Beastly | Arcane Silco

Prologue

A child's screams could be heard echoing through the streets of the Undercity, suffocated only by the hasty steps and exhausted groans of the man carrying the toddler in his arms. His expression was that of terror and fear as he threw a glance behind him to see whether he was still being followed, though the darkness of the night swallowed all that wasn't in his immediate sight. His pace increased when the child cried louder, the adrenaline in his veins making it hard to think properly.

She was gone. His love was gone, murdered by the Unseen in broad daylight and yet no one had moved to help her. He knew that no one dared oppose them, not in a place where magical blood was as much a death sentence as aiding someone who possessed it. They called it a genetic defect, a freak of nature, one that had to be erased to ensure the safety of all. The memory was too fresh to banish it from his mind. He was sure that should he live to see the sun rise, her terrified expression as they drew a blade through her heart would haunt him forever.

His gaze dropped to the child in his arms as her eyes opened; the crying had stopped. Her big, golden eyes glimmered in the dim light of the Undercity, her skin seeming even paler than usual. Though it was soft like that of a human's, it was partially covered in scales whose shape was emphasized by the steadily increasing street lights. They faded into her skin at the corners, giving her an almost ethereal appearance. A child of both land and water, his perfect little girl. There was no doubt of her origin when one laid eyes on her, which was precisely why he had to leave this place before the Unseen caught them. His legs ached, his exhausted lungs hurting in his chest as he was forced to inhale the ice-cold air of the night through fast breaths, despite it biting into him like needles.

"Don't move or we will shoot!" He heard a voice scream from behind him, which only caused him to run faster. The stone underneath his feet became wetter the further he ran, a sign that he was close to his destination. Close to safety. Though the death of his wife still stung his heart, he had no time to grieve. It was then that he realized grieving was a luxury to those whose life wasn't tied to a single, fragile thread. He hoped the girl would not have to spend her life like that.

A shot rang out in the distance, followed by the sound of a bullet hitting a stone wall somewhere to his left. He tensed, grip tightening around the child who began to cry again in response to the loud sound, while tears blurred the man's view. He should have left the Undercity a long time ago, settled in a more magic-friendly region, like Ionia, or perhaps Bilgewater. He had insisted on staying here, and he now paid the price for his foolishness. For his naivety.

Another gunshot and his limbs began to tremble. He took a sharp turn right, trying to somehow lose the men behind him. Counting their steps gave him an indication of how many were following him; approximately three people. He had to assume they were all armed, anything else might have cost him and the child their lives.

"It will be alright, omuta," he whispered to her, recalling the pet name his wife had used for her so many times. It meant treasure in her native tongue. The memory was so fresh, so vivid in his mind that for a second it felt as though she was waiting for them on the other side of the river, the moonlight reflected on her scaly skin, much less human than the girl's, and her golden eyes twinkling with happiness. He shook his head as he stopped in front of the bridge that led to Piltover, his breath panicked and fast.

He saw four more members of the Unseen at the bridge, weapons in hand as they cut off his only chance of escape. Pure panic erupted in his chest, tears falling down his cheeks as he hastily looked from the bridge to the alley behind him. Shadows appeared before he could see their bodies, but he knew then and there that his chapter had been written.

The child shifted in his arms, tears visible in her eyes as his own landed on her skin. His gaze wandered to an uncovered part of the toddler's neck where three slits were barely visible; an inherited trait she had gotten from her mother. The slits were such fine lines that they almost looked like scars that had long healed, the only indication of their magical origin being their placement and neatness. No blade could carve such perfectly symmetrical lines, three on each side of her neck.

With newly found determination, he looked towards the water separating Piltover and Zaun as the men approached him quickly, their weapons raised. He had only one chance, and a mistake would be deadly.

"I love you, Yelena," he whispered, placing his feet further apart as he leaned forward slightly. Before the men could reach him, he began to run towards the water, his feet carrying him as fast as they could. Suddenly, neither his aching muscles nor the cold biting into his skin mattered anymore. He heard another shot and shortly after felt the pain in his shoulder. A groan escaped him as blood splattered the moist ground, his posture altering.

Pain was written all over his face, his injured arm barely able to hold the child as he kept running towards the river. He felt her cling to him, her little arms holding on as strongly as they could. It only worsened his mental torment. Just as he reached the shore, he felt the second shot. One of the Unseen had caught up to him and fired from such close distance that the bullet entered his back, tearing through muscle and bone, only to leave his body through his chest, missing the child by inches. His eyes were wide as the light began to fade, merging with the shadows of the night until there was nothing left but darkness.

With a silencing splash, his body fell into the river and began to sink to the ground as blood rose from his wounds in an almost smoke-like, crimson spiral. The water that entered his lungs finished what the bullets had begun, while the child sank to the riverbed with him, surrounded by his blood which mixed with the water and entered her now opened gills. She kept screaming, her eyes, which allowed her to see crystal clear even beneath the surface, were locked on the body of the man even long after they had hit the soft mixture of sand small stones. Though from underneath, there was no one who could hear her cries as the water suffocated them, turned them to bubbles which did little but burst silently when they reached the air above. There was no one who could have helped. No one who would have.

There was only deafening silence, followed by terrible loneliness.