Malphegor
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Arcane: TTB: Ch. 154
🕑 Added 2026-01-14 00:54:31 +0000 UTCCipher's voice crackled in Camille's ear. "This bullshit needs to stop. He's making Zaun sound like we're planning mass executions. I'm done listening to this."
She touched the communicator discretely. It was a device Cipher had given her for exactly moments like this. Reporting intelligence, receiving instructions, maintaining contact with her new employer.
Because that's what he was now. Her boss.
"Say exactly what I tell you," Cipher continued. "Word for word."
Camille shifted her posture slightly, settling into a new role.
"Strange," she said. "I've read The Book of Revolution as well. Funny thing, I didn't find Zaun nearly as radical as you're describing."
Jayce's expression flickered with confusion.
"In fact," she continued, relaying Cipher's words. "I remember The Book of Revolution being very clear that the Wind of Change doesn't target wealth itself. People like you, Jayce. People like Mr. Elivin, the man you mentioned."
She leaned back in her seat, hands folded across her stomach. "Entrepreneurs who built their wealth through intelligence and innovation, who treat their workers with basic human dignity, those people aren't scheduled for purges. The book explicitly states they'll receive support and investment from Zaun's new economic framework."
She raised one eyebrow.
"So how exactly did you transform that into 'Zaun wants to hang every business owner without trial'? That's a misreading. Zaun only targets business owners with egregious records. Indentured labor violations, safety negligence leading to mass casualties, systematic wage theft. The kind of crimes that should already be illegal under Piltover law but somehow never get prosecuted. For everyone else, as long as they cooperate with reforms and accept new labor standards, there are fines, property confiscation for the worst offenders, sometimes mandatory community service or supervised reform programs. The death penalty is reserved for mass murderers. While no class betrays its class, individuals can and do. Business owners with reformist sympathies, people willing to embrace change, Zaun welcomes them. The House Medarda and the House Kiramman are perfect examples. After joining the reform movement, their influence increased."
That was true, more or less. The Trifarix Council didn't support hereditary privilege, everything had to be earned through merit and contribution, but both families were confident they could compete on those terms. They were gambling on opportunity rather than clinging to guaranteed decline. Whether they believed in revolutionary ideology or just saw which way the wind was blowing didn't really matter. Ambessa and Cassandra had made their calculations and chosen sides.
"So let me ask you directly. What exactly are you afraid of? Zaun's policies, or something else entirely?"
Jayce opened his mouth, then closed it. He'd spent years refusing to fully commit to Zaun while maintaining friendly relations, and he'd always told himself it was because their methods were too extreme, and too willing to sacrifice stability for ideology. But that justification had always been thin, hadn't it? A comfortable lie he'd told himself to avoid harder truths.
Now, with that excuse stripped away, his face was turning red. He couldn't understand why Camille would expose him like this. It brought her no benefit whatsoever, and worked against her supposed goal of recruiting him to the Clan Ferros' cause.
For a brief moment, he wondered if she was a Zaun operative. This whole kidnapping could be some setup to force him toward a decision he'd been avoiding for years. But that didn't make sense. If that were the case, why the theatrics? Why drag him to a freezing mountain in the middle of the night? Why not just make the offer directly?
"Let me guess the real reason you refuse to join Zaun," Camille said, her chin lifting slightly.
"You're from Piltover. Everything you have came from this city. Naturally, instinctively, you stand with Piltover."
She crossed her arms. "In your subconscious, you don't want to see Piltover absorbed by Zaun. Even knowing Zaun's ideology is more just, you still can't bring yourself to choose them over your home. Am I right?"
Jayce felt like he'd been punched in the chest. His breathing quickened. He'd never framed it that way before. He'd always thought of it as Piltover having its own path, its own potential for reform that didn't require revolutionary upheaval.
But the way Camille put it made it sound pathetically simple.
Tribalism. Loyalty to the in-group regardless of ethics or logic. The exact kind of thinking he'd always claimed to reject.
"Admit it," Camille continued. "Compared to Zaun, which only rose in recent years, Piltover is two hundred years ahead. Two centuries of economic, technological, and military dominance. That kind of advantage breeds a certain perspective. Over time, Piltovans naturally came to see Zaunites as inferior. Poor relatives from across the river, barely worth acknowledgment. How could people from the undercity possibly be mentioned in the same breath as citizens of the City of Progress? Even now, even after everything Zaun has accomplished, that attitude persists. Many Piltovans still cling to memories of past glory, refusing to accept current reality. They can't stomach the idea that Zaunites not only caught up but surpassed them in key areas. That would mean admitting their own inadequacy."
She leaned forward, close enough that Jayce could see his own reflection in her eyes. "And that includes you."
"No! That's not... I didn't... you're twisting things!"
Triple denial, delivered with panic. He clutched his head, as if pressure could stop the thoughts Camille was forcing into his consciousness.
"Am I?" Camille asked, curious now. Or at least performing curiosity well.
"Think carefully. Your closest friend, the person who contributed most to your Hextech breakthroughs... Viktor. In your heart, what kind of person is he to you?"
She poured herself more tea. "If I'm not mistaken, you subconsciously think of him as Piltovan. But he isn't from Piltover. He's from Zaun."
The color drained from Jayce's face.
"You once told him that scientists shouldn't involve themselves in politics. That he should focus on research and leave governance to others. Yet here you sit, a councilor of Piltover, deeply embedded in political maneuvering. You swore to use Hextech for humanity's benefit. Then you led the research into Hextech weapons."
She set down her teacup. "Tell me. Do you think Professor Heimerdinger and Viktor saw through you years ago? Is that why they've consistently refused to return to Piltover, despite your repeated invitations?"
Jayce's eyes had lost focus, staring at nothing. His hands trembled slightly.
Had he really been that transparent? That hypocritical?
"Admit it," Camille said, her voice almost gentle now. "You're the same kind of person as me. As all of us. Abandon the naive fantasies. Zaun isn't suited for you. Join us instead."
She pushed a cup of tea toward him. "Drink this, and we'll be allies. The Clan Ferros will support your vision for Piltover. You can implement your reforms at a sustainable pace, without revolutionary upheaval."
Jayce stared at the tea.
Finally, he spoke. "No. I refuse. I won't compromise my principles just because they're difficult to uphold."
"You still haven't seen yourself clearly," Camille said, pulling out a small survival knife and sliding it across the stone table. "Let me help you one final time. Make your choice."
She gestured to the tea, then to the knife. "Drink the tea, return to Piltover, continue your comfortable existence as councilor. Or take the knife, and I'll leave you here alone to survive as best you can. I'll break your leg first, of course, and let you experience what Viktor went through, crawling from Zaun to Piltover after that explosion crippled him. Let you taste the consequences of choosing Zaun's path."
Her expression was completely emotionless. "Friendly reminder: Piltover is south of here, roughly three hundred kilometers. It's winter, you're injured, and you have no supplies except what you can scavenge."
Jayce's hand hovered between the tea and the knife. Then his fingers closed around the knife's handle.
"I won't make the same mistake twice," he whispered
A shadow blurred past his peripheral vision.
The pain hit him before he fully registered the movement. Katarina's blade had sliced clean through his right calf.
"AHHHH!"
Jayce screamed. He clutched at his ruined leg, blood seeping between his fingers, his entire world contracting to that single point of pain. He'd never experienced anything like this.
The screaming continued for a long time.
---
Back at The Last Drop, Viktor gripped his cane. "Cipher, isn't this... excessive? He's clearly learned something from this conversation. Does he really need the wilderness survival component?"
His eyes were locked on the screens showing drone footage of Jayce writhing on the ground. "He's in agony."
In his assessment, the current Jayce was already vastly improved from the stubborn idealist of five years ago. He was making efforts to reform Piltover, trying to implement better labor practices and more equitable policies. Maybe he didn't need this level of trauma. Maybe he could figure out his internal contradictions without being broken first.
"Maybe," Cipher admitted, pouring Viktor a cup of tea. "But we don't have time for 'maybe.' We need to unify both cities fast, and right now he represents the biggest obstacle to that goal."
He slid the tea across to Viktor. "The threats we're facing are bigger than most people realize."
This was a decision point. In Zaun's political structure, he had become something close to a dictator, benevolent, perhaps, but still operating with minimal oversight. His major decisions, from the initial alliance with Swain to the formation of the Trifarix Council, had all been made unilaterally.
The people at The Last Drop trusted him enough not to question those calls. They'd seen the results. But trust didn't mean he could just keep everyone in the dark indefinitely. They deserved to know why this was necessary.
Family wasn't for playing mystery games with.
His eyes narrowed slightly. "After Swain's coup succeeds, the next major threat to the cities isn't political. It's supernatural. Noxus has been tolerating the Black Rose for centuries, despite knowing they're a threat to imperial stability. You know why? Because they share a common enemy."
He took a sip of his own tea. "Mordekaiser. The Iron Revenant. A thousand years ago, he was Sahn-Uzal, a warlord so brutal he slaughtered an entire generation. He died three times, resurrected twice through sheer force of will and dark sorcery. Currently, he rules the death realm. The afterlife for this world, or at least one version of it. He's a tyrant in the land of the dead, commanding armies of tortured souls, and he's been planning his return to the living world for centuries."
Viktor's expression had gone from concerned to horrified. "You're saying... dead people can come back? As themselves, with their minds intact?"
"Mordekaiser can," Cipher confirmed. "And according to intelligence I've gathered, he's got something planned involving the Shadow Isles. When that kicks off, the entire continent will face the Black Mist and everything that comes with it."
He set down his teacup. "We can't rely entirely on Janna's divine power to protect us. We need technology that can fight supernatural threats. That's why I proposed the Ascension and Southern Gate Plan projects to the Trifarix Council. That's why we're accelerating Hextech weapons development. And that's why we need both cities unified and working together."
He looked directly at Viktor. "Jayce might figure out his identity crisis on his own. But how long would that take? A year? Two years? Five? We don't have five years. We might not even have one."
Viktor sat in silence for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was small. "People who die can conquer death itself and return?"
"It does sound unbelievable, but it is true. Mordekaiser isn't some confused ghost or cursed spirit. He's a fully conscious and intelligent entity who conquered the realm of death."
Heimerdinger's ears drooped. "This is... troubling."
"You know something about this," Cipher said. It wasn't a question.
"Perhaps," Heimerdinger admitted. "In Ionia, during the Spirit Blossom Festival, the barrier between the spiritual and material realms grows thin. People can sometimes commune with deceased loved ones. I've also heard stories of an evil mage who once captured a Yordle for magical experimentation. He subjected them to horrific torture trying to understand our innate connection to magic. That Yordle's name was Veigar. He went completely mad from the experience."
He looked up at Cipher. "Are you saying that mage was Mordekaiser?"
"I'd bet on it," Cipher replied.
Veigar's timeline aligned with Mordekaiser's second reign. The profile fit: Mordekaiser was known to collect powerful beings for study, dissecting and weaponizing every form of magic he encountered.
Heimerdinger's ears drooped further. "Then we have a serious problem. Veigar was extraordinarily gifted. His magical potential could affect continental-scale energy systems. And even he couldn't stand against Mordekaiser."
With Heimerdinger's confirmation, the mood in the room grew heavier.
Viktor still felt like something was off. The connection between this ancient threat and Jayce's current suffering seemed tenuous at best. An enemy that powerful couldn't be countered through short-term research projects. And Cipher's demeanor seemed too calm for someone worried about an apocalypse. But Cipher had always been like this. He couldn't read any deception in his expression.
And ultimately, Cipher had no reason to torture Jayce for fun. They were friends, or at least had been. If Cipher was doing this, it had to be necessary somehow.
He forced himself to accept that logic. "I hope this works. I hope his suffering leads to something better."
His eyes returned to the screens, where Jayce had finally stopped screaming and was now just gasping in short, pained breaths.
"I hope you wake up from this, my friend," he murmured.
---
On the mountain, Jayce was learning new things about pain.
It had levels. The initial shock had been overwhelming. Then came the nausea. Then the cold, seeping in now that his body heat was pouring out through the wound.
The temperature was dropping fast. Mountain nights in winter were brutal, and he was losing blood, going into shock, hypothermia already setting in.
If he stayed here, he'd die. Simple as that.
Using the knife as a crutch, he dragged himself toward the treeline. Every movement sent fresh waves of pain through his shattered leg. He bit down on his own hand to keep from screaming again.
Firewood. He needed firewood. And he needed to stop the heat loss or he'd be dead before morning.
The direct broadcast back at The Last Drop showed it all. Jayce crawling through the dirt, his councilor's clothes shredded and filthy, his face twisted in pain.
It was almost impossible to reconcile this broken figure with the confident young man who'd ridden his Hextech Dragon through Piltover's streets just days ago.
The word "miserable" hardly did it justice.
