Arcane: the Monster of Zaun

Zaun remembers its children differently. Some it forgets, some it claims, and some—like me—it marks as something between survival and myth.

I was ten years old the night everything changed. Ten, and already older than most kids in the undercity ever got to be. Vander's tavern a beacon of something close to hope in these toxic streets. I'd watched how he looked out for the street kids. Not just us the ones living with him, but all of us of zaun at least the ones he could reach and help no matter how little.

But survival in Zaun isn't about kindness. It's about watching, waiting, and never letting your guard down.

The mutated wolf was unlike anything I'd ever seen. Bigger than a cart, with two heads that moved with an unnatural synchronization—each skull twice the size of a normal wolf, skin mottled with chemical burns and strange growths. I'd heard whispers about the experiments, about creatures twisted by Zaunite chemtech, but seeing was something else entirely.

The full moon hung like a diseased eye but in the undercity 70% of the moonlight was obstructed and the spots that made it through cast in a mercurial glow that made the impossible seem almost normal. I was here for a dare from stupid mylo, he dared me to bring him a plant that only grew in this region and that's when the wolf appeared. Not hunting me, but moving with a purpose that felt almost intelligent.

Then came the moment that would define everything.

The wolf passed by the plant I was looking for, leaving behind a puddle—no, a pool—shaped eerily like a wolf's paw print. Steaming slightly, with a liquid that seemed to shimmer between water and something else entirely. Desperation and curiosity are a dangerous combination for a Zaunite orphan.

I slipped.

The liquid filled my mouth—metallic, burning, alive. Not water. Something else. Something that felt like it was rewriting my very existence from the inside out.

I gagged, spitting, and coughing as I pushed myself up.

"Ugh, what the hell! Great. Just great. Mylo sends me out here for some dumb plant, and I end up drinking... whatever the hell that was" Derek yelled, wiping his face furiously.

He turned back to the plant, glaring at it like it had personally wronged him. "This isn't fucking worth it fucking mylo and his stupid Dare."

his hair dripping with the strange liquid. "This is all Mylos fault. Who sends someone to look for a plant in this crap hole? I didn't sign up for a bath!"

"I swear If I drop dead, I'm haunting him." The liquid still shimmered faintly in the flickering light, almost like it was alive. He rubbed at his face again.

Plucking the plant quickly, he shoved it into his bag and stepped away from the puddle, his stomach churning with unease. He glanced back one last time, watching the liquid ripple as if it were alive, then turned and began retracing his steps back to the last drop. 

The area seemed darker now, quieter. His skin still prickled with that strange warmth, but he forced himself to ignore it. He had what he came for. That was all that mattered.

For now.

A little Later at Last drop

The Last Drop was alive with its usual chaotic energy. Vander moved behind the bar, pouring drinks, and nodding to familiar faces while keeping a watchful eye on the room. The air was thick with the smell of old wood, spilled ale, and Zaun's ever-present chemical tang.

In the corner, Vi, Powder, Claggor, and Mylo had claimed their usual table. A ramshackle music box perched on nearby crackled faintly, blaring out an upbeat, scratchy tune. The music wasn't from Piltover—not polished or pristine. It had a raw, pulsing beat, something that matched the rhythm of Zaun's streets perfectly.

Vi leaned back in her chair, her boots propped on the table. "So, Mylo," she drawled, a smirk tugging at her lips. "What was it you sent Derek out to find this time? Magic beans? A pot of gold?"

"Very funny," Mylo shot back, leaning forward with an exaggerated look of mock offense. "It's a rare medicinal plant. Vander said it could be useful."

"Rare medicinal plant," Vi repeated, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Yeah, sounds totally worth sending Derek into the most toxic part of Zaun alone. Good call, genius."

Powder giggled from her spot at the table, where she was busy tinkering with a small wind-up toy. "Maybe Derek will come back with superpowers," she joked, not looking up from her work.

"Or a third arm," Claggor added with a laugh, popping a piece of stale bread into his mouth.

Mylo rolled his eyes. "You're all so ungrateful. When Derek shows up with the plant, you'll be thanking me."

"Uh-huh," Vi said, clearly unconvinced.

The conversation drifted into easy banter, with Powder proudly showing off her half-finished gadget. "It's gonna spin, and then—bam! Sparks everywhere!" she said, her eyes lighting up with excitement.

"Great," Claggor muttered. "Another invention to blind us all."

"Hey!" Powder huffed, sticking her tongue out at him. "This one's gonna work. You'll see."

The group's laughter blended with the music, creating a moment that felt almost normal. For a while, they forgot about the harshness of Zaun, the Enforcers, the gangs. Here, in Vander's tavern, they could just be kids.

The door slammed open, cutting through the noise.

Everyone turned to see Derek standing in the doorway, his expression thunderous. His hair was damp, his clothes streaked with grime, and his eyes burned with irritation as they locked onto Mylo.

"Well, well," Vi said, sitting up straight and grinning. "Look who's back."

Derek stomped over to the table, his boots leaving muddy prints on the floor. He threw his bag onto the table with a loud thud, glaring at Mylo. "You," he snapped, pointing a finger at him. "You owe me. Big time."

Mylo blinked, feigning innocence. "What? What did I do?"

"What did you do?" Derek's voice rose, his frustration spilling out. "You sent me to a toxic dump to look for some stupid plant, and I slipped headfirst into Zaun's finest mystery goo!"

Powder snorted, quickly covering her mouth to stifle her laughter. "Mystery goo?" she repeated, her voice muffled.

"It wasn't funny," Derek growled, glaring at her before turning back to Mylo. "It burned. And it tasted like death. Do you have any idea how disgusting that was?"

Claggor leaned back, trying to suppress a grin. "So, did you get the plant?"

Derek reached into his bag, pulling out the waxy green leaves and slamming them onto the table. "Here., I hope it's worth it, because I'm pretty sure I've been poisoned or cursed or... something."

Vi snorted, crossing her arms. "Looks like he survived, Mylo. Guess you don't have to feel too guilty."

"I don't feel guilty," Mylo said with a shrug. "He's fine! Besides, you're always saying Derek's the toughest one here. He can handle it."

Derek glared at him; his fists clenched. "Next time you want some rare plant, you're going to get it yourself."

"Deal," Mylo said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "As long as you don't bring the goo back with you."

The tension broke as the group burst into laughter, even Derek cracking a reluctant smile. Powder pushed a glass of water toward him. "Here," she said brightly. "Maybe this'll wash the taste out."

Derek took it, shaking his head. "Thanks, Powder. At least someone here isn't a total jerk."

"Hey, I'm helpful!" Mylo protested, but his grin betrayed him.

As the radio crackled out another upbeat tune, Derek leaned back in his chair, letting the frustration drain away. For now, he was back where he belonged—safe, surrounded by friends, and maybe just a little bit cursed.

The next Few days come

The group sat on the rooftop above The Last Drop, the smoggy night air cooler this high up. Powder was fiddling with a wind-up toy, her brow furrowed in concentration. Derek leaned against a metal pipe nearby, staring out over Zaun's endless sprawl.

It started with a smell.

At first, it was faint—a sharp, metallic tang mixed with something earthy. He frowned, glancing around, his nose wrinkling.

"What is that?" he muttered.

"What's what?" Vi asked, turning to him.

"That smell." He gestured vaguely. "Like... grease and metal."

Powder looked up from her gadget, her hands still. "Oh, that's me," she said matter-of-factly. "I was working with some scrap earlier."

Derek blinked. He hadn't smelled it before, not like this. Now, it was overwhelming, as if she were standing inches from him instead of across the rooftop.

"You sure you're, okay?" Powder asked, tilting her head. "You've been acting weird lately."

"I'm fine," he said quickly, looking away.

But he wasn't fine. The scents around him were too sharp, too strong. He could smell the faint traces of alcohol from Vander's tavern below, the acrid burn of distant chemical fires, even the rust on the pipes under his hands.

He clenched his fists, trying to push the sensations away.

 "Derek!" Powder called, tossing a small gear in his direction.

Derek turned just as the gear flew through the air. Without thinking, his hand shot up, snatching it mid-flight.

"Whoa," Powder said, her eyes wide. "How'd you do that?"

Derek stared at the gear in his hand, his heart pounding. He hadn't even seen it coming—it was like his body had reacted on its own. "Uh... lucky catch, I guess."

Powder grinned, bouncing on her toes. "That was awesome! You're like, super-fast now!"

Vi raised an eyebrow from the other side of the room. "Derek's been eating his vegetables, huh?"

"Something like that," Derek muttered, dropping the gear onto the table.

He could feel their eyes on him, but he didn't dare look up. His pulse was racing, his skin tingling. What was happening to him?

The group had spent the afternoon scavenging, their bags heavier than usual thanks to a lucky find near one of the less-patrolled chemical zones. As they made their way back to The Last Drop, Mylo couldn't resist his usual commentary.

"Powder's gadgets might actually be useful one day," he said with a grin. "If they stop blowing up in her face, that is."

"Shut up, Mylo," Powder snapped, clutching a small contraption to her chest. "This one works!"

"Sure, it does," Mylo said, laughing.

Before Derek realized what he was doing, he stepped between them, his body tense. "Back off, Mylo," he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

The group stopped in their tracks. Mylo blinked, surprised. "Whoa, easy there. I was just joking."

Derek clenched his fists, trying to rein in the anger boiling inside him. "It wasn't funny."

Powder tugged on his sleeve, her voice soft. "Derek, it's okay. Really."

He exhaled sharply, stepping back. "Sorry," he muttered, avoiding their eyes.

Vi watched him closely but didn't say anything.

The sun had long since set, and the group had settled into their usual spots in the tavern. Derek found himself at the far corner, sitting alone as he tried to process the changes happening to his body.

Powder appeared beside him, her small frame dwarfed by the oversized wrench she carried. She plopped down onto the bench, setting the wrench on the table. "You've been quiet," she said, her voice light but tinged with concern.

"Just tired," Derek replied, not looking at her.

"You've been saying that a lot lately." She leaned forward, resting her chin on her hands. "You sure nothing's wrong?"

Derek hesitated. He wanted to tell her, to explain the strange sensations, the heightened senses, the unexplainable strength. But how could he, when he didn't understand it himself?

"I'm fine," he said finally, forcing a small smile. "Really."

Powder didn't look convinced, but she let it go. Instead, she grinned and nudged his arm. "Hey, want to see something cool?"

"Sure," he said, grateful for the distraction.

She pulled out a small wind-up toy—a little metal bird with flapping wings. "I fixed it," she said proudly, setting it on the table.

Derek watched as the bird moved, its tiny wings buzzing as it hopped in circles. Powder's face lit up with joy, and for a moment, Derek forgot about his troubles.

"You're amazing, you know that?" he said softly.

Powder blinked, surprised. "What?"

Derek cleared his throat, looking away. "Nothing. Just... good work, Powder."

She smiled, her cheeks flushing slightly. "Thanks, Derek."

The night before the full moon, the air in Zaun felt heavier than usual. Derek sat on the rooftop alone, his heart racing as the strange energy inside him grew stronger. His senses were sharper than ever—the hum of the city was deafening, the cool night air too cold against his skin.

He glanced at the sky, the faint glow of the moon barely visible through the thick smog. He couldn't ignore it anymore. Something was happening to him, and whatever it was, it was tied to the moon.

Derek clenched his fists, his claws scraping against the stone beneath him. He could feel it coming, the transformation building like a storm inside him. He closed his eyes, taking a shaky breath.

"Derek?" Powder's voice startled him.

He turned quickly, his glowing golden eyes catching the faint light. Powder stopped in her tracks, her own eyes widening.

"Your... your eyes," she whispered.

Derek turned away, hiding his face in the shadows. "It's nothing. Just... go back inside, Powder."

"But—"

"Please," he said, his voice breaking.

Powder hesitated, then nodded. "Okay. But if you need anything... I'm here."

As she walked away, Derek felt a pang of guilt. But there was no turning back now. Whatever was happening, it would all come to a head tomorrow night.