Swain opened his eyes to darkness and pain. In the span of a second, he deduced his circumstances -- he was buried under no small amount of rubble. The building that had served as his headquarters had collapsed under that explosive bullet, the loose stones sat heavily upon his chest, but not crushingly so. His life had been spared by the slab of brass and concrete that pulped his left arm below the shoulder, which due to the angle it had fallen had shielded him from the rubble that would have sealed his fate.
His body was littered with less grievous injuries. His right foot was pinned under loose stone, and the slightest movements had dust falling upon him, accompanied by the sound of rubble shifting.
“I'm alive,” Swain uttered, permitting himself a small sigh. “How… irritating.” That was perhaps the best word to describe what he felt underneath the pain. Death would have been an adequate punishment for his mistakes. He had been informed of the sniper, and he’d exposed himself all the same. Foolish. He had assumed it would only be his own life he was risking, but assumptions in war got people killed. In this case, it was his officer staff, and he had been denied the dignity of dying with them.
Yet, he pushed away his pain and irritation. He was alive. Injured, disgraced, and humbled, but alive. He couldn't count on a rescue operation. His chain of command was resilient, and there were a number of contingencies to follow to ensure that his death held the minimal effect on the war effort, but there were few resources that could be spared in an active war zone.
A war that was still ongoing. He heard what seemed to be distant gunshots, telling Swain that he was not buried deeply under the rubble. Or that there were enough gaps between the rubble to let sound carry. He didn't know how long he had been unconscious either, but based on the dried blood on his face, he estimated hours. Possibly until nightfall. Maybe even longer.
A hand shifted, gently clearing the smaller rocks that gathered on his battered chest before venturing to the rubble that crushed his arm. White hot agony made him wince more than his verdict -- the arm could not be salvaged. The bone was shattered to splinters, the flesh pulverized, and the muscle ravaged. There was not an excess of blood, telling Swain that the debris that fell on him had crushed his arm… cleanly, for lack of a better word. It was likely why he hadn't bled out before regaining consciousness.
Swain took a few breaths to consider his options, but there was only one possible course of action that offered a chance of survival. Slowly, a hand drifted down to the knife he kept in his boot. He paid no mind to the small pebbles and dust that fell upon him from above -- if movements as gentle as this were enough to cause the rubble to crush him, then it meant he never had the possibility of survival. His body protested the action, and it was only then that he realized that at least two of his ribs were broken based on the clicking sound they made when they ground together. No matter.
Once the knife was in his hand, he cleared the cloth of his general’s coat. Gritting his teeth, he began to cut.
It was painful. Excruciatingly so. But it was also necessary to escape, to survive, so he swallowed his screams and his agony and he did what must be done. A surgeon would be able to clean up his sloppy work, but he knew enough about field amputation to do it right. The cut was at an angle, allowing a flesh cap to cover the wound that could be sewn shut, both to stem the bleeding and to prevent infection.
A gasp escaped him when the last piece of flesh was severed, allowing Swain to sit up. His remaining hand trembled against his will while he moved to stem the bleeding. Swain worked methodically, securing the triage and the ragged scraps of clothing to serve as a bandage. The pain was a constant companion in the darkness, but a welcome one. Otherwise, he might slip into unconsciousness and that would be a death sentence.
Now free, Swain found that the darkness was still oppressive. Heavy. More so than the rubble that trapped him. He explored it slowly, letting his hand build a mental image of his confines. As he’d suspected, he was trapped in a lopsided pocket. Framing that pocket were small but heavy stones. Stones that would have been far easier to move if he still possessed two hands-
‘Swain.’
He did not hear the word so much as he felt it. An involuntary shiver raced down his spine as he turned to face the source of the unease that suddenly gripped him. He half expected it to be the Wolf, but it was instead a raven. One that was inexplicably present and perched upon protruding rubble. Both of its eyes were closed, yet a third eye in its forehead peered at him with malevolent light.
It was not the first time he had seen the raven. The creature had followed him since he was a boy standing on the training field for the first time. An omen of misfortune, if there ever was one. Mostly on account that every time he saw it, it was a prelude to a disaster -- his parents executions, ambushes that would see his men slaughtered… but he had never felt like… this. As if the darkness itself would claim him and not the rubble.
Swain always suspected the raven was more than some mutated bird. Now he had proof.
‘A bargain can be made.’ Again, the words were not spoken. He could not hear them with his ears or within his mind. Yet, he understood what went unspoken with perfect clarity. ‘Serve me, and you shall survive.’
“I would have your name, demon,” Swain replied with as much composure that he could manage.
The response he received was one that made little sense as it was a name that had been repurposed, translated, and compressed into a few letters to fit his understanding.
‘Raum.’
The name meant nothing to him, but that was of little surprise. He knew little of demons. “And what would this service entail?”
It was then that the demon made a mistake. A pressure built in his mind, and he saw… secrets. Secrets that were unknown to all but a few.
A familiar pale woman pulling the strings of the ailing Darkwill, using Noxus as a tool to hunt for magic artifacts to save her own gluttony and power.
He saw Trafalgar Law standing before an army full of horrors and monsters.
He saw…
It mattered little what he saw. Raum, the Demon of Secrets, had invaded his mind. First to entice his cooperation, but the demon's will dug deeper in the attempt to compel an affirmation from him. And that was its mistake. The connection between them ran both ways… and the demon, however long lived it might be, was a coward. A creature of guile that subverted opposition rather than overcame it. One that had chosen its targets well throughout its dread long life.
Clever as he was, Jericho Swain was just a man. A man without the gift of magic. A man who was crippled and trapped. A man who should have been desperate, whose will should have been weak.
It was not.
“I refuse,” Swain uttered, pushing back against the intrusion into his mind and delving into the demon's in turn. “It is you who shall serve me.”
Raum cried out with confusion and fear, but Swain would not allow the demon to flee. His hand lashed out, gripping the demon by the throat, and in its fear, Swain claimed his victory over it. His will clashed against the demon’s, finding it to be made of sand. Yet, it was a battle that would have no end. He could not destroy the demon's will completely. Only suppress it.
At the first sign of weakness, Raum would escape him. For a time it would flee, but once the demon found its courage, it would make Swain suffer for the indignity. That was of no concern, however. He simply would not be weak.
“I have need of a new arm. You shall serve,” Swain commanded, the raven’s body melting into something unfathomable before it reformed around the stump of his arm. The flesh of his new limb was dark, seemingly infinite in its nature, almost as if he were gazing into a starless night sky. He opened and closed his clawed hand a few times, dismissing Raum's rage and indignation.
Swain had little interactions with magic, most of his experience stemming from commanding war mages. Commanding their awesome power directly was something he’d never dared dream of. Yet, gathering the power that now lurked in his arm, Swain lashed out with it, pushing up against the rubble that he was buried under. A phantom clawed hand erupted upward, pushing away the rubble with an explosion of dust, revealing the night sky overhead.
As he suspected, it was past nightfall. And the war was still raging all around him. His emergence went unnoticed for the moment, allowing him to breathe deeply and savor the fresh air. But when that moment passed…
There was a war to be won.
…
“Huh,” I mused, tilting my head at the little development within my Room. Swain getting a cool demon arm wasn't anything that I’d expected, but it was a welcome development. I didn't exactly have anything against Swain -- even if he was a bit dull and by the book. Not that that was an issue in itself, it was just that he’d become vastly more interesting after picking up a demon arm. Which he used to spread raven familiars out to observe the broader battlefield while he stumbled to the Noxian back line to resume his control over the army.
“Neat,” I rendered my verdict, deciding to let Swain rejoin his army. I already had a general for my Noxian armies with Ambessa, but another wouldn't go amiss. A bit boring or not, I couldn't say that Swain wasn't good at what he did.
“Still playing the part of a voyeur?" Maki Zenin asked me from behind, her arms crossed, her gaze bouncing between the newest little trick I had developed with my power. A little bit of ice magic and a little bit of illusion magic allowed me to create screens that I could use to watch everything unfolding inside of my Room. While I had awareness of everything that fell within my range, viewing it like this made it a bit more convenient. Especially when it allowed others to see what I was watching as well, be it a contested battle between regular people or Mundo Kool-Aid manning his way through a series of buildings and turning everyone he saw into red stains with his oversized fists.
“Always,” I admitted freely, sparing a glance at my newest experiment. One that seemed to be working out so far.
Maki had been put on ice for a few months, implanted with false memories and feelings. From her perspective, she woke up with horrific debilitating burn scars from when Cinder lit her up. She had been afflicted with the very same doubt and trauma and frustration that Cinder went through following her own disfiguring injuries at the hands of Starlight.
In those memories, I took the place of the ever-patient and kind Caitlyn. Caring for her, assuring her that everything would be alright one day, and undoing the less-than-flattering impression that Asami had given her of me. All of it culminating in a seed of love blooming upon the supposed surgery that had dramatically reduced her injuries, even if it couldn't completely heal them.
That love acted as a catalyst for the loyalty she had been injected with. The memories and love serving as a foundation to be built upon. Yet, I was still exploring how steady that foundation was.
Maki was more my speed when it came to morality than Asami, in the sense that she genuinely didn't care about it one way or another. She had empathy, but it was highly personal and only extended to a select few who managed to worm their way into her heart. I had been someone she was perfectly content to murder for no reason other than that, from her perspective, I was the enemy of some people she begrudgingly cared about -- Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru, her teachers at Jujutsu High School.
She had no attachments to Asami or any in her company, beyond Nobara and Megumi. Nobara was lukewarm about my entire existence at best, while Megumi… I wasn't even sure if he was still alive. Sukuna took Ten Shadows from him, but I had no idea what that meant for Megumi himself. He might still be alive, but being dead would probably be a mercy for him given Sukuna was… well, Sukuna.
When the year ended and Asami realized that she had been played, I doubted that Maki would be willing to act as a deep cover spy for me. Yet, I was fairly confident that when the confrontation happened, she would be willing to fight on my behalf. So, I was working within that parameter while building on that foundation. Getting her used to obeying me while giving her more reasons to.
“You got summoned for another emergency Council meeting,” Maki informed, flicking me the notice. “Quit being a creep and actually do your job, would you?” It was amusing that, at heart, Maki was a classic tsundere.
“Didn’t we just have one of these?” I mused, reading the summons. One penned by Cassandra Kiramman demanding a second emergency meeting the day following the emergency meeting that had made Mel High Councilor. No reason was disclosed, but I could imagine what the meeting would be about.
It was interesting. As far as I had been aware, Cassandra and her family were planning to jump ship. Mel had even made a toast to the knowledge that her grip on Piltover was secure, with all of her rivals either turning traitor or fleeing. Or dying, though she was less happy about that. For Cassandra to change her mind like this… Either someone had put her up to it, or she’d gotten cold feet about abandoning the city.
‘Cinder, are you making a move?’ It was more subtle than her usual work, but she seemed determined to land on her feet now that she was getting back in the game.
“Yeah? The city is getting fucked into the dirt. You’re a Councilor. There are going to be emergency meetings,” Maki replied in a drawl. “Do I need to hold your hand to make sure you get there all safe and sound?” She asked, unable to admit that she just wanted to walk together with me. And maybe hold my hand. It was endearingly adorable how dishonest she was with herself.
“I think I can find my way,” I replied with a smile, earning a ‘tsk’ from Maki. With that, I departed from what amounted to a personal bunker, paying no mind to the sounds of conflict that echoed out or the stray laser that cut across the darkness.
Things were developing nicely. All the more so when Maki decided to shadow me, just to make sure I didn't get killed.
Mel had leveraged what she could out of me. Maki and the others were woken from their slumber and unleashed upon the Noxians. They were doing decent enough work -- but not enough to turn the tide, especially when Noxus abandoned taking Zaun to concentrate on Piltover. For now, at least.
There was, of course, a method to my madness. A reason why I had refrained from asking Sukuna and Kaido to simply do away with the pesky army that was seizing control of my city block by block. Why I hadn't unleashed the full unrestrained might of my armies, be it robots, Taylor and her ants, Nora's World Eaters, or an unending tide of green supermutants. A reason that Mel had deduced and was working to circumvent.
Only for her own work to be circumvented.
I entered the Council chambers, which had been relocated to a bunker underneath Piltover's University. An effort had been made to replicate the usual Council chambers, but there were a few differences, among them being that there was an appropriately sized table to represent the diminished Council. Mel, naturally, was already in attendance, seated at the head of it and at my arrival, she aimed a razor sharp glance my way.
She didn't voice it, but an accusation lurked in her gaze. A suspicion that this was my doing, and wondering what game I was playing this time. Little did she understand that it was all the same game.
“High Councilor,” I greeted her, taking a seat in the middle of the table. Across from me was the synth Salo. “What seems to be on the agenda today?”
“That,” Mel uttered without a trace of warmth. She was mad~! “Is Councilor Kirraman's's decision, as she is the one who called this meeting.”
Cassandra, of course, sat directly opposite to Mel. Her expression was a mask of neutrality, but anxiety and resentment boiled underneath the surface. Her glance at me was no more warm than Mel's. It seemed I was bereft of allies on the Council. Excluding Salo, of course.
“Now that we are all in attendance…” Cassandra began, rising to her feet. “It is no secret that I believe the creation of the High Councilor position and the emergency powers invested into it are a gross overreach with the current war being a paper thin justification.”
Mel didn't react to being called out so bluntly, except for perhaps a blink. “So you’ve said, repeatedly,” she acknowledged. “However, I must confess that I am surprised to see that you are here, Councilor Kiramman. The boat you chartered to abandon Piltover is scheduled to leave any moment now.” A little bit of mug slinging right out the gate, hm?
The words weren't for me. They were for Salo. Mel was entirely ignorant about the existence of synths, and that was a secret I intended to keep. As far as Mel was aware, Salo was the deciding vote against whatever Cassandra had planned. Mel couldn't count on me. She knew that much. While she had fallen under my sway, in regard to Piltover, we had different intentions towards it. As far as she was aware, she could manage a tie with Cassandra's vote, regardless of what it might be.
“Your remark is well founded,” Cassandra admitted, and Mel tensed, realizing that she had made a mistake at the onset. “I intended to abandon Piltover. I thought there was no reason to stay. With Heimerdinger gone and the ideals that Piltover was built upon dead, all I could do was salvage my family from the wreckage. I assure you Councilors, were it my will, I would not be here.”
Salo leaned forward, sparing a glance at Mel's stony expression to gauge her reaction. “That is hardly what anyone would like to hear from such an esteemed member of this Council,” he remarked. “But, if it is not by your will, then whose is it?”
“My daughter, Caitlyn’s,” Cassandra answered, well prepared for the question. “My daughter, who fought upon the frontlines of this war, who was wounded and nearly died… she has refused to leave Piltover, because it is her home. Her birthplace. And she is willing to fight and die to uphold its ideals.”
Interesting.
Mel saw where the conversation was going. She was too good at what she did to not. “That doesn't surprise me,” Mel acknowledged. “Caitlyn has always been a fierce idealist. It is what I admire about her. However, Councilor Kiramman, I trust that you understand that the present circumstances are far from ideal.”
“An understatement if there ever was one, Councilor Medarda.” Cassandra stressed her name, attempting to drive a point home. Her words, unlike Mel, were directed at both me and Salo. While I had rebuffed her attempts to rekindle the engagement with Caitlyn, and voted in favor of making Mel High Councilor, I was still a critical vote for things to go her way. “We are being invaded by Noxus! Heimerdinger, our longest serving Councilor and the Founder of Piltover is dead! Half of the Council is either dead or proven to be traitors! Less than ideal is being exceedingly generous!”
Cassandra made a display of taking a calming breath, “My reservations about the High Councilor position were misguided. I mistook my doubts for the position itself rather than who was assuming the mantle.” And those were some fighting words. Mel's eyes went cold. “You are a career politician. One from Noxus, no less! You have never fought a day in your life, and you are the one meant to lead us in the most pivotal battle in Piltover's history?”
Mel's voice was as cold as winter itself, “It is to my recollection, Councilor, that the only reason why there is a battle is because I was in favor of it. You would have had us submit to Noxus and hope for mercy. You, who confess to cowardice and intent to abandon a city you swore to guide and protect, claim that I am unfit for my position?”
“Yes,” Cassandra answered with unflinching bluntness. “Just as I am. As we all are. There is one who has earned the position of High Councilor and she paid for it in blood -- Caitlyn Kiramman.”
And there it was. Mel had the reaction that I expected, laughing sharply and dismissively. “Your daughter? Could your nepotism be any more blatant?” She wasn't wrong there. “What's more, Caitlyn is not a member of this Council! She cannot be High Councilor!”
She made a show of confidence, but internally, she was a buzzing hive of insecurities and doubt. Mel had always known it would be a hard sell to remain High Councilor. Odds were she only wanted the position to curb my influence on the Council. Her origins worked against her, and Cassandra wasn't wrong -- Mel was a politician first and foremost in a time of war.
A war that Piltover would win regardless, but Cassandra didn't know that. And Mel couldn't tell her.
To be a hero, there must first be a damsel in distress. Piltover was more or less holding its own against Noxus. They were still losing, of course. The Enforcers and gangsters of the city might have some neat tricks and a decent amount of grit, but they just didn't have the same unflinching discipline as the soldiers of Noxus. They didn't have the raw numbers. When the tech advantage vanished when the last microfusion cell was used up, Piltover would be rolled up down to its core territories. A glorious last stand to defend the ideals of Piltover before death or surrender.
And like a knight in shining armor, Heartless would be there with his armies at the last second of the final hour. The city, like a princess rescued from the tallest tower or a dragon or… something, would naturally put out for their dashing hero.
People always said that the Devil's greatest trick was convincing people he wasn't real. That was simply untrue.
It was convincing them that Hell was Heaven.
“Something that can be rectified,” Cassandra returned, steel in her tone. “Before I resign from my position on this Council so that my daughter can assume it, I call for a formal vote! A vote for Mel Medarda to be removed from her position of High Councilor so that Caitlyn Kiramman may assume it.”
“I do not-” Mel started, but Cassandra spoke over her.
“All in favor?” She raised her hand, and looked at me and Salo. A little nudge prompted Salo to raise his hand, though he looked away from Mel as he did so.
Mel wavered internally, realizing that her fate rested entirely in my hands. She hated it. I could practically hear her internal screaming. She sought to save the city from me, even if she was working with me. Mel wanted Piltover whole. She wanted it to remain something that she could recognize and be proud of.
I could buy her goodwill. Ultimately, the fate of Piltover didn't interest me. It could be pliable to my desires, or it could stand stalwart against them. I could just as easily turn my gaze to another city. Maybe Noxus Prime itself.
Piltover might have sentimental value to Mel, but I had plans for her far beyond a single city. It would take an apology, but I knew exactly how to get back into Mel's good graces so that wasn't much of a concern. But beyond that… I was curious.
Cinder was making another play, because I seriously doubted Caitlyn had this idea by herself, or that Cassandra had come up with it when she was halfway out the door. It was exactly what she would want, even if it was with a far softer touch than her usual style.
I could admit my curiosity. What exactly would a Caitlyn in charge of a dying but defiant city look like with a devil on her shoulder?
Offering Mel an apologetic grin, I raised my hand and Cassandra couldn't quite restrain her breath of relief. Mel kept her expression neutral, simply sitting down in her seat as she let the news wash over her.
“... The motion passes,” Mel conceded in a clipped tone that betrayed none of her rage. Her anguish. But her eyes, however?
They promised vengeance on Cassandra Kiramman, and I knew exactly what to give her to make things up to her.