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Her knuckles snapped into a man’s nose. Bone shattered. His head rocked back, an arc of blood encircling him like a devil’s halo, and he stumbled. His curses were thick and unclear.
Lights overhead flashed, burned into her shoulders, her eyes, her head. The crowd’s roar was deafening, overwhelming and invigorating in turns. It saturated her blood with adrenaline as her heart stuttered, fumbled for a rhythm it couldn’t find since her last godforsaken steps in Piltover.
fucking idiot, fucking idiot, fucking--
He shuffled forward, fists up in front of his swelling face as if they could provide any sort of protection. She actually laughed. It ricocheted between the tall, circular walls of the pit and evaporated into thin air, overrun by a stampede of gluttonous, calamitous cheering.
Disgust and fury twisted his features into a caricature of himself. He spat blood at her face, either as a distraction or a show for the onlookers. Her eyes dropped to his hands, which were drifting a couple inches down in arrogance. Spittle landed, warm and wet, on her cheekbone as she stepped up and sent her fist rocketing past his lax guard, crushing his cheekbone with a sickening noise. Her other hand swung from beneath to connect with the soft tissue between his jaw and the peak in his throat. It squished up into his mouth. Several teeth crunched.
The crowd bellowed so loudly she couldn’t hear his body hit the dirt. She didn’t bother waiting to see him stay down, lifting her bloody knuckles with a responding roar. The sound of their approval filled up her chest like it could lift her from the ground. She spun in her spot, breathing in the dirt, the sweat, the victory of the pit.
This was where she was meant to be.
failure, failure, failure, failure--
This was what she deserved.
.
Her throat burned, but it hardly registered amidst the currents of pain branching through her. She lifted a cup to her lips and slammed it back down, relishing a new burn that slid through her body like lightning. Her head was thick, too stuffy to maintain the line connecting her thoughts to her actions. It wouldn't help anyway. It hadn't before.
reckless, stupid, foolish--
A glass of amber liquid slid in front of her, sloshing its contents across the sticky countertop. She took it without a second thought and drank it like water. A hand clapped on her back, dangerously close to the skin above her collar. On instinct, her left hand shot to the side. Looking that way, she saw her wrecked fingers clamped over the throat of a small man in bright colors. His beady eyes traced her face like she was his drug, brimming with manic energy and twisted fervor.
A sluggish thought wormed its way to the forefront of her mind: he must be a bettor. She was the gamble that finally paid off.
The lights overhead flickered and guttered out; in their place, narrow beams of color began to swim across the crowd without pattern. The man’s face vanished in shadow. If it weren’t for the tiny bristles of hair scratching her fingers, she might have believed he was gone. A bright cone of pink flashed across them.
Suddenly, the neck beneath her hand was narrow, smooth, corded with fine muscle. Her heart lurched into her throat. Powder stared back at her, young and trusting. Her eyes were round, open, curious, until Vi’s hand adjusted its grip.
you abandoned her, you hurt her, you left--
A darker light swung over them, and in an instant, Powder’s face had transformed. Her eyes narrowed and sparked with unnatural pink fire, fine eyebrows furled over top in rage. Her nose flared. Teeth flashed in the light, bared and gnashing like she would take Vi’s fingers off in a heartbeat.
you made her, you destroyed her--
Vi let out a hoarse yell and dropped her sister, hand spasming in horror and disbelief. Desperate to get the image out of her head, she slammed both palms against her eyes and pressed until she saw stars, until her eyes felt like they were moments from bursting. When she looked down again, a small man was crawling back from her across the floor, trying to get to his feet and adjust the crotch of his pants at the same time.
Breath shallow and haggard, Vi swept up the glass beside her and downed its contents in one practiced motion.
.
A heel connected with her sternum. She staggered, searching futilely for air in her lungs. A second kick sent her flying back until she collided with the wall and slid to the ground. The applause was thunderous, enveloping her in noise as she groped for oxygen that burned away from her. Ribs creaked and moaned like the bar stairs she had memorized as a kid.
Her head rolled limply to the side, eyes cast blankly into the light above. There was a flash of blue in the formless rolls of bodies above and her chest hurt .
it’s not real, it’s not real, she’s gone, she’s--
With a growl, she climbed to her feet and let her momentum carry her forward in an ungainly sprint, nearly on all fours until her head planted into her opponent’s iron stomach. Fists slammed into her back, digging in around her spine until they broke skin. Her toes dug into the dirt and she contracted every muscle in her back and legs, lifting him bodily over one shoulder and throwing herself backwards. His head slammed into the dirt with a snap .
She didn’t feel her own body reeling from the landing, too busy drinking in the heady aroma of blood and adrenaline.
.
The bodies around her pressed into her sides like a vice grip. They jostled and pushed until she couldn't swallow the panic any longer. Snarling, her elbows flared and slammed out until she had space to breathe. Annoyed voices rose around her, but they only sounded like the roar of the crowd, leering and worshiping in one breath. She glanced up between breaths, expecting to see the pit’s grimy walls surrounding her. All she found were colored lights and vibrating speakers suspended from exposed rafters.
Right. She had been dancing.
She let out a yell and let her body take the lead, intuitively spinning and jumping and kicking with the lithe coordination of a fighter. Noise was a solid weight draped over her, keeping her grounded, keeping her mind from wandering away from the vibration of bass and stinging of percussion. Lights roved over her body like they couldn’t keep track.
A mottled hand was in front of her and she took it thoughtlessly, yanking it forward and sending her partner through a series of debilitating spins and swirls until they both leaned forward and vomited. It tasted like liquor and bile over her tongue. Her first thought was to replace the alcohol in her stomach before her head could clear.
purge, more, purge, more--
Beside her, the hand’s owner breathed heavily. He said something, repeated it louder, but Vi’s head swam. Her ears weren’t working, too full of static and the rush of her own pulse. He was a rat of a man, rotting teeth and unkempt hair surrounding yellow eyes wild with drug-induced stupor. He leaned back and let out some kind of noise, lost in the general uproar, before beginning to sway back and forth.
She looked at him blankly, but her body unconsciously followed his lead. Her feet traded her body weight back and forth, mirroring motion like they were two halves of a whole. Her heart pounded against her ribs like a hammer. She could feel her pulse throbbing in her neck, a tantalizing, morbid reminder of her own living, breathing presence.
it should have been you, it should have been you--
A swinging light blinded her. When she blinked back into her head, his body suddenly moved lithely, elegantly, smooth as silk. Her eyes dragged upwards, utterly confused by the way he seemed to transform with every pulse of artificial light. Skin flashed between stretched too thin, corroded with scarring and the telltale pockmarks of a syringe, to pale flashes of beauty, soft expanses beneath expensive blue leather.
Caitlyn watched her with vibrant eyes when she finally lifted her head, swaying with the thunderous music and smiling gently. Smiling like she was really there, or like Vi was really somewhere else. Like Vi wasn’t hidden in a disgusting bar in the slums Caitlyn had displayed such disgust for, wasn’t drunk to the point of hallucinating nightmares in the blood and flesh before her, wasn’t responsible for alienating her sister and destroying the only relationship she had ever experienced that meant more than getting off silently in the corner of the prison yard.
Caitlyn dipped gracefully like she had been born for the grimy dance floor.
The man wiped his nose obsessively and his eyelid ticked.
Caitlyn showed that little gap in her teeth. She bobbed peacefully in the wave of the crowd, illuminated by cheap lights.
The man let out a howl and began to gyrate uncontrollably, fumbling his remaining coordination through liquor-slicked fingers.
Caitlyn's demeanor shifted, eyebrows furrowed over piercing, furious eyes that scanned her like she was a piece of gutter meat.
she hates you, she hates you, you never meant anything--
Disgust choked Vi like a shock collar, sudden and provocative. Her fist was flying before she registered it, cracking open his face with perverse pleasure. He disappeared. Caitlyn went with him, but her gentle look trailed Vi as she shouldered her way to the bar for another shot.
.
The woman darted around her, locks of green hair trailing her form like arcs of static electricity in her wake. In a split second, she was behind Vi with a giggle and a roundhouse kick to the side of the head. Vi’s temple erupted in heat and pain as she crashed to the ground. She lay there, blinking in confusion, too dizzy to stand.
Weight landed on her back, agonizingly localized over her spine as the woman rode her on her knees and gestured to the crowd. Their bloodthirsty cheers split the air in response, swept up in the emotion, the sweat, the sounds.
Vi’s nose was full of mud on its way to choking her lungs. She hacked and planted both palms, pushing and screaming until she felt her body lifting off the ground. The woman landed a razor-sharp jab to her lower back that sent fire up her spine and into every fiber of her torso. Her arms gave out.
Pinned to the earth, she was suddenly surrounded by gray, decaying walls and a thick, iron gate. The bones sticking into her back morphed into a wooden cane tipped by golden metal, heavy and solid and tinged with crimson. Lot of talk for someone who’s willing to sleep in the dirt like a pig , a rumbling voice jeered in her memory. Phantom sensations coursed over her in waves: burns, aches, uncomfortable touches, humiliating pain. Can’t wait to tell the chief how easy you are.
Panic filled her until there was no room to breathe. She had gotten out, it wasn’t possible, there was no way--
Something slammed into the back of her head. Her vision pulsed and faded. When her brain stuttered back to life, she jerked reflexively, elbows and knees kicking out like electricity coursed through her.
The pit. She was alive. She was pinned.
The crowd laughed, ugly and foolish. Ready to see a champion fall.
She tasted blood over her teeth and pushed until something in her chest ripped. She launched off the ground and to the side, throwing the woman off. She landed awkwardly, unprepared for the movement. Unprepared for the way Vi launched at her, knee aimed for the side of her head.
Elation, mixed with dirty, shameful pride, fueled her knuckles as they beat into the woman’s face, over and over. Pounding a message into her until the whole damn crowd could read it.
never get comfortable, don’t become soft, don’t let up before the job is done--
Victory wasn’t sweet, but survival was her only prerogative.
survived worse, survived worse, survived worse--
.
The shower was cold, slicing through muggy air like blades. She didn’t feel it anymore, caught up in avoiding the faces in the uneven walls of her gutter apartment. Her hands ached, knuckles split open and ignored, bones fractured and wrapped harshly. It had been days--weeks?--since she had last seen the skin of her palm. The lines were the same. This skin had touched…
stupid, ignorant, foolish, stupid, stupid--
Her head twitched. She clenched her palm shut and slammed those bleeding knuckles into the shower wall. Dust dislodged from the ceiling above and mixed into the icy water swirling around her feet.
In the mirror, dripping and shivering, she didn’t recognize herself. She lifted her hands, moved her fingers and twisted her wrist at all angles. Despite the abuse, they looked the same, but those hands didn’t belong to this person. Those hands were encased in Hextech when they fought, insulated from the violence they spread. They fought for a purpose, for a people, for a spark of something that felt real.
for a lie, for a Piltie, for an enforcer who treated you like dirt--
She dipped her fingers in a tub of black tar and slathered it across her eyes, one at a time. Looking in the mirror, it didn’t change a thing. She was still herself, still a failure on a cycle of self-immolation. Obscuring her face at least diminished the chance she recognized her reflection, wondered if that was what Caitlyn saw before she turned.
caitlyn, caitlyn, caitlyn--
FUCK--
Her reflection shattered into dozens of tiny pieces, some warping beyond recognition while others fell away entirely. A tiny drip, drip, drip filled the heavy silence, even and resolute. Looking down, she saw blood pooling around the sink drain. A shard of glass tumbled onto the floor, bouncing off her forearm like a searing touch.
She achingly dislodged her fist. Vaguely, she had the space to hope the tendons in her hand hadn’t been severed.
.
The man towered over her. Bundled with thick muscle, drenched in sweat and cheap cologne, he stood with the exaggerated posture of a man who could not be defeated. His eyes were squinted, dark.
She didn’t give a shit.
Two minutes of furious motion ended with her crouched in front of him, nestled in the sweet spot between his guard and his face. She saw the way his small eyes flashed wide, flooded with panic. Something in her chest settled smugly.
Then his gleaming metal jaw was flying overhead, hitting the walls with a crack. His hulking mass followed suit. Vi hoisted her arm up, playing to the crowd, fighting the shocks of pain that fought to keep her elbow tucked close to her side.
.
He went reluctantly, glancing over his shoulder every few steps like she would beckon him back at any moment. Like she would suddenly welcome his advice, rubbing raw trains of thoughts she had exhausted long ago.
Loris was always right. But the last thing she wanted was another voice over her shoulder, disappointed and watching through its fingers.
stop, stop, stop, stop--
She crashed into her apartment, the smell of spilled alcohol, blood, and sweat rising to meet her. Her feet took her to the corner by her bed, where her fingers fumbled through a graveyard of glass until one bottle rang heavier than the rest. She swallowed it down before the relief even registered. Apathetic content settled over her limbs heavily.
This was where she was meant to be.
this is what you deserve--
She was sideways, without choosing to be. The stony mattress pressed into her skull, her shoulder, her hip, her knee. Her eyes shut, but all she could see was Caitlyn, the last time she could bear to look at her before Vi screwed it all up. Before Vi lit the fuse and set every good thing she had on fire.
Caitlyn reached out, fingertips unfurling across a chasm leagues wide.
Before her fingers could brush Vi’s cheek, they halted, curled around the stock of a rifle. Her eyes erupted with fury, disdain, hatred.
Vi woke in a panic, unable to breathe. Sweating, shivering, reeling, she staggered out of bed and toward the second-hand bag suspended from ancient rafters. Her fists flew into it without rhyme or reason, desperate to forget how Caitlyn’s hands felt in her own, how her hair fell like silk through her grasp, how light and small she felt against Vi’s mass.
Pain blossomed in her forearms, radiating up into her shoulders with every strike until they felt on the verge of falling off. The bag’s worn cover was stained with blood and pitted with use, so much so that she failed to tell what was new and what had caked on from the day before.
Thud -- Caitlyn. Thud -- Jinx. Thud-- Vander.
Vander.
She screamed until she collapsed on the floor, sobbed until her ribs cracked.
.
She could hardly stand. Her knees were unsteady, imbalanced muscles pulling back and forth like she was newborn livestock, new to gravity and the way the world crushed its inhabitants into dust. The crowd was uncontrolled, wild with bloodlust.
A fist was flying toward her. Almost as an afterthought, she ducked and stumbled back. The shadow ahead of her laughed, took a second to play to the crowd. Blood was in the water, but all Vi could see was blue hair, blue eyes. Her mouth dropped open an inch, head lolling back.
Something connected with her cheek. Light flashed in her head. Sobbing filled her ears, desperate cries and words so thick with snot they were near unrecognizable. Why did you leave me?
Heat lit up her torso, followed by a spark of pain across her eye. She gave more ground, chased by words delivered like sniper rounds through her heart. It’s her blood in your veins.
Her throat was thick with blood, tight with anguish. She coughed; mucus tore out of her chest. When people look up to you, you don’t get to be selfish.
One more flare of pain. Vi’s head went blissfully silent.
.
She didn’t dream so much as hallucinate. Reality filtered in between vague memories. Sometimes she vaulted over the Undercity, leaping from roof to roof with the fresh air of freedom filling her lungs; then she was tripping through alleyways and crawling up rickety stairs on all fours. Shadows bulged and warped with the hulking shadows of Vander, of Loris, of Silco, of the Councilors with noses upturned to her agony. Caitlyn hid behind every corner until Vi was choking on tears, desperate to claw open her apartment door and slam it shut behind her.
Her head split in two, her vision was blurry. Every sensation traveled through layers of thick skin, apathetic dejection, depressed consumption before they lit up in her brain as something to ignore. She threw up somewhere near the bathroom, the delayed realization that she had lost in the pit making her stomach churn. The bottles near her bed mocked her, showing warped reflections of her in the empty glass.
worthless, worthless--
She passed out, restless and exhausted. Every time she thought she had woken, another dream kicked her in the gut. When it was Jinx’s turn to stand over her, self-righteous and cocky, Vi didn’t have a reaction left in her. Cool air breezed past her ear, muttered words, but her eyes wearily closed once again.
Unknowable time passed, but all she saw was Jinx, stubborn and persistent as always. She was ignoring Vi entirely, a stark contradiction to the behavior of her usual hallucinations. When reality finally pierced through her disconnected nightmares, Vi blinked in dazed confusion at where Jinx’s apparition still stood, examining herself in the mirror.
A vague sense of relief breezed through Vi. At least it’s not Powder.
Waiting for Jinx to evaporate, she shifted for some better position on the icy floor. The movement caught Jinx’s attention. She twisted to look at Vi, a smug smile on her mouth.
“Looking good, sis.”
Several long seconds passed. Shock morphed between fear, anger, and regret before Vi’s instincts roared back through her. In a second, she was on her feet and had Jinx pressed against the wall. Jinx's neck felt warm and real under her fingers, malleable like real flesh should.
No hallucination had felt like this. No memory of Jinx had her own name backwards on her cheekbone, smeared with Vi’s own face paint. No version of history included Jinx pinned so easily, without insults launching like missiles and bony elbows like knives.
you’re hallucinating, you’re crazy, you’re drunk--
“I don’t want to hear another word out of your mouth,” she heard her mouth say. The words hardly felt real, could barely pass for recognizable language. Had she said that?
The evidence of her own insanity gasped for air. “It’s Vander.”
Rage cascaded through every synapse. Vi pressed harder, snarled, “I’m not falling for another one of your tricks.”
you’re not real, you’re lying to me, you hate me, you hate me--
A squeak escaped Jinx’s throat, so tiny Vi hardly processed it.
“He’s alive.”
i don’t believe you, you’re not real--
For the first time since Piltover, Vi felt her heart lurch. Wordlessly, against her own will, her other hand rose trembling into the space between sisters. She almost touched Jinx’s cheek, caressed her jaw--
caitlyn did that--
She sprang back, fighting tears that felt like fresh betrayal. Jinx collapsed on shaking knees, coughing like the smog outside was finally doing her in. Her shoulders heaved, skin pale and beaded with sweat. Her braids caught awkwardly on her elbows, on the splintered wood behind her.
Vi’s imagination was good, but never like this.
They stared at each other. Jinx’s face was a jumble of emotions, each darker than the next.
Nothing about it made sense. Reason told her to throw this Jinx over the banister and drink until her thoughts were drowned. But Vi was a survivor, for better or for worse. And at the core of her was a string of light that had never fully been extinguished, no matter how she railed and raged against it. It refused to drown, to vanish, to fully turn on her past.
Vi felt a spark of hope, and no amount of alcohol or pessimistic pragmatism could bury it.
Shuddering through a deep breath, Vi tugged awkwardly at her stained arm wrappings and sighed. “Damn it.” Then she looked up and met Jinx’s cautious, hardened eye. “Where is he?”