[Fanfiction] Fracture - Chapter 18
PROLOGUE: http://boards.na.leagueoflegends.com/en/c/fancreations/fZAXxjHA-fanfiction-fracture PREVIOUS CHAPTER: http://boards.na.leagueoflegends.com/en/c/fancreations/gAXBcElu-fanfiction-fracture-chapter-17
Fanfiction.net link: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10770866/1/Fracture
Genres: Suspense/Drama/Mystery/a lot of others Characters: Leona, Caitlyn, Nasus, Kassadin, too many to list
Summary: The machine that sustains the lethal matches of the League fails. Events spiral outwards. (Character death.)
ANGUISH
"I don't see how you can hope to salvage anything from this."
This was but one moment in a long line of many that he regretted consenting to the sheriff's request. Any more of this ceaseless sniping, and Viktor feared he would go mad. It was useless to question why he had allowed the fool to come along – he was a contingency, the Herald assured himself, and not the result of his all too accommodating disposition towards the sheriff – but it was certainly tempting. Perhaps eventually no answer would come to him, and he could finally be rid of the so-called Defender of Tomorrow.
Unfortunately not so.
"The Prophet may have the gift of foresight," began Viktor tersely, stepping over the crumbled remains of a fallen pillar, "but he lacks hindsight. The Respawn Room is heavily reinforced, underground. It will not have been damaged in this slaughter."
"That seems a rather glaring slip for how convoluted the rest of this mess has been," remarked the sheriff. He could hear the skepticism in her voice. "You're not simply grasping for straws here?"
"It was no small feat to have sabotaged it once – he will certainly have known that. In his complacence, I doubt he saw it necessary to sabotage it twice."
"Except Malzahar can see the future," pointed out Jayce, impatiently. "How couldn't he have known it would be fixed?"
He certainly made no effort at civility with his constant contrarian-ism, not that Viktor particularly cared. But it was glaringly obvious how little he trusted the Machine Herald – in fact, he'd come along for the sheriff's safety, with her partner out of commission. The implication behind those words made him want to scoff. Even if they were really enemies as politics would deem, it wasn't as if he currently had any motive to attack her.
"I sealed that room tight before evacuating," he answered coolly. "Considering its structural integrity and the fact that the Institute hasn't been completely leveled, I am confident it is as I left it – completely within working order."
He paused, drawing out the crystal to examine it very briefly before replacing it in his pocket.
"With this, it will be in working order."
And spinning sharply on his heel, he made the swift turn about the corner.
Something caught on the corner of a dilapidated wall – where the inner wood-work and wiring could be seen – drew his eye, hanging off it haphazardly as if it'd been accidentally flung in a haste. A very familiar object. Viktor snatched it from its place as he went by with barely a glance, keeping a constant pace and tucking it under his cloak for safe-keeping. From his periphery he could see the others exchange a curious glance, but he offered no explanation – it was of no bearing to them, and leaving it there was a waste.
Underfoot, he felt the ground tremble.
Immediately, all three of them paused. In the distance, they could hear a sound like crumbling walls – as if some structure that had retained its precarious position only through luck had finally been disturbed. Eyes narrowing, the sheriff glanced at him, then the Defender briefly.
"What was that?" she asked, voice low. There was another tremor.
"You don't think those could be..." The fool trailed off, swinging his Mercury Hammer into a readied position. The sheriff was quick to follow, rifle drawn, the gears and scopes whirring into place.
"Footsteps," Viktor had enough time to say.
And suddenly, they were in the air.
He hit the ground hard, knocking what little breath there was in his lungs out of him. The Machine Herald sat up quickly, with a cough. In hindsight he wished he'd replaced his respiratory system when he got the chance, but a quick glance at the sheriff and the Defender, struggling to leave the ground, told him he was better off regardless. If he weren't mostly sturdy metal by this point, he certainly would have been in poor straights.
"That was a targeted rupture," he huffed, getting to his feet. "He knows we're here. We have to go, quickly."
"You're gonna have to give us a moment," groaned the Defender, barely on his knees. He scrabbled at the ground to get ahold of his precious hammer. "Fuck. He hits hard."
There was an ominous creaking. From his augmented senses, he could feel something like a shift in the air.
"Quickly," repeated the Machine Herald, weight shifting from one foot to the other in his agitation.
"Viktor," gasped the sheriff, pulling her own rifle to her with difficulty, "I don't think – "
Her words gave way to a hiss as he hauled her up roughly by the arm, supporting her against him as they took on a staggering pace. She'd landed on her front, so her ribs must have been bruised or some such thing if she was in that much pain, and he made a mental note to seek medical attention for it later. What was important was that they left the area, and immediately. He could still feel the faint tremors of the ground – hear the foreboding creak and groan of something about to give way.
"Oh shit!" yelled Jayce.
There was the loud screech of metal. The cracking of wood.
The archway above came crumbling down.
Viktor thought fast.
There was the briefest second of heaviness – the fleeting sensation of raining debris, hard and rough, and then – weightlessness. He waited for the telltale click to confirm its deployment before he let his guard down.
A second of stillness, of disbelief – the fool stared out over the rubble suspended in the air, wooden beams and metal framing gently floating away.
"I don't know why," he breathed out wonderingly, swimming out from its radius and stepping back on solid ground with an awkward gait, "I never considered the possibility that you could reverse your gravity field."
"Law of equals and opposites," was his noncommittal reply, managing to struggle out of it with the sheriff in tow. "But we won't be able to rely on it a second time."
There was a familiar screech in the distance. Far, yet very near, if the trembling windows, that had survived, were any indication.
"I can manage on my own now, I think," said the sheriff, pulling away from him. But still, she staggered, and he yanked her back, disconcertingly noting the increasing strength and frequency of the tremors.
"Not at this pace." Gesturing for Jayce to move, he took up a brisk walk, nearly dragging her along. "Cho'Gath is liable to arrive any second."
A tense several seconds of walking; the sound of their heavy breathing and frantic footsteps echoed off the walls.
Why was Cho'Gath here? Had his acolytes been routed? Had the Battlecast line fallen? Or had Malzahar already known their intentions, already predicted his plan? Thoughts flitted through his head at lightning speed, organizing with ease even as the very beating of his heart seemed to pound in his ears. No, the Prophet must have known, or at least had some kind of inkling, foresight aside. There was no way he would have endeavored to sabotage the system in the first place if he did not anticipate what was to come.
He heard the sheriff suck in a sharp breath. The world became dark.
And then the hallway beside them blew open.
Viktor fought to maintain his balance, grip tightening on the sheriff as he tried to pull them both along. He could hear Jayce mutter a curse, firing a shock blast into the rising dust before opening an acceleration gate in front of them.
"Come on!" the so-called Defender yelled, between breaths.
The earth thundered, and above he could hear the Terror's shrieking roars. The Machine Herald could only pick up his pace, ignoring the sheriff's stifled grunts as she nearly tripped over her own feet trying to match his speed.
Cho'Gath was massive now, having devoured countless and grown without the arbitrary limit the Institute had imposed on him. Without the shackles of the system, he was nigh invincible – this was something the Machine Herald knew all too well as he struggled through the crumbling halls, dragging along the injured sheriff.
Jayce had disappeared from his field of view and the fleeting echo of a shock blast told him that the Defender had foolishly tried to play hero and stay behind. But the Terror of the Void must have known their motives. There was no end to his ear-piercing screech. Everywhere the Herald turned was collapsing rubble. Was it intent pursuit, or the mere scope of his power? It was as if there was no escape.
Their entire world was quaking. Debris glanced off his mask. His display cracked, and he grit his teeth and tried to move on. Had the Institute been so devastated that the entire facility was coming down?
Some way's back, Cho'Gath let loose a feral scream. Cracked windows shattered. He pulled the sheriff close, tried to shield her from the glass – but when he glanced at her, her ears were bleeding.
"I... I can't..." she gasped. Was the disorientation setting in already?
"Endure it," he grunted. He could feel her weight shift; her balance was going.
"I can't hear anything... on my right..." murmured the sheriff, as if dazed. "Viktor...?"
Where? Where? The Terror was closing in. They needed to get to the Respawn Room now.
He saw it – the half-leveled corridor where the staircase was.
"There!" he managed, now barely able to shuffle towards it.
There was a different sound then, soft and shuddering, barely noticeable by his augmented senses amidst the chaos. The fragmentation of stone.
Without thinking, he shoved the sheriff forward.
There was a great and terrible crack.
"Viktor!"
.
.
.
He'd done this before.
The long stretch of running, the sound of destruction, something caving in – a predator on the hunt - he'd done all of this before, he was sure.
He was even stalling again.
He could hear little feet now, the skittering of voidlings from far away. A delicate trip-trap against rumbling explosions like something leaping off the walls. Behind him, half the tunnel crumbled.
Pain. From the shadows, spikes nailed him in the back, sinking in deep. Zac gave a little gasp, stumbling forwards. A dead end. A sound like rasping laughter reached him.
"Nowhere to run."
End of the line.
The Secret Weapon slowed in his pace, coming down to a trudge, and then a stop.
"That's okay," he panted, turning. "I'm done running."
The bug jumped for it.
The first time, he caught him – slung him back onto the ground. There was a crack, maybe the chitin chipped, but then he got right back up again. And he jumped.
From his time in the League, he'd only run into Kha'Zix a couple times. Most of them in the jungle, alone, and those were the worst. Zac knew his creed – isolate, and devour. He knew how he liked to hunt.
The claws sunk in deep and he had to breathe around them, like every breath made them bigger. The Secret Weapon flailed – lashed out in a blind stretching strike, and he thought he could hear a tear, a huff. The Voidreaver ripped out his claws just as quick, jump-kicking off of him until he was flat on the ground.
He inhaled shakily – tried to focus on the air in the sewer, anything but the pain – holding in a grunt pushed up from the very bottom of his gut. Zac struggled to his knees. His torso had two gaping slashes in them, stretching wide every time he moved. Why? Why weren't they closing?
The bug jumped again.
Sturdy feet slammed him straight into the ground and it was like deflating – quickly and forcefully, with the empty, shriveled feeling in his insides – and that time he groaned. Sharp claws raked across his back, as if probing.
"You smell terrible," Kha'Zix said, gravelly voice punctuated by insectoid clicks. And then the claws swiped – scissor-like – and he gasped, feeling something part from him entirely. "Will you taste terrible as well?"
He could hear the bug click his tongue as his arm melted into goop on his claws.
"Barely worth eating..."
The Voidreaver went for the other arm.
Zaun's sewer smelled awful, or he thought it would if he could smell. Zac tried to imagine it – like taste, but in the air – tried to reason out what the sewer ought to smell like.
Focus.
The air felt heavy. Muggy. Sticky, almost. Like it clung to you. Unwelcome, unwanted. The refuse of an entire city – what did that smell like? Come on, come on.
Focus.
Kha'Zix wasn't eating him – he was taking him apart. Limb by limb, bit by bit, until soon he would be nothing but a pile of goop and dammit did that hurt. It wasn't the quick now-you're-dead kind of assassination he was so used to from Kha'Zix – not that it ever really worked on him – but slow and surgical and why was he still only on the first leg?
But he could do this. He could endure, he had to and he would. And when the bug finished and he was nothing, he would rise again, and it would be fine. Everything would be fine. Just one moment. He just needed one moment to catch his breath.
If they had made it to safety – if they had trampled all over those vicious little voidlings – if they had ducked past all those monstrous voidborn – if they had made it... Then this would be worth everything.
The Voidreaver stopped halfway through easing off his other leg. Zac could hear him sniffing, a clicking sound like his antennae were probing the air.
"Now that," he whispered, "smells like something worth eating."
Kha'Zix shifted on top of him, and he smothered a grunt, feeling a little tap on the back of his head.
Then the claws came down, and he was in pieces.
This was it.
This was it. All he had to do was keep it together – one piece at a time.
Bit by bit.
The sound of the bug leaping about the sewer reached him. Whatever had caught his attention, he was looking for it.
Halfway there... He could feel himself coming together, disjointed sensations of pain melding as one.
A hissing and a spray – did Kha'Zix fire off his spikes? There was more clicking, a huff, like he was frustrated.
Almost done...
A sound like the fluttering of wings. The bug jumped close.
"I'd forgotten about that..." he hissed. It sounded terrifyingly near.
He was so, so close.
The claws – he struck.
Blood.
Suddenly, Zac was himself again, eyes shut tight waiting for the final blow.
"What?" growled the Voidreaver.
A click.
"It's me!" came the sing-song reply, laughing loudly.
And then he opened fire.
When the Secret Weapon opened his eyes, he saw two things.
Kha'Zix, on the ground, utterly shredded apart by the bolts – and Twitch.
There was so much blood.
"Twitch!" He scrambled over to him, catching the rat as he started to stumble forward. "Oh god, Twitch!"
"Hi..." he gasped, eyes swiveling around to look at him.
"Why? Why did you come back?" He must have been yelling, he had to be – but he could only feel a straining in his throat. His voice came out like a whisper.
He didn't have a heart, but there was something tight in his chest.
"Why... not...?" the Plague Rat answered, breathlessly. His eyelids fluttered like he was struggling to keep them open. "We're friends..."
Blood dribbled from his snout. His face was set in a grin, even so. Those claws had gone right through his stomach.
No – no. Please.
Zac cradled him close, breaking into a run. He heard the clattering Twitch's crossbow made as it fell from his hands, but he didn't bother to look. He knew where the manholes were – how to get out. He could make it, he had to.
Please.
"Hang on, buddy," he huffed. He could feel the blood starting to run. It was slipping through his hands. "Just hang on. We'll get you to – to Janna, or something, and everything'll be okay. I promise."
There! Rungs, still intact. A way out.
Twitch clung to his chest – feeble little paws – and snuggled close.
"You really do... remind me of home..." he sighed, almost contentedly. "Like...yogurt mold..."
When Zac reached the surface, he was already cold.
.
.
.
Next Chapter: http://boards.na.leagueoflegends.com/en/c/fancreations/EEU7WLLn-fanfiction-fracture-chapter-19
