The chime rang, prompting the gorgeous redhead to glance over from her idle busywork with her newest creation, stowing it beneath the glass countertop with an emerging smile that she often displayed to welcome in the next customer. Lois saw her there, familiar with that smile, that same smile. In certain circumstances it was genuine, like now - but in the majority of circumstances it was a very deceptive facade. Lois’ partner, through the landscape of business and archeological expeditioning, was not the pretty face she was so quick to display. Lois never blamed her for that, in fact that made them more alike than she was willing to overtly admit. Both adventurers, both entrepreneurs and business women with high marks of success, both attractive by the collective standards of their race and both sharing a hidden, darker side. It was nothing short of fate that they came together to create one of the most lucrative establishments in all of Piltover.

“Lois? My goodness, where have you been? And-... What happened to… You?” Lois’ associate looked at her with increasing unease at seeing her transformation. Lois’ physique came secondary to her unmistakably crimson eyes. At least the dark rings around her eyes were consistent with the Lois she knew many years ago.

Her wardrobe was no longer the cardinal robes of the Matron, but instead a casual yet always elegant combination of tight, black business slacks, a stylish black leather belt and a skintight black turtleneck sweater she’d picked up from her summer home outside Bandle City. She wore her hair down, letting it gather over her shoulders to frame her visage.

Lois was hardly in the mood to catch up, but she figured she owed the woman at least some explanation to put her suspicions to rest, if nothing else. “Some sort of Ionian device, We touched it and it did this to us. I’m still unsure of what other side effects it may have had.” A reasonable enough lie to throw her partner’s inevitable scrutiny. She started towards the workshop in the back.

“That’s one question answered, now how about the other?” She leapt down, cutting Lois off only to be sidestepped about as quickly as she presented herself. She hurried behind Lois with a palm held high. “And- Wait a minute, did you just say we? Who is ‘we’?”

Her persistence normally turned into back and forth banter between the two as they casually unearthed skeletons better left alone in their closets and embarrassing events from the past. It was their way of speaking outside of meetings of monthly earnings and business updates. Their relationship was a safe-haven for Lois to say what she really felt. But not today, her Demons were getting to her… Literally.

“Listen- It’s very complicated Merryl, we’ll explain later.”

Merryl knew best when her friend wasn’t herself. This odd behaviour sparked memories of a familiar feeling she had when Lois had returned from to Ionia. She was different. Less focused on her craft and more on other things. Things that still remained a mystery, and likely always would. Lois had always had a nebulous background, even before their collaboration. Merryl often joked that Lois was grown in a Zaunite lab as opposed to being born to flesh and blood parents.

To be truthful a lot of Lois’ early life was a question mark to her, too. Vague memories of a family would often resurface in her dreams. Foremost of which were fractals of her Father. He was half the reason her mind was acclimated to the ventures of capitalism.

What began as just a small potion shop under Lois’ humble tenancy blossomed into an unknowing monopoly on the industry of alchemy after a reputable practitioner and salesman of the trade was lost to the depths of Zaun. Even Lois was ignorant to this fact, watching as her little local store burgeoned into an enterprise nearly overnight. Offers came from financiers and industrialists looking to give funding in exchange for percentiles of her stock. But never was she so naive as to accept them. She used her new found wealth to increase production, automating her process with machines bought from Hextech artificiers. The investments she made however were expensive, and her machines required upkeep and consistent maintenance that was costly and time consuming. The engineering field was as much a growing empire as her own in those early days, soon she found the expenditures were pushing her into the negative.

That’s when Merryl offered her services. She was a Yordle with backgrounds in Piltover universities that frequented seminars hosted by the brilliant minds behind Hextech, and though her trade was in the private acquisition of rare and ancient artifacts, her understanding of the new arcane contraptions would be put towards the repair and maintenance of Lois’ workshop. And for free. All she asked in return was a place to sell her wares in-store and a small percentage of Lois’ earnings until her side of the business was self-sufficient. It was a deal Lois found logically impossible to pass up. Merryl was a brilliant mind, knowing the fundamentals of Piltover’s market and how to exploit it. A trait Lois was quick to pick up on, seeing how she wormed her way into Lois’ own success story to replicate that elsewhere.

She plied the breadth of Piltover and even Zaun for guilds and successful adventurers in need of potions for their dangerous endeavours. She sold her produce at a significant discount in return for rare and or exotic ingredients found on their expeditions in addition to publicity for her sponsorship. This notoriety doubled profit and attention, becoming multiplicative the more big names she drew in. Her accumulation of clout and reputation as the number one potion shop in Piltover finally attracted the attention of the famous explorer Ezreal, who, in return for free potions, provided her with an advertisement campaign and endorsement from the mercantile clans. Finally her business fell into the purview of Piltover’s government itself. The Piltover Special Weapons and Tactics teams were promised her best stock in exchange for monthly payment.

She was among the elite ten percent with regards to income, receiving invitations to private galas and expensive restaurants purely off status alone. And while she attended a few for the sake of appearances she never preferred to bathe in the limelight. The Hexes were reward enough for her ambition. Little Elixirs had become a self-sustaining corporation of technology and automatons with a single woman at its head. And while her income had plateaued and even dipped as the gap in the market was ultimately contested, her name and story of success was solidified in the upper-echelon of Piltover’s affluent aristocracy. It was a tale not often told, even to her most confident friends, and even less to her closest associates.

Throughout it all Merryl was there to witness her astonishing ascension. Lois was well aware of Merryl’s value, smart enough to realize that without her their business would have caved on itself years ago. So despite their initial agreement, still printed in black ink, signature and all - Lois paid her a generous percentage. Enough that combined with her revenue from sold antiques she could live more than comfortably for the majority of her life. Little Elixirs and Antiques still saw steady engagement from affluent customers thanks to the ostentatious presentation she’d developed over the years. It was the store anyone with marks in the upper-class would frequent for all their needs.

Lois’ highest selling merchandise was rather mundane a majority of the time. Things that the average person would require, a sleeping draught for restless nights, a draught of stamina for bedroom performance, hair growth serums, birth control and concoctions that muted pain. Simple, everyday first-world needs. A lot of her transactions for combat-based alchemical solutions were contractual and in bulk. A deal that afforded her financial freedom.

She approached the tall door that sourced into her workshop, hearing the machines and the pumps and the gears faintly behind the soundproofed wall. She hadn’t seen it in so long. There was a part of her that didn’t even want to see it. A tiny, unconscious piece that still clung to the ideals of her beloved Blood Moon family. The piece that told her to go back and face whatever consequences may be levied against her. To forget this life and hunt for the Cult. But it was just that, a tiny piece. She exhaled and threw the door open to find… Everything was exactly how she left it.

Her automatons of all shapes and sizes, glistening with bronze-golden plating, toiled endlessly to meet their daily quota. The smell of alchemical refuse filled the air and thin multi-colored smoke played on the air. It was a welcoming scent that reminded her of humble beginnings grinding ingredients down with her mortar and pestle the old fashioned way. She felt half a smile creep across her face.

‘Workshop’ wasn’t an accurate descriptor for the veritable factory that stood behind her unassuming storefront. A central stock of metal with glass running along the front of its height branched out of a high ceiling and past a skylight with metallic lattice to keep it secure. Beyond the tinted skylight she could see the plume of diluted vapors filtering up into the heavens above. That same pipe branched down along the floors like roots from a tree, connecting massive machines of indescribable complexity with turning gears, mechanical arms and conveyor belts carrying glass bottles. Some uniform and some unique. To the average person this room was chaotic, but to Lois it was industry at its most perfect.

Lois glanced up and to the left to see a familiar figure in Nehel, standing on the notches of a massive rotating gear after having manifested from behind a bronze pipe that ran in front of it. He rode the gear along, his massive feet spread three or four notches apart until he reached the ground, stepping off and looking about himself. He squatted to examine the bottles of colorful liquid sliding along the conveyor with curious eyes.

“We have fond memories of this place…” He remarked.

“Yes.” Lois replied, meandering over to him. She took a bottle from the conveyor and held it up to Nehel for him to inspect. It was bulbous and full of a viscous red liquid. “A healing draught, likely bound for the Warden’s department.”

Since Niobi village Lois had recognized changes in Nehel. He behaved differently than he had when he was just a nagging voice in her head. Between his violent bloodlusting he was calmer… Quieter… More perceptive… Not overly so but enough to notice. She made an effort not to think about it too much, considering they shared a mind now.

“Want a taste?” Lois asked, holding the bottle aloft towards him.

He gave pause, leaning in a few inches closer. Even squatting he was nearly three times as tall as her. He pinched the bottle between his fingers, uncorked it and knocked it back without so much as a second thought. Lois saw his visage strain at the taste, a knowing smile crossing her own as she chuckled. He crushed the empty bottle in his massive hand, letting the shards scatter to the ground.

“Disgusting.”

“It’s not supposed to taste--” Lois began, only to be interrupted by a voice from behind.

“Lois? Are you sure you’re okay?” Merryl asked, looking at the broken glass across the floor and Lois’ bloody palm.

“Just fine.” Lois replied, having turned to address Merryl.

“Uh-...” Her eyes darted back and forth for a brief moment before she cleared her throat. “Right. Well, I forgot to mention. Someone came in earlier? Another Yordle. Long glowing braid, amber eyes, tattoos. She didn’t leave a name but she said it was important you get back to her right away.”

Chelle? “What did she want?” Lois inquired further.

“Didn’t say, just something important.” Merryl shrugged.

“We’ll be seeing her soon... Anyways, We need to have some of these ingredients and bottles packed for transport to Bandle. Can you get the constructs on that for us?” Lois asked.

Merryl let out an exhausted sigh. “Sure. What for?” Her reluctance was palpable.

“Another business endeavor.”

Merryl smacked her lips harshly and rolled her eyes. “Oh, boy… How exciting...”

“You should be excited,” Lois grinned. “You’re going to help us build it.”

Bilgewater was everything it had been for the past few decades. Nothing ever truly changed here. The people were still scum and money was the only thing of real value in this haven of pirates and thieves, not that Chelle ever expected it to be different - on the contrary, she preferred it stay that way. Bilgewater was perhaps the one place she felt a sense of belonging with. During her life as a voyager she frequented the docks here. Legitimate ships with captains from the empires and countries beyond Guardian’s Sea feared sailing their precious cargo through those waters, but Chelle’s family had connections in the pirate’s cove, enough that they could settle, resupply and spend a few nights in its harbors without fear.

As a child she was fascinated by the complex geometry of Bilgewater. It was an island built upon the frame of sea-faring vessels. The masts, the rigging, the wood. A playground for sailors that nullified their constant need to be out on the oceans. She too felt that yearning, the beckoning of the sea calling out to her. If not for the exploration then at the very least for the comforting sway of the tide beneath her. She slept best when sailing. A truth she hardly acknowledged anymore thanks to Mica’s warmth beside her at night. A luxury she sorely missed. Before she became too lost in thought she made a note of where she was intending to go. Her eyes levelled upwards towards the gambling tents. Then she began her ascent. She had cleverly waited till nightfall when the tents were at their busiest. If she were going to stumble upon the high roller, it would be now.

Much like before she had to conceal her presence. Everyone was out for gain and the dealing had only just begun, she couldn’t rely on drunkards mistaking her for dogs. Her disguise was simple enough, a long robe and hood hid most of her features and her hair tied itself into a bun to better fit inside the cloth. She went from tent to tent, table to table, looking for the mysterious man with the magic cards. His relationship with Lois was something she thought about more often now that she was tracking the woman down. What was the context behind ‘Master’? If he was her ‘Master’ what is it he taught her? It couldn’t have been as easy as gambling, could it?

Her internal back and forth was interrupted when she arrived at the same tent she had more than a year ago. It had an aura about it she couldn’t quite describe. A sense of foreboding, maybe? The white curtains were thrown aside by a whore in lace and flashy clothing, strutting her way along with a platter of drinks in hand. Chelle narrowly avoided her as she swept through, glancing over one shoulder with a sigh before she peeled back the curtain to scan the interior, eyes brightening when she saw a man with a similar ensemble playing at the central table.

Laughter abounded as the gambler, without his hat this time around, beckoned towards the dealer for another hit. He studied his hand, using his red half-cloak to keep it safe from prying eyes. As she neared closer though she failed to hear the swagger and charisma that accompanied her first meeting with this mysterious figure. His hair was shorter, too. Her desperation led her in despite that fact. Mica needed help and if this was her guy she couldn’t afford to play things safe. It had been a year, afterall.

She came a little closer, circling the chair this individual sat in. She spied something that disillusioned her in an instant. Some sort of firearm sat slung acroos the front of his torso. Twin-barreled and with a complex yet rudimentary loading system. She was about to take a step back when the man glanced down, revealing a grizzled, bearded face with a bare chin and a dense moustache. The opposite of the high roller she’d been looking for. His thick brows furrowed with confusion at seeing Chelle’s amber eyes staring back up at him. He was ready to turn back to his game when he did a double take, squinting with intense suspicion.

Chelle began to back away, knowing well what that look meant.

“Excuse me gentlemen,” He said to his table, his voice thick and coarse with a classic Bilgewater drawl, “Money’s-a-callin’.”

Chelle turned and ran only to hear the man call out to her, “Runnin’s just gonna’ make things worse!” She darted through calves and past thighs, creating a wake of confused folk unnerved at having their legs brushed against. Her pursuer wasn’t far behind, shoving aside people to trudge after her, his gun falling into both hands at the ready. She fought against the push and pull of the crowd, glancing back every other second to see him gaining on her. His mass easily broke through the mob of bettors where her’s didn’t. Chelle nearly lost her footing at the edge of the wooden balcony that overlooked the rest of Bilgewater. In that moment her head was racked with a sudden and inexplicable pain that caused her locks to unravel and tense like spasming muscles. The crowd around her parted with gasps and shouts.

Images of lost souls plagued her thoughts, familiar souls that called out for salvation. Echoing screams that tested her mental fortitude rang in her ears, enveloping her body in an unnerving cold that also felt familiar in some ways. Her eyes shot open just in time to hear the metallic click and clack of a gun being loaded. But her attention was elsewhere, eyes pressed against the ocean’s horizon and the darkened storm clouds that preceded it. She could hear the man with the twin-barreled gun barking at her faintly, his words garbled as if she were submerged beneath the waves.

Her Mother’s voice dominated her hearing. “Chelle,” It called to her, “Chelle…”

The visions that disoriented her heralded what she knew was soon to arrive. Creeping along the ocean’s surface from a south-eastern direction were sickly blue-green wisps that trailed black mist. The mist billowed as the erratic wisps snaked left to right, up and back along the water. The storm clouds above congealed with the growing wall of mist that emerged from Bilgewater’s evening fog, revealing a steady bulwark of ever growing darkness. Visions of lost souls twisted aimlessly with the advancing mist, curling like ethereal missiles towards Bilgewater. Distant laughter, screaming and crying combined as tendrils of malefic origin whipped down from the ever-growing maelstrom that encroached.

Chelle saw it, then they all saw it. Fear and panic exploded throughout the cove as every denizen sought safety. They hunkered into their houses, locking their doors or made for their ships, hoping to set sail before the mist was upon them. The crowd around her frenzied, nudging her ever closer to the edge. The most unlucky of them were thrown over the banister to plummet down, breaking themselves against the many tiers of the tall city. She was frozen, rooted in place by a lifetime of guilt finally coming back to haunt her. The screeching mists of the Shadow Isles had been as much a blessing as they were a curse. Like the malignant tendrils of the mist her hair strained against her will, splaying out in ugly patterns.

She screamed, attempting to cast away the shackles of fear. Like a soldier lost in traumatic stress coming back to the battlefield her mind cleared, driven by the instinct of survival. She threw herself off the ledge, whipping her hair out to gather around a wooden pole driven horizontally out of the cliff-face, swinging herself around and up into the air. She landed on a tier below, rolling over her shoulder to translate her downward momentum forward - carrying herself into a frantic run. Bilgewater had become much like a warzone in the span of a few seconds. It was chaos unravelling before her very eyes. Everyone regarded only themselves and their loved ones, not concerned with anyone or anything else.

She glanced up as she ran to see the dark clouds rolling overhead. Accompanying them were the spirits that howled, swooping low like birds of prey to abduct strangers unfortunate enough to have caught their ire. She scaled ever downward, using her hair once more to catch holds and crannies, something like a spider escaping the swatting hand of a human. She could finally see the mist breaking across Bilgewater’s buildings and rooftops, rolling across them like water against a dry riverbed. It seeped into the alleyways and backstreets, filling them with mist before spilling out onto the main thoroughfares around her.

She was almost to the portal, almost. She leapt from one ledge to another, and from that ledge to a rope, carrying herself across a long gap to a landing further down. Another safety roll broke her fall as she focused ahead, shrugging away the voices that still attempted to worm their way into her head. She leapt onto a beam, cutting its tether to ride it down and onto the docks. She continued in a northward direction, feeling the mist nip at her heels. She leapt over barrels and under tables, using the blood slickened stone along the Carving Bays to slide her way towards the deep-sea diving helm on the other side of Rat Town.

More cackling laughter found her as a wisp cut a trail of mist ahead of her, causing her to pogo over it with her hair. She began tracing the runes needed to open the portal before she even got there. Left, right, up, down, across and back across. Her fingers splayed out to enlarge the floating symbol and the old diving helmet exploded into floating shards of itself, a portal blossoming with whimsical light and plant growth expanding out from its center. She ran, ran, faster - diving into its compass just as the growing mist threatened to wrap around her. The comforting warmth of the nexus portal dispelled her fears, heart still pumping fast with adrenaline.

“Chelle, come back!” Nine voices called just before the portal slammed shut...

“I’m sorry…”

Dumped on the shores of the Shadow Isles by his would be second and consumed by the mist - He was betrayed by the very man he had trusted with his life. He awoke with a violent gasp, looking left, then right for any sign of the creatures who bested him. He expected to see a bridge, to see Eustace, to see his Father’s leviathan. But nothing of the sort surrounded him. Broken shards of a once great empire now enveloped in darkness greeted Fain instead. His unbeating heart was stoked with the fires of rage at realizing where he was… What he was… He broke at the realization. He looked down at his palms only to find one of them was intact and wrapped in ethereal cyan energies, the other was a… Tentacle? A tentacle that splayed out into five tendrils at its end. The tendrils separated to reveal a maw, lined with voracious teeth. His eyes widened at that.

This undeath was a parody of life, against everything he stood for. His love of the great Leviathan was still intact despite his damnation to the Shadow Isles. He finally stood. The tendril was large, infecting one half of his body all the way up to the shoulder and across the chest. It was so long it dragged across the ground beside him, twitching without input. The breaths he took in no longer bloated his chest, too. He was truly undead. A hand reached to stroke his beard as he usually did when he was perturbed by something, finding it to be ethereal fire as opposed to hair. He looked down again, gasping in shock. A crease in his stomach now revealed another leviathan’s maw. His gut was its own creature?

Madness. This is madness! “Eustace, what have you done?!” Fain cried out, his voice duplicitous and ethereal.

Immediately he felt a growing vengeance, a need for violent retribution. Not only had he become the very thing Nagakaborous despised, his Second was nowhere to be found! He reached for his blade at his hip to find it was no longer there. Now he remembered. His Boon Blade was stolen from him. The blade given to him by his own Father now rested in the hands of those contemptible creatures! He reached to feel his head, finding his Captain’s hat was still intact at least. Another oddity caught his attention. A glowing bulb hung in front of his face. He followed the stem along, finding it connected to his hat something like an Anglerfish, which now seemed bound to his form in a way. He then felt along his face, blinking for the first time since he woke. Four eyes…

What worried him most were that these changes didn’t scare him nearly as much as he imagined they would. Fain cast aside his investigation of himself, wandering deeper into the Isles in search of answers. He approached what appeared to be a shattered library, the front of which was surrounded by pieces of debris suspended in the air, slowly rotating. He nudged the rocks aside, watching them float away. A door into the library was cracked, leaving space enough for him to slip through. He stepped inside, his footsteps echoing against the hollow tile. What once was a beautifully golden and marble place of learning was now grounds of destruction. Cracks in the patterned floor revealed fissures of glowing cyan light. More debris and books floated about the halls and broken archways ascended along the walls, revealing floors and floors of book shelves.

He explored through its depths, feeling an unusual sense of familiarity with this place. It was almost like he… Belonged here? His very soul found a connection on this island. A connection he found utterly repugnant. He walked on, hearing distant shrieks and echoing speech too quiet to be intelligible. A piece of him wondered if Eustace had been taken by the Shadow Isles’ influence, too. He gave pause though as he heard another pair of footsteps somewhere nearby. He turned, seeing nothing.

“Fain Toddbringer.” A stern, feminine voice declared from on high.

He looked up to see a thin woman, dressed in the tattered remnants of cloth and armor from a bygone era. Her exposed skin glowed, semi-translucent yet sculpted into ghostly musculature. A helmet with a massive plume signifying status and rank adorned her head and several spears pierced her chest, one physical and the rest incorporeal. She stood upon a sliver of broken ground, gripping another spear in hand. He said nothing, only looking.

“You are a betrayer betrayed.” She followed.

“In a manner of speaking… And who are you?” He shouted back, gesturing to the woman.

“The spirit who kills betrayers.”

Fain’s eyes went wide as a spear, thrown impossibly fast, scythed towards his head. Out of pure instinct he stepped aside, his mass of tendrils reaching out to catch it. He spun, whipping the long tentacle around to send it back at the warrior. He wasn’t quite sure how he reacted like that. His momentary confusion abated as the woman leapt down from her perch, slamming the ground in a three-point landing. Lost parchment scattered and fluttered in the wake of her impact. He knew of this spirit in his past life. A spirit invoked on the dying lips of those who had been deceived. If his heart could beat it certainly would be right now.

“Wait a moment! Y-You said I have been betrayed! That means there is someone who has wronged me!” He reasoned, taking a defensive stance.

“Your transgressions outweigh theirs.” Her hand hoisted and a spear manifested within it. She gripped it tightly, reeling it back, ready to throw.

“Wait! Listen!” He pleaded. “Just- Let me see that I have my own retribution and I would gladly give my life to you! This goes against everything I believe, there is no fate worse than this for me, I can assure you!”

There was pause in the woman’s glowing eyes as the grip on the shaft of her javelin loosened. “You would give your undying soul, willingly?”

“Yes, yes- I would! So long as I never have to look at myself again!” His words were genuine, both parties knew it. His current form was repulsive. A mockery of nagakabouros' legacy. “Or better yet, I’ll fight alongside you! I’ve heard the stories. You were betrayed just as the people who pledge to you are betrayed. If you help me I’ll help you!” Fain reasoned.

The spirit’s javelin vanished as she now took a neutral stance, reaching to pull the black spear from her chest. She hoisted it back and spiked it into the ground at Fain’s feet. “Bind yourself.”

Fain took a cautious step towards the spear, lowering his tendril to wrap around the spear. The moment he came in contact pain surged through his body, the same pain he felt upon his first death. He screamed in agony, writhing as gouts of energy transferred from the spear to his person and back into the spear. He collapsed to his knees, eyes closed hard. Then… He expired. His body lay unmoving, dead just as he would’ve preferred. The spear retracted, cutting through the air to embed itself back into the warrior’s chest.

“Arise.” The woman demanded.

All four of his eyes, aglow with the same energies as Kalista; His new Master, opened...