauterized in a rather unnatural way. The wounded one writhing in pain.
Guiltless being executed. Guilty being rewarded.
The hooded figure took a knee and then slowly touched the wounded one. The wounded one which told a story, the more one touched. The hooded one asked what happened to those around the wounded one. Images passing by, forming a story.
And men of law doing nothing, and even punishing those who'd stand up.
The story of one named Tory. He just wanted to help. Until he stumbled by supposed men of law, whom weren't enforcing any law at all. Instead, threatning him at gunpoint. Bullying him.
And those outside the law doing something about it. Something visible. Something that... does resemble justice.
Until someone came by, with something. Then, confusion. Conflict. Some of the abusive lawmen and woman fell. Tory takes something this someone let drop. Runs away with it. With what he shouldn't have. But with hope it will provide. The hooded one could understand that. Heard the stories of that place, grueling to most for the comfort of a few.
And yet, the law isn't there to limit. It isn't to constrain, or make examples of.
Tory takes what he took to the orphanage. The chest where the promised riches to feed his fellow kin would provide. He's greeted by fellow children, whom look with renewed hope, and follow him put the chest on the ground and open it.
Except there is no gold, no glistening jewelry, but a large glowing orb. Pulsing and volatile, like an archaic, arcane heart.
It's to protect people. From others. From each other. And from themselves, in a way.
Tory is taken by inevitable curiosity, despite the apparent danger of such an unwieldy an artifact. He touches the object of the chest and the energy overtakes his right arm. And then desintegrates it as he howls in pain, the children around taken aback, shocked and horrified.
Because justice, for all it's virtues, for all it's empathy... is still flawed.
Enter then someone, of a very strange appearance, with a mask and even a third arm. He notices what happens, tries taking the dangerous object away, but leaves the victim to his own, only leaving some gold for medication to soothe the pain.
For what'd be justice for one is a tragedy for another. And what'd be mercy for another is an insult to the one. And the law can measure that, and have the voice to declare it's word is final. It should.
Until he then returns, no doubt guilt being the driving factor. He talks and stays, doubtlessly bartering his stay in exchange for healing the one he doesn't feel deserving healing. As if he were to judge well...
Yes, I truly believed law and justice walked hand-in-hand. Instead, I found it to be a blurry threshhold.
The hooded figure had seen enough. The hand once gentle and retreated from Tory, now curled into a fist.
For where does a side end? And where the other begins?