With that commanding voice, a powerful force erupted from the Last Drop tavern.
Grayson, who'd been about to rush through the entrance, was suddenly blown backward by an invisible wave of pressure. She tumbled across the street, barely managing to catch herself before slamming into a wall.
As she regained her balance, she witnessed something that defied explanation.
The undercity lacked many things—clean water, proper sanitation, reliable power. But one thing it had in abundance was scrap metal. Discarded machinery, rusted panels, broken tools—the detritus of Piltover's industrial progress, dumped into Zaun like trash.
All of that metal suddenly lifted into the air simultaneously. Thousands of pieces, ranging from tiny fragments to large panels, rose from streets and alleyways and rooftops. They hung suspended for a heartbeat, then shot toward the approaching enforcer battalion like a swarm of deadly projectiles.
"NO! THEY'RE INNOCENT!" Grayson shouted desperately, her voice breaking with horror and helplessness.
She'd come here to stop this confrontation, to prevent violence. But she'd been too slow. Events had already spiraled beyond any possibility of peaceful resolution.
Inside the Last Drop
"Vander! Your old friend from Piltover is here!" a brave patron called out, his voice cutting through the tavern's tense silence.
The entire establishment had gone quiet under Marcus's presence. Everyone was suppressed by his obvious power, afraid that any wrong move might get them killed as casually as he'd injured that enforcer.
But Marcus ignored the nervous patrons, his expression shifting to a frown.
Grayson was right—those enforcers were innocent. Most of them probably had no idea what they were actually facing, no understanding of the forces at play. They were following orders from superiors who viewed the undercity as nothing but a garbage dump that needed periodic culling.
In the eyes of Piltover's council members, Zaun was synonymous with waste—a convenient repository where they could discharge their industrial pollutants and satisfy their desires for cheap labor without consequence.
Now that this garbage dump was daring to resist? Naturally, they had to respond with overwhelming force. Make an example. Remind the undercity rats of the power differential between upper and lower cities.
"What a shame," Marcus murmured softly. "You used to be called Zaun... a proper city with its own identity."
With his sigh, the scrap metal projectiles shattered mid-flight. Each piece fractured into countless smaller fragments, transforming from simple debris into a devastating metal storm that screamed toward the enforcer battalion.
"I know you can hear me, wind spirit Janna," Marcus called out, his voice carrying on currents that shouldn't exist.
Immediately, the twin cities began to stir. Breezes gathered from all directions, converging from impossible angles. The wind coalesced into a white dove-like form that flew rapidly toward the tavern.
As Zaun's guardian spirit, Janna had witnessed both the rise and fall of her city. Her power had weakened steadily as Zaun's people gradually forgot her existence, as belief faded and prayers ceased.
Once, she'd commanded terrifying oceanic storms. Now, she could barely maintain a single wind spirit manifestation.
"It's you who is calling me..." The wind carried Janna's voice—ethereal, distant, like hearing someone speak from very far away.
A breeze brushed across Marcus's face, and the white dove-like wind spirit descended before him, its form barely substantial.
"An elemental born from faith and belief?" Marcus observed with interest, studying the spirit's composition.
Janna's power was fundamentally unstable, dependent entirely on how many people believed in her. The more faithful worshippers she had, the stronger she became. But currently, almost no one remembered the wind goddess, so when Marcus—who wielded tremendous power—called her name directly, she'd responded immediately.
That single invocation from someone so powerful was equivalent to prayers from hundreds of ordinary believers.
"It looks like you'll completely dissolve back into wind soon," Marcus noted with clinical assessment.
As a wind incarnation, Janna couldn't truly die. She could only shift between visible and invisible states, between concentrated form and dispersed essence.
If more people believed in her, she could manifest a physical body and become the Storm Goddess in full glory. But if faith continued dwindling until people forgot her entirely, she'd return to her original state—just another gust of wind floating through Zaun's polluted streets.
"Your call allows me to maintain this form," Janna's spirit replied. "Power such as yours... a single invocation matches the faith of many believers."
"Huh? How can this bird talk? And why does it look... weird? Like I can see through it?"
Mylo approached curiously, drawn by the novelty of a speaking bird. After all, talking birds were valuable—he could probably sell it for enough to eat well for months.
But before his hand could touch the wind spirit, he encountered an invisible barrier. His fingers stopped dead, unable to advance further.
Squinting and looking more carefully, the impetuous young man finally noticed countless metal particles surrounding Marcus in rapid orbit. His hand had been caught by that swirling defensive shell.
"Boy, if you continue being so reckless, you'll die," Marcus said with an amused smile.
If he hadn't stopped the barrier's rotation in time, Mylo's entire arm would have been shredded to nothing in an instant.
The metal particles serving as Marcus's defensive barrier weren't simply floating motionless—they were moving at tremendous velocity, creating a rotating shell that could destroy anything attempting to penetrate it.
Forget human flesh and blood. Even the powered armor worn by Terran marines in the StarCraft universe couldn't completely resist such a barrier.
Marcus snapped his fingers, and the metal particle barrier resumed full-speed rotation. Mylo suddenly realized that those particles he'd barely been able to see with effort were now completely invisible, moving too fast for human eyes to track.
After dealing with the curious teenager, Marcus returned his attention to the wind spirit beside him.
"Do me a favor, and I'll restore your true form," he offered.
Marcus had no intention of killing the enforcers entering the undercity. If he actually wanted to eliminate the threat, killing foot soldiers would be pointless. He'd simply assassinate the council members and the wealthy families backing them. Without that leadership, Piltover would be forced to negotiate peace with Zaun.
"Help me throw them back to Piltover—unharmed, but thoroughly intimidated."
As he spoke, Marcus produced a blank empowerment crystal and injected a portion of Janna's essence into it. The crystal began glowing with soft blue-white light, pulsing in rhythm with distant winds.
This empowerment would become Janna's core anchor, providing her with constant power regardless of belief levels. It would sustain her until either she was destroyed or Marcus chose to reclaim the empowerment.
Looking at the crystal radiating her own energy signature, the wind spirit Janna flapped her ethereal wings and flew from the tavern on a gentle breeze.
The Enforcer Battalion – Minutes Earlier
The moment the enforcers set foot in the undercity, they'd heard that omnidirectional command: GET OUT OF THE UNDERCITY!
"Tsk, who'd want to come to this cesspool anyway?" muttered one enforcer through his breathing mask. Like most Piltover citizens, he viewed Zaun with utter disgust—a stinking garbage dump inhabited by people no better than pigs.
"You'd better shut up," another enforcer hissed urgently. "Don't forget what Max and Sheriff Grayson said. If that red laser appears, I can't save you."
Whatever the council members thought, these enforcers had seen Max's wound with their own eyes. The flesh cauterized completely, looking like someone had carved a piece of meat from his leg with a red-hot knife. The injury was impossible to fake.
"I'm just talking," the first enforcer scoffed. "Could that person really attack us? I didn't do anything to him. Why would he care about me?"
"Wait... what the hell is that?"
A black storm appeared in the distance, rushing toward the enforcer formation at terrifying speed.
Even from this distance, they could see clearly—the storm was packed with sharp metal fragments. If it hit them, they'd be torn to shreds instantly.
"RETREAT! FALL BACK TO PILTOVER!" the specially-appointed commander screamed, his voice cracking with panic.
The metal storm was a meat grinder in motion. He didn't need to test it to understand that even if they all threw themselves at it together, they couldn't delay it for more than seconds.
Following their commander's order, every enforcer turned and ran. They'd come here to do a job, not die horribly. No amount of pay was worth being shredded by a supernatural storm.
But their speed was pathetic compared to the metal tempest. Feeling it gaining on them with every second, panic spread through the ranks like wildfire. None of them wanted to die here, torn apart in some undercity alley.
Perhaps pure survival instinct kicked in, because the enforcers somehow found extra speed they didn't know they possessed. Chased by the metal storm, they ran toward Piltover with desperate determination.
But the storm was still faster. As the trailing enforcers felt death reaching for them, despair set in.
We're really going to die here...
Just as they braced for the end, a gentle breeze suddenly washed over them. They felt as if invisible hands were pushing at their backs, lending them speed.
"Are we... moving faster?" one enforcer gasped in confusion.
They seemed to be stepping on air itself, propelled forward by wind that shouldn't be helping them. Their velocity increased dramatically.
"The wind will protect you" an ethereal voice whispered in their ears, gentle as a summer breeze.
With Janna's assistance and Marcus's deliberate restraint, the enforcers returned to Piltover in a state of absolute panic.
The moment they crossed the boundary back into the upper city, the metal storm stopped. The wind pushing them gradually dissipated.
"What the hell exists in the undercity?" someone breathed, staring back at Zaun with wide, terrified eyes. "Why are there so many impossible things down there?"
Whether it was the beam that injured Max, the metal storm that had chased them, or the wind-like power that saved them—all of it shattered their understanding of reality.
They knew magic existed in the world theoretically, but this was the first time encountering phenomena so far beyond normal experience.
"Looks like we can't enter," the commander said helplessly, staring at the metal storm that had stopped precisely at the boundary between cities. "The person down there doesn't welcome us. And trying to force entry would be suicide."
The Last Drop – Shortly After
"Well done. Now this is yours," Marcus said, pressing the empowerment crystal against the wind spirit Janna.
It merged with her instantly. The moment of fusion caused dramatic changes—Janna's form became agitated as strong winds spread outward from her location in visible waves.
In the shocked eyes of everyone in the tavern, Janna grew from a small wind spirit into a full-sized woman with an elegant, curvaceous figure.
The transformation was mesmerizing and immediate.
However, the moment Janna appeared in humanoid form, the tavern erupted with noise. Some patrons whistled appreciatively. Others stared with undisguised interest.
But Janna's expression remained serene and unbothered. As a wind spirit, she had no inherent concept of gender or modesty. Her current appearance derived from the hearts of those who believed in her—the sailors who'd worshipped her had always envisioned a goddess, so she manifested as female.
"Uh... look, I know you don't have a biological gender," Marcus said with mild embarrassment, "but you should probably cover yourself. Just for everyone else's comfort."
After regaining her form, Janna's clothing was... minimal. A single piece of translucent gauze draped across her body, covering perhaps twenty percent of her figure. The "concealed" areas were only vaguely obscured, while the rest of her was completely exposed.
Hearing Marcus's suggestion, Janna raised one hand and summoned a gentle breeze. The wind gathered in her palm and transformed into proper clothing that covered her body appropriately—flowing robes that suggested her elemental nature while maintaining dignity.
Seeing their entertainment disappear, the tavern patrons deflated with obvious disappointment. If they weren't absolutely certain Marcus would kill them, several would have definitely told him to mind his own business.
After a while, Vander returned from talking with Grayson outside. His expression was stormy, radiating unhappiness.
"Who is this?" he asked, stopping short when he noticed Janna.
He definitely hadn't seen such a beautiful woman enter his tavern—he would have remembered.
"Her name is Janna," Marcus explained. "The incarnation of wind. Also, she's your patron goddess—Zaun's protector spirit."
After answering the question, Marcus raised an eyebrow curiously. "You and that person outside didn't part on good terms?"
He'd noticed the tall, thin man standing beyond the tavern entrance. More than that, he'd overheard their entire conversation using his enhanced senses.
From what they'd discussed, Marcus had already guessed the identity of that individual—the man who would transform the undercity into the industrial nightmare known as Zaun. A man who'd fight for Zaun's independence his entire life, regardless of cost.
Silco.
"He used to be my closest brother," Vander said heavily, pouring himself a drink. "But we had a fundamental disagreement. We fought. Eventually, we went our separate ways."
He drank the liquor in small, measured sips, his weathered features reflecting old pain.
"Well... I have to say, you two represent complete opposites," Marcus observed with a slight smile. "You've seen the cruelty of war firsthand and concluded that resisting Piltover is futile. Meanwhile, he seems determined to fight against the upper city no matter the cost."
Using his enhanced vision, Marcus studied Silco through the tavern walls.
The man wasn't conventionally handsome—he had a gaunt, angular quality that made him seem vaguely unsettling at first glance. But he possessed a unique presence, a charisma that made him stand out wherever he was. Despite his damaged eye and scarred features, he commanded attention.
"I have to admit, he surprises me," Marcus continued. "Having someone like him in this place... if he wasn't trapped in the undercity, if he'd been born in Piltover or Demacia, he'd be at minimum a noble. Probably higher."
Vander didn't refute Marcus's assessment. Though he and Silco had diverged philosophically, Silco genuinely possessed more natural authority and presence than most Piltover councilors Vander had encountered.
"Let him in. I heard what you two were discussing," Marcus said casually.
What Vander and Silco had been arguing about was how to use Marcus's power—or more specifically, how to leverage that power to completely separate the undercity from Piltover's control.
The undercity belonged to undercity people, not Piltover's garbage dump.
"Mylo, go bring that man at the door inside," Vander ordered reluctantly. "And be careful—don't believe anything he promises you."
Seeing Marcus's interest in Silco, Vander had no choice but to agree. He sent Mylo to fetch the man he'd once called brother.
Shortly after, Silco entered and approached Marcus. Just as Marcus studied him, Silco examined Marcus in turn—taking in the clean clothes, the confident posture, the eyes that suggested far too much knowledge.
"You're the one responsible for the red beam and the metal storm, correct?" Silco said by way of introduction, his damaged eye giving his gaze an unsettling quality. "Hello. You can call me Silco."
Hearing the introduction, Marcus looked at him with an knowing smile.
"You came to find me because of the undercity's situation, didn't you?"
Though phrased as a question, Marcus's tone carried absolute certainty.
"I understand your vision. Wanting change isn't wrong—it's necessary. After all..." Marcus's smile widened. "The horn calling for independence has already been sounded, hasn't it?"