Caitlyn Kiramman - Death Dealer Journal Entry 418
For centuries, Piltover has stood as the beacon of civilization, a city of invention and progress, where intellect and discipline have tamed the wild chaos of the world. But this was not always so. Once, this land was a fledgling settlement, a mere ember struggling against the cold winds of destruction. It was then, in Piltover's darkest hour, that the Vampires arrived.
I have been told by my mother that our kind did not come as conquerors, but as saviors. In those early days, humanity was at the mercy of the Lycan hordes—feral, bloodthirsty beasts that roamed unchecked, their only instinct to slaughter and consume. The werewolves pillaged the struggling settlements, leaving nothing but ash and carnage in their wake. The humans could not resist them. Their weapons were weak, their bodies frail, their knowledge of war and strategy crude compared to the savage cunning of the Lycans and their leader Lucian.
But where humans faltered, we prevailed. We—the Vampires—descended upon the besieged city, bringing with us power, wisdom, and the gift of order. The first of our kind, the ancients of the Vampire Council, struck a bargain with the human leaders. In return for their fealty, we would drive the werewolves back into the shadows and build a fortress against their endless hunger. And so, with fangs bared and steel in hand, we waged a righteous war against the monsters that plagued this land.
It was not an easy battle. The Lycans are a disease upon this world, a grotesque mistake of nature, defiant in their barbarity. For centuries, they have resisted extinction, lurking in the ruins of their former dens, striking from the Undercity, corrupting the minds of weak-willed humans with their lies. They claim to fight for freedom, to resist oppression, but what they truly seek is anarchy—a world ruled by primal instinct rather than discipline and progress.
Meanwhile, despite their promises of freedom, their newest abomination courses through the human population: Shimmer.
Yet, Piltover has endured. Under the watchful rule of the Vampire Council, we have built the greatest city the world has ever known. Our streets glow with the light of innovation, our scholars push the boundaries of knowledge, and our people—both human and Vampire—thrive in an age of prosperity. The Council governs with wisdom and justice, ensuring that Piltover remains strong, vigilant against the ever-present werewolf threat.
But there are those who would question our rule. Whispers of dissent linger in the alleys of the Undercity, where criminals and outcasts harbor dangerous ideas. Some humans resent our protection, blinded by their own foolish pride. There are even those who dare to conspire with the Lycans, believing in their false promises of equality.
I have no patience for such treason.
As a Death Dealer of the Vampire Council, I ensure that order is maintained, that Piltover's peace is not disturbed by the delusions of the misguided or the predations of the enemy. Every werewolf I hunt, every traitor I silence, is another step toward a brighter future. A future where the last of the Lycans are but a distant memory, where Piltover stands eternal, a monument to Vampire benevolence and strength.
The war is not over. It may never be. But as long as I draw breath, as long as my pistols fire and my daggers strike true, the Council's vision will endure.
Piltover will never fall.
THE LAST DROP
The streets of Zaun were a maze of flickering neon and perpetual twilight, the air thick with the acrid scent of oil, rust, and damp stone. Rain slicked the rooftops and slithered down rusted pipes, pooling in the gutters where the city's filth festered. The downpour dulled the scent of blood, but Caitlyn Kiramman could still taste the metallic tang in the air.
She stood atop a high-rise, an obsidian specter against the Undercity's dim glow. Her coat, midnight black save for the silver threads that subtly illuminated her coven's insignia across her back, clung to her form, falling to mid-thigh and swaying as she moved while the collar stands high, almost up to her jaw. On the shoulders, Caitlyn feels the subtle, flexible weight of the armored plates designed for both defense and mobility, ensuring she can move freely even in the most dangerous of situations.
Beneath her coat, Caitlyn feels the form-fitting tactical suit crafted from a matte black material that stretches and moves with her body like a second skin even as she breathes. The suit is seamless, designed to allow for perfect agility and fluidity in combat that only comes naturally to vampires. The torso is reinforced with subtle body armor panels, which provide crucial protection against gunfire or physical blows. Despite the legends, vampires are not immortal even if they are difficult to kill. The suit tapers at her waist, showing off her toned physique and giving her an air of effortless strength and lethality. The suit's joints—elbows, knees, and shoulders—are lined with flexible, high-tech polymers that adapt to movement, giving Caitlyn maximum agility and protection. Her boots are high, reaching just above the ankle, and made of sturdy black leather with sleek metallic buckles.
Twin pistols, custom-built with silver-forged rounds, rested against her hips, and the weight of her long rifle - a gift from her mother - was a familiar presence strapped to her back. Every piece of her arsenal was tailored for a single purpose—eradicating the werewolf scourge.
Tonight would be no different.
Jayce's intelligence had been correct—Silco's pack was on the hunt. Silco the latest scourge of Zaun who had managed to become the first alpha in close to a century. But their prey was not what Caitlyn had expected.
From her vantage points, Caitlyn had watched the Lycans slink through the alleyways below, starting at a rundown gym before moving on as night deepend, their glowing eyes cutting through the dark like burning coals. They moved with an eerie grace, sinewy limbs shifting between human and beast with fluid ease. Normally, they struck with wild brutality, but tonight their movements were precise. Coordinated. It didn't take long for Caitly to recognize they were following a specific person and were now circling a single location.
The Last Drop.
Caitlyn adjusted the scope on her rifle, peering through the fractured skylights of the infamous dive bar. The target stood behind the counter, sliding drinks across the warped wood.
A human. A woman.
She moved well ... for a human at least, lean muscle apparent beneath the snug fit of a well-worn tank top. Short magenta hair framed a sharp face, her smirk just as cutting as whatever words she exchanged with customers. Tattoos wove intricate patterns across her back and down her toned arms, partially obscured by the wraps that coiled up to her forearms. A fighter's hands ... a boxer perhaps based on that gym where she'd picked up the trail. Perhaps just another street brawler, the kind that survived in Zaun by throwing fists before words.
And yet, the Lycans moved like she was something more.
Caitlyn's grip tightened around her scope. She could wait, observe, let the beasts make their move and then strike from the shadows. It would be the prudent choice. But patience had never been her strength—not when it came to hunting Lycans.
Her instincts whispered that this was important. That this woman was important.
With a subtle gesture, she signaled to the other Death Dealer - Michael - stationed on the adjacent rooftops. He melted into the darkness, a skilled spectral hunter who had fought and killed by her side for decades.
Caitlyn took a slow breath, steadying herself as she shifted the rifle into her hands and attached the scope.
Tonight, she would have answers about Silco's pack.
Whether the human survived the night was secondary.
With a practiced flick of her wrist, she chambered a round. The rifle's scope glowed faintly, illuminating her target.
Then, she took aim.
It had been a long night.
The Last Drop was finally emptying out and quieting down, save for the faint hum of a busted neon sign and the clink of glass as Vi stacked the last of the bottles. The bar smelled like stale beer, worn wood, and a spilt blood— but that might just have been due to her tank. Some asshole had gotten mouthy earlier, and she'd had to remind him that just because she poured drinks didn't mean she took shit. He left with a broken nose, and she'd barely broken a sweat. Still the bar was hell of a lot better than what customers got when they ventured back out into Zaun.
Vi wiped her hands on a rag, stretching her arms over her head as she cracked her neck. Outside, the rain had slowed to a steady drizzle, the streets quieting as the hour grew late. She liked this time of night. No customers. No expectations. Just the city breathing in the dark.
And yet, something felt off.
She'd felt eyes on her all night. At first, she thought it was just some drunk hoping for a free round or some idiot Pilties thinking they could slum it for the night, but this was different. Predatory.
A sense she'd honed and learned to trust after surviving orphanges and Stillwater.
Keeping her movements natural, Vi grabbed for the brass knuckles she kept under the bar - the bar she'd fought too damn hard to work her way back to to let some assholes think they could mess with her in it - her fingers curling tight around their grip. Old habits died hard.
A flicker of movement.
"We're closed assholes." Vi tossed out as she turned toward the door, the neon glow catching on something—no, someones—just in the shadows near the front of the bar. Before she could react, the lights in the bar flickered once. Twice. Vi was able to catch sight of five sets of glowing eyes. Then, total darkness.
Then came the growl.
"Alive," A low, guttural sound, female but thick with aggression and hunger.
Shit.
The first one came fast.
Vi barely had time to register the shadows lunging at her before she moved, her body and fists moving on instinct trusting herself in the dark. In the bar she practically called home. Her fist connected with something solid—a jaw? A ribcage?—it didn't matter the thing hadn't been expecting the strength of the blow and staggered with an animalistic grunt.
She only saw flashes of them in the dark—eyes that gleamed like molten gold, bodies covered in fur, limbs too long, too wrong—the kind of creatures she thought only lived in her nightmares. The kind she had spent the last seven years doing her best to avoid.
But they were right here.
And they wanted her.
Vi gritted her teeth, ready to fight like hell, but then—
Gunfire.
A sharp, controlled burst.
A blur of black leather and motion.
A shattering of glass as the neon lights of the Undercity cast a low light allowing Vi to barely see.
Roars of pain and anger ripped through the darkened bar.
And suddenly, the creatures weren't lunging at her anymore.
Cause a damn vampire had just dropped into the chaos.
CaitlynCaitlyn's first shots had hit their mark before she'd holstered her rifle and moved through the dark like a phantom dropping from above as her fellow death dealer Michael entered from the rear of the bar, her pistols spitting silver death.
Three shots. The first Lycan crumpled before it even realized what hit it. A second lunged at her from the left—she pivoted, a flash of steel as she holstered one gun and drew her silver dagger. The creature barely had time to snarl before she slit its throat, black ichor spilling onto the bar floor.
But then a shot rang out that wasn't from Cait or her partner as she turned she saw the look of shock on Michael's face for the briefest of moments before he let out a guttural scream as light seemed to burst from his chest and he turned to ash.
What the hell? Cait let herself stare for a second too long before she rolled as she clocked that the largest werewolf - a huge dark furred female with a metal arm - had turned fire at her. Caitly managed to find cover but it didn't matter as yet another werewolf smashed into her sending her flying.
Vampires might be faster, smarter, and more agile but lycans were almost always significant stronger. And Caitlyn felt it as she slammed into the far wall and hit the floor.
The roars reverberated in the space and Caitlyn raised her pistol at the charging lycan —
And then the bartender was there.
Instead of running, the woman jumped into the fight.
Caitlyn barely had time to process it—Vi had ditched the cover of the bar and gone straight for one of the Lycans, driving a brutal uppercut into its face. Caitlyn heard the beast's jaw crack.
The woman was strong. Fast. Skilled.
Caitlyn heard the snarl as the metal-armed werewolf turned her attention to the bartender. Caitlyn adjusted, moving to cover her. But Vi was already handling herself, dodging claws and landing blows that made the other beasts hesitate. How many had poured in while they'd been fighting? Catiyln heard the deep breaths behind her and knew that even if she could fight till dawn this human wouldn't likely make it another hour.
She needed to end this.
But before they could do that Caitlyn had to get her hands on something.
Caitlyn moved through the shadows as if part of them, killing two more werewolves with practiced lethality before she turned her full attention to the clear leader of the hunting party as the bartender went after the other remaining Lycan with a roll of her shoulder and Cait would have sworn was a smirk.
Caitlyn however squared off with pack leader who notably had divided her attention towards the magenta haired bartender currently brawling with the other Lycan. Cait almost found it insulting as she moved clashing with the metal arm with her silver dagger. She likely could have killed the beast easily enough if that had been her primary focus but with a spin she slashed at the pistol strapped to the beast's hip and when it slashed down Cait pivoted out of reach, her pistol now raised with confidence that only comes from a century of practice as she fired again and again into the raised metal arm as the pack leader snarled before crashing back into the night.
The last Lycan - noting the retreat of it's leader - turned and fled into the night, the bar door swaying back and forth giving Caitlyn a delayed vision of his fleeing form. Caitlyn took a breath as she holstered her pistol and once again found her rifle in her raised hands. Caitlyn took a breath, sighted down—
swing ... swing ...
A single shot.
swing ...
The creature fell.
Silence.
Caitlyn turned, scanning the wreckage. The scent of gunpowder and Lycan blood mixed with the rain now pouring through the busted skylight, pooling around the overturned barstools.
But the bartender—
She was gone.
Caitlyn's brows furrowed. She stepped forward, eyes sweeping the shadows. No trace. No sound. Just emptiness where she had stood breathing just seconds ago.
Who the hell was she? And why had Silco's wolves been hunting her?
Caitlyn holstered her weapon, grabbed the pistol off the floor and checking the magazine eyes narrowed as glowing ammunition stared back at her. Letting out a breath and a curse, Caityln slid the glowing magazine into her belt and took one more look at the pile of ash that was her fellow Death Dealer. With a shake of her head the Death Dealer stepped outside, rain once again slicking the leather of her coat.
She would find her answers soon enough.
But for now the hunt continued.