Antebellum 2.5

2000, June 14: Phoenix, AZ, USA

I'd cleaned up after testing and grabbed a bite to-go with Agent Morrison and David before returning home. After a quick shower and an hour of meditation, I set the sixth Mana Crystal down on a basket and turned on the news. It'd been three weeks since Dos Caras killed off Halloween and I had no more clue about the brewing war than any other plebian on the street. The news, as doctored as it undoubtedly was, was still the best way for me to hear anything.

With a frustrated sigh, I took a drink from my Oracle's stockpile and settled down for the late night report:

"And with us, we have our field correspondent, Laura Henderson, to talk about the ongoing spat of gang violence," Jack Thomas, one of the anchors for ABC News, said. "To you, Laura."

The camera switched over to a pretty blonde with a little too much makeup over her face. Behind her were three police cruisers surrounding two car wrecks and an ambulance. EMTs, cops, and two Protectorate heroes had secured the scene. "Thanks, Jack. We're standing on the corner of South Greenfield Road and East Main Street where Sunshine Auto Wash, a suspected front for the Peckerwoods, was hit by an arson attack just minutes ago. Notorious villains Calavera, Stampede, and Lockjaw were seen in heavy combat resulting in the deaths of six gang members and one PRT officer. Thanks to the combined efforts of Oathkeeper, Gyroscope, and six agents, eight gang members were taken into custody.

"This marks the fourth arson in just three weeks. Bull Rush, another member of the Peckerwoods, was pronounced dead on site by the EMTs, bringing the total death toll to a staggering seventy-eight people. Thankfully, no civilians were caught up in this latest attack." The curly blonde turned towards the statuesque woman in samurai armor. "Oathkeeper, a word, please?"

The black-clad warrior's expression was hidden by her half-mask, but the irritation was practically palpable. "Mark my words: Gang members or not, white supremacists or not, this was a tragedy. They didn't die for some noble cause or to protect their own." She pointed angrily at a street lamp that looked rather dented. "See that? They died for that. One meaningless street corner. Everyone they loved. Everything that mattered to them. Gone for that. One. Lamp. This was a tragedy. Gyroscope and I… The Protectorate… We will do all in our power to end this. This I swear," she promised, the very picture of a resolute warrior ready to march. "Now excuse me, I have work to do."

Even the plucky reporter seemed subdued after that. "Thank you, Oathkeeper, for those stirring words. With the death of Bull Rush, the Peckerwoods have been reduced to just four capes. We can only hope that this means we'll soon see an end to the violence. Back to you, Jack."

I leaned in to my mom's side as she wrapped a tired arm around my shoulders. "You don't need to worry about things like this, my son. I'm sure the heroes have it handled."

'If only you knew,' I thought, but couldn't bring myself to pop that bubble of optimism. "They do," I said instead. "Oathkeeper's strong, one of the strongest in the state."

"You're not going out there." A question as much as a statement.

"No, no I'm not. I'm just making potions for everyone else."

"Good."

Even as we sat there, I couldn't help but feel like the silence was the quiet before the storm.

'Is it… Is it already time to stop being the alchemist?'

2000, June 15: Phoenix, AZ, USA

I finally figured out why dehydrating the Oracle's Elixir into pills didn't work. I needed Mana Crystals. To be more specific, I needed an extra Mana Crystal for each potion because something got lost in the dehydration process. Somewhere along the line, the mana that made up the elixir evaporated into the air along with the water and I needed another crystal to stabilize the substance into powder. Or maybe not? Even I wasn't entirely sure about the why. In any case, two crystals in exchange for a far more compact and durable product was… selectively worthwhile.

It wasn't worth it, not for the Oracle's Elixir anyway. I moved on to the Elixir of Iron and health potions. Those would benefit from being miniaturized, but since I was the only one who drank Oracle's, blowing another crystal on each one was unnecessary.

After a productive day at the lab, I was at home, thinking about what I wanted to do with my stockpile of fifty-three crystals. It had dipped a bit when I was forced to build up a stockpile of Elixirs of Iron and health potions, but I'd restocked my reserves during the past few days of meditations. The question was, what did I want to do with so many?

I had no intention of taking them into the PRT. Hell, they didn't even know I had these. As far as Director Lyons knew, I was pushing myself ragged in the lab to churn out a quantity of potions exceeding my standard output. The director was busy with a civil suit and playing politics. The PRT liaisons were busy managing a suddenly far more active Wards team. The Protectorate heroes were busy trying to clamp down on the gang war before it could escalate. This was my chance to build with minimal oversight, to make something that wasn't strictly alchemical, something with a little more… oomph.

As if that idea was all it'd been waiting for, the World Rune leapt like an eager puppy into my focus, shoving ideas upon ideas into the forefront of my mind. Most of them were ideas I'd considered and discarded for one reason or another: too expensive, too obvious, too dangerous, too reliant on another piece of tech, not impactful enough…

One of the best things I could make was a Hex Core, the very same implanted into Viktor like Tony Stark's arc reactor. It was the foundation of virtually everything else in Viktor's arsenal, though it didn't start that way. The transhuman genius made it in several iterations, starting with Blitzcrank. He hadn't intended to make a sentient golem, only to make something that could help clear debris after an accident in Zaun. The golem grew beyond he'd ever expected. Years later, when he abandoned Piltover in favor of his glorious evolution, he remembered the sentient golem and made something that could learn along with him.

The Hex Core wasn't just a battery, but it wasn't entirely honest to call it an AI either. It wasn't sentient, not truly. It could learn, but it was designed specifically to integrate with Viktor himself, and he wasn't insane enough to have another personality piloting his body. The modern miracle could be used to channel incredible amounts of mana to do anything from power cybernetics, fire lasers, calibrate gravitational fields, generate magnetic force fields, or even create ionic storms comparable to any natural tornado, all the while refining its own processes to be more efficient and streamlined.

And yet, for all its promises, I cast it aside. It was one of the greatest, most versatile creations I could make at the moment, but it was too reliant on me building something else to pair with it. I needed a standalone invention, one that could help me protect myself while being discreet. I wanted a holdout weapon.

I opened up my notebook, one I kept specifically for the purpose. It was written in Korean, with sketches and doodles along the edges. This notebook contained many of the ideas I'd considered, the less destructive ones at any rate. I browsed the book with some amusement. The very first thing I scribbled in these pages was not from Piltover or Zaun surprisingly enough. It was from Ionia, Jhin the Virtuoso to be specific. Who knew the man was such an inventive mechanic?

For example, the man built his own mass accelerator to work with Whisper, his pistol. I found it funny that such a powerful weapon came from outside the twin cities, but moved on. Too expensive. Too conspicuous. I had no intention of replacing my arm or grafting a mass accelerator to my shoulder blade. For one, it wouldn't grow with me.

I eventually settled on the weapon I'd been agonizing over for weeks: Senna's relic pistol, as wielded by Lucian. I was honest enough to admit that I had no idea how to dual-wield, or shoot a gun of any sort for that matter, but in my current age, learning to shoot a single pistol was far easier than picking up a melee weapon or mastering two pistols simultaneously. Lucian, I was not.

The relic pistol wasn't the only gun in Runeterra, or the only pistol for that matter. Sarah Fortune used twin pistols called Shock and Awe. Gangplank had one, and Samira's gunblade was infamous. I still chose the relic gun.

Sure, there were no undead to fight, but Lucian's pistols had two advantages over more conventional weapons: First, they used no ammo, and no bullets meant they would be more likely to be seen as props rather than the incredibly potent weapons I knew them to be. Second, like every other relic weapon used by the Sentinels, they were fueled by the sheer righteousness of the wielder, the light of their soul made manifest. There was a World Rune in my soul, a light brighter than any. If there was one thing I knew I'd never run out of, it was mana.

Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

Thus decided, I began to plan…

X

2000, June 22: Phoenix, AZ, USA

Things moved rather quickly after my Petricite was confirmed to work on external expressions of powers. It was amazing how much money the PRT was willing to throw around when they felt motivated. Or maybe, they'd always had this money and hardware prepped and were using the trial to push me towards creating power suppressors; I wasn't discounting Contessa-induced fuckery.

Regardless of how it happened, I got a forge installed into my lab. Some of it was used, donated from a local agricultural university, but that was fine as long as they were all in working order. After a rather extensive safety lesson from a local smith, mostly to put the minds of adults at ease and cross the "t's" for bureaucracy's sake, I was ready to begin.

I let the World Rune guide me as I ground the block into powder through a series of steps. First, I put it into a large bag and shoved the bag beneath a drop hammer until I had petrified wood that resembled coarse gravel. Then, the bag was emptied into a shatterbox, a machine that uses vibrations, friction, and constant pressure to grind stone to powder. Equal parts lime and ash were added in to mix evenly. Several hours later, I had a bag of powdered Petricite, as fine as beach sand and ready to be mixed into an alloy.

Seeing how I wouldn't be sticking around long enough to melt any steel plates, I called it an early night.

X

As I was being driven home by Agent Morrison, I thought about just what I'd need for my holdout weapon. To start, I'd need the unique stone used to form each relic weapon. The stone had to come from the Blessed Isles, bathed in light magic.

'Am I going to have to travel to a holy site and open a quarry there?' I wondered. 'I don't think the pope would be happy with me. Does the Vatican even exist on Bet? No, there's got to be a better way. What exactly is it about the stones of the Blessed Isles was it that made them so special to the Sentinels?'

I delved deeper into the well in my soul. My connection to Runeterra deepened as I searched for the answers. It was only far in the distant past that I found the truth: a magic spring. There was a literal Well of Life at the center of the Blessed Isles, the same well that first captured Maokai's attention and the same well that birthed the Hallowed Mist. The well's water had nourished the isles, filling them with life and magic and drawing nature spirits from all over to dwell within its shores.

Maokai may have discovered the Water of Life, but it was the Vesani people, nomadic, vulpine travelers from Ionia, who pioneered its use. Ahri's distant cousins were especially sensitive to magic, even among the Vastaya. They explored the uses of memory magic as a form of energy and eventually discovered how to combine it with the sacred water to power golems that protected Helia, the capitol of the Blessed Isles.

It was at this point that I took a metaphorical step back to admire the sheer ingenuity of that. The Vesani were so gifted with magic that they made AIs out of their own memories to create semi-independent golems, a feat that would only be replicated by Viktor in the creation of Blitzcrank a full millennium later.

'Mad respect, pity they didn't last.' Thinking about the Ruination filled me with melancholy, but I did get what I wanted. The isles themselves weren't special, the well on the other hand… 'Holy water… Yeah, I can do that…'

X

2000, June 23: Phoenix, AZ, USA

The following day was Friday, which meant yet another infuriating day of pretending to be blind in a building full of children I couldn't relate to. The only upside to my obvious disfigurement was that I made people nervous and no one wanted much to do with me. Even in my special education class, there was a palpable distance between us. I told myself I was fine with that, and the adult part of me was, but a different, eight year old part rebelled at the constant isolation.

Still, this school day wasn't as bad as the others. It was the end of the year and it showed. The entire elementary school was gathered inside the auditorium to watch a public safety presentation delivered by two very familiar heroines. I couldn't quite suppress a shit-eating grin as I listened to Hat Trick and Stingray act sweet and cheery for us "snot-nosed ankle-biters." Mostly Hat Trick. This would bother her for the rest of the day for sure. My only regret was that I had no Oracle's to see the show properly.

"… and remember, stick together, follow only adults you trust, and be safe," Hat Trick said, sounding a bit stilted.

"Right, thank you for having us, everyone!" Stingray finished. She had that peppy tone she used whenever she was talking to the public. I didn't have to see to know she had her pearly whites displayed into a wide, encouraging smile. She really was perfect for PR stunts like this: tall, pretty, well-spoken, and with a cool, upfront power. It was no wonder she'd be sent to reassure the public.

The principal took the mic from the two Wards. "Yes, thank you, Stingray, Hat Trick. Can we get a round of applause for the two heroines?" The auditorium filled with enthusiastic clapping. "Now, I think we have time for a few questions about the Wards. Anyone? Yes, Mr. Silva?"

A teacher took a portable mic to one of the older students, a fifth grader I'd heard of during recess as being a bit aggressive. He wasn't a bully, but he was a little pushy with the younger kids and insisted on being Royalle or Eidolon during their games of "cape tag."

He spoke up somewhere to my left. "H-Hello, Stingray," he said, uncharacteristically nervous now that he was talking to a real heroine, "Ha-Have you met Eidolon before?"

"No, ''fraid not. He's a very busy man. But you know, of all the heroes I've met, my favorite is Mouse Protector. She's not the strongest hero, but she makes people laugh and sometimes, that's worth its weight in gold."

Another question, different student. "Why do you shout 'Stingray Straight!' whenever you punch bad guys?"

I could practically feel Hat Trick rolling her eyes. "Why not?" Stingray responded. "It makes people smile, right? Help me think up a super move for the rest of my team and post it on PHO, okay?"

I grinned and raised my walking stick into the air. Soon enough, I felt a teacher put the mic in my outstretched hand after a light scolding. I stood and grinned. "Hi, I'm Andy. I've never seen heroes before," I said, waggling my eyebrows. I was told it looked unsettling. "Mind if I ask you a question?"

"Sure, Andy, go ahead," Hat Trick said, a tad forced.

"Where's Rubedo? How come I've never heard of him going on patrols? Is it because he's a scaredy-cat? Mom says I shouldn't do drugs. Does this make Rubedo a bad hero?" I couldn't quite manage to suppress my shit-eating grin.

"You-" Hat Trick began, but stopped when Stingray placed a firm hand on her shoulder.

"Rubedo is a respected member of the Wards," Stingray said, her tone wooden. "He does not join us in patrols because his power is unsuited for combat, but he has expressed his wishes to be more involved. His medicines will save many lives and I am proud to call him my friend and teammate, even if he can be a little difficult."

"What's he like?" Someone else, a girl a ways behind me, asked.

"He's a brat," Hat Trick said bluntly. "Him and Masked Bandit love to bicker, but they're good kids."

X

I felt the hit coming the moment I stepped into the Wards common room but let it land. "You're such a little shit," Hat Trick growled.

"Whatever do you mean?" I said, rubbing the back of my head.

"PHO's talking about 'Rubedo the drug dealer' now. Are you happy?"

"Very. Never been smugger. Is that a word? It is now."

Stingray shot me her "big sister's frown of disapproval" and passed me a cookie from the fridge. "Well, I hope you've had your fun, because you have remedial PR lessons today. And every day for a week."

"Aww," I let out an exaggerated whine. "I have important sciencing to do!"

"Should've thought of that before you called yourself a drug dealer, kiddo. That was hilarious though," Ranchero laughed. He then saw his girlfriend's glower and gulped. "I mean… that was irresponsible and very unheroic… and maybe a little funny. But definitely irresponsible!"

"Whtchee," Masked Bandit cracked an imaginary whip. The last half of the cookie in my hand disappeared into hers. "Thanks for the cookie, Rube."

"You're welcome," I said dryly. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go get chewed out by Ms. Youngston. Maybe I can get my tinkering done before I have to head home."

X

I didn't get much done. I severely underestimated just how miffed Ms. Youngston would be with me. Disappointed, apparently, because I was supposed to be the chosen one. Or, at the very least, the easy to milk PR cash cow. I gave her team more work to do so that meant she'd be giving me more work to do. Circle of life. Bureaucracy. Same difference.

She eventually decided to use me being a "drug dealer" as evidence for how the ongoing lawsuit has damaged my reputation. I didn't plan that, but damn. Had to admit, she was good.

Nonetheless, "not much" wasn't "nothing" and I was able to upgrade my team's Elixirs of Iron with pills of the same. I also got to make drafts of Senna's relic pistol and portion out the ingredients needed for my Petricite alloy.

Author's Note

I feel like I'm going to get questions about the death toll so I'll talk about it here. Let's start with the obvious: Brockton Bay is NOT NORMAL. Their gang violence stemming from Bakuda's madness and the Empire getting outed represent exceptional circumstances. Bakuda and Oni Lee were uniquely suited to mass destruction. The Empire had an enormous advantage in both powered and unpowered manpower alongside major heavy hitters like Purity and Hookwolf. That kind of violence typically doesn't happen, in Worm and in the real world.

For reference, the LA Race Riots of 1992, one of the most notorious riots in US history, resulted in the deaths of sixty-four people over the course of six days. And that was when seemingly the entire city blew up and out of towners were driving in to "protect" businesses. Forty-three in three weeks isn't an unreasonable death toll for a conflict between two local gangs, powers or no powers.

I'm also going to get a lot of questions about Arcane, so I'll preempt them here: Arcane is not canon to Runeterra Prime. The Viktor of Arcane is very different from Viktor the Champion. He and Jayce did work together in both timelines, but they had very different relationships. And yeah, the lore behind the Hex Core is that it is self-adapting.

Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.