10

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Focusing all my attention, I became one with the gun, even my breath halted as I was utterly still, gently squeezing the trigger until it erupted into flame and fury, striking my target and obliterating it completely.

"Oh, you hit it! But, um, Jayce? That was my target," Caitlyn stated hesitantly, standing beside me on her family's countryside estate, and I groaned, dropping my shoulders, Mrs. Kiramman chuckling good naturedly from behind us.

"But I did everything right," I complained, just a little, running through the steps. I'd taken the standard marksmanship course in Basic, and then the advanced one as well, but the unholy stepchild of rifle and shotgun I was now using was the worst of both worlds. Taking the proper stance again, I glanced at the teen beside me, asking, "Like this, right Caitlyn? Ms. Kiramman?"

Interestingly I could literally feel my Martial Talent skimming the knowledge off the top of my teacher's mind, the girl far enough past me in skill to actively improve my technique just by being around her, and, as Mrs. Kiramman chimed in with an, "Almost. You're holding yourself too tightly," that feeling kicked into high gear for a few seconds, the Councilor far more skilled than her daughter, and the divide between us even greater, and thus my gains were further accelerated.

Listening to those foreign skills, I followed the instructions, shifting slightly, almost imperceptibly, and then realized that I hadn't taken account of the wind, which could destabilize the bullet's flight, and wasn't even a thing either woman had mentioned, but I'd been warned the Talent was odd like that, as well as the fact that it could mess you up by giving you non-transferrable skillsets. For instance, learning how to use a longsword was nice and all, but if you tried to wield a katana the same way you'd shatter the damn thing if it wasn't made with some magical bullshit or super-materials.

More than that, though, I chambered another round and tried again, feeling the faintest trickle of information from Soul Talent, my bullet striking the ground, but closer. Caitlyn cheered me on, impressed at my progress, but I just shook my head, handing her the rifle. "Since I got your target, you mind taking care of mine?" I questioned, getting a fond eyeroll from the girl who accepted the rifle.

As she chambered the round, she lifted the weapon up, sighting only for a second before she fired, striking it dead center, then glancing over, giving me a slightly cocky grin. "Damn you're good," I commented, giving her the praise she was clearly requesting, but not lying in the slightest.

It was hard to tell the difference between Talents, but they had slightly different... flavors, I suppose, but the fact that my 'I can copy magic' ability was activating told me that there was absolutely some fuckery afoot, giving them supernatural aim, just as how Violet was supernaturally strong, given her size. The fact that she could go toe-to-toe with me in pure muscle power, despite the fact that I was almost a foot taller than her, and almost twice her weight, was something the now white-haired girl didn't even think was odd, having grown up in Runeterra.

In this case, there was just a touch of something that I almost wanted to call telekinesis, which, from how the wooden shards of the destroyed target spread out, had caused the bullet to spin, but not nearly as fast as it would from a rifled long gun. But that spin had more momentum then it should as well, Caitlyn's bullet somehow hitting harder than mine did, despite us using the exact same weapon.

And it was only because Jayce had been trained to take apart anomalous effects in his efforts to reverse engineer Magic, and only because I was looking for it at all, that I could spot the difference, the manifestations so minor that they not only could be easily overlooked, but that they could be hand-waved away as things like 'differing charge quality' or even luck.

Hell, if I couldn't feel my purchased Talent for Magic kicking in, I might've overlooked it.

Regardless, it was something to investigate later, as telling the ruling class of the 'we exile Mages' city that they were using a type of Magic too almost certainly wouldn't go over well. Speaking of, both Caitlyn and I walked back to her mother, who was sitting at a table set up on a small pavilion, sipping a cup of tea. "You have a real talent for this," the matron noted, eyes sharp, but not unfriendly.

"I have good teachers," I shrugged, "and I've always picked up new things quickly." Smiling, I knew my learning speed was supernatural, but I could thankfully lean on my status as a 'genius' to cover a lot of issues.

That got me a small, fleeting, and indulgent smile, the woman noting, "You clearly have some experience with firearms. For a student of the Academy, that's most unusual."

Thankfully, I already had a counter prepared, wincing, and nodding, "Yeah, a lot of them are... wrapped up in themselves, with their heads up in the clouds. Or up other places," I added, getting a giggle from Caitlyn, and a flat look from my patron that wasn't truly unimpressed, though I was only barely able to make out the slight amusement hidden underneath her neutral expression, and mostly because she hadn't hidden it that deeply. "But I'm aware that there's certain more... earthly concerns then pure science. Especially since I had to source many of my materials from Zaun."

That got me a confused, yet inquisitive look from both women, and Caitlyn echoed, "Zaun?"

"The Undercity's name for itself," I explained without missing a beat, not having meant to say that, but rolling with my mistake. "The same way they refuse to call where we live Piltover, but say it's 'Topside' instead. I've gotten into the habit of using their term, as it's easier just to say that instead of causing problems, which, as I'm properly dressed when I go down there, they're already looking for half the time," I 'admitted'.

"Uncouth guttersnipes," Mrs. Kiramman sniffed, taking a purposeful sip of her tea.

"Uncouth guttersnipes who are good at getting rare things for cheap," I replied, smiling, "but also why I never took Caitlyn down with me when I did so." The older woman tried to pin me with an annoyed look for disagreeing, but I held firm. With a sigh, she offered a slight wave, ceding the point.

The heiress beside me, was both surprised, but also still confused, pointing out, "But wouldn't walking around with a rifle cause more problems."

From the look her mother was sending me, it was clearly my job to explain this to her daughter, but in a way the older woman would find acceptable. "Uh, Caitlyn? People walk around with weapons pretty openly down there. Also, I don't carry a rifle, I carry a pistol. If you don't mind?" I questioned my patron, glancing towards the metal case I'd brought with me, and which her servants had loaded into their horse-drawn carriage before we'd left, then transferring it to the pavilion without a word.

Moving over to it, I spun the lock to put in the correct combination and popped it open, revealing the three rifles I'd manufactured, along with my 'walking around' pistol. The caliber was smaller than what 'Justice' used, and obviously not splattered with green luminescent paint. It'd taken way longer than it should've to figure out how to make revolvers work, the mechanism that spun the cylinder eluding me at first. Trying to make the expanding gasses turn it when it was fired, like how a semi-auto gun could syphon off a bit to cycle the mechanism, didn't work the same way, but only really worked pushed whatever it vented into backwards, not creating rotational force on its own.

When I'd made a screw assembly to try and fix that, well, it created way too much force, which spun the cylinder like a top after every firing, instead of just clicking over to the next bullet. Rebuilding it, I ended up making the screw have a very gradual spin, measured to match the distance required to turn to the next round, with a locking assembly that'd get pushed loose by the firing and pop into place when everything lined up. It meant I couldn't do the cool 'spin the cylinder and fire' thing, but it worked, and that was good enough for now.

Honestly, the entire thing was a giant pain in the ass, but introducing modern magazines was a step too far, at least for now. Pulling it out, both firearms experts looked at it intently, and I handed it over to Mrs. Kiramann, who gracefully accepted the weapon, taking note of the box of ammo I'd crafted as I placed it on the table.

"They're so small," Caitlyn observed, taking one of the .38 caliber rounds out, and frowning.

"It wouldn't penetrate Enforcer armor," Mrs. Kiramman agreed idly. "However it could still be quite deadly, if one is skilled enough." The woman noted the button on the side, pressing it, and popping out the cylinder. Watching her, she glanced down the barrel, mentally taking apart what I'd done and considering it. I reminded myself that, though she herself wasn't a scientist, the woman was by no means unintelligent. Jayce had dismissed her, the same way he'd dismissed his own mother, merely because she wasn't a match for him in his area of expertise, and Mrs. Kiramman had noted that, but allowed him his delusions, just as she had noticed that I 'no longer' held those beliefs, and allowed me to notice that she had noticed that, something Jayce wouldn't've had picked up on.

Her daughter, meanwhile, had drifted over back to the open case, and clearly wanted to pick up the topmost of the rifles I'd brought, but would not until she was allowed to, doing her best to display good manners. Walking over to them, I pulled out my first creation that was good enough, and checked it one last time.

Piltover's weapons had an odd design that kept a bubble of positive pressure pressing up against the shell casing after firing, practically flinging the spent shells out of their breach loaders, while I'd gone for a bolt action assembly, which was way easier to design. These I'd built to work with the standard Piltovan bullet size, which was twelve millimeters. Considering it was meant to be used against people, something that big was just... Jesus Christ.

.50 cal bullets were effectively thirteen millimeters wide, and those were used to shoot tanks.

But, Piltover's alchemical charges weren't quite as powerful as modern smokeless powder, people here were just hardier, and literal monsters existed all over, so perhaps it was needed. It also, by comparison, explained the girl's skepticism of the smaller bullets my pistol used.

"It's not a breech loader, like what you're used to," I warned, demonstrating the loading mechanism for the heiress, before handing the weapon over to the blue-haired girl, who smiled like Christmas had come early.

She paused, looking to her mother, who waved her off, the teenager practically giddy as she ran back to the range, the servants having long since reset the targets. The older woman glanced at me, then at the chair on the other side of the table, and I took the hint, taking the seat, a servant stepping up and pouring me a cup of tea, adding the sugars I requested, before, with a slight wave from my Patron, he retreated out of earshot.

"A most interesting design, Jayce," she noted, having loaded the weapon, and was manually clicking the cylinder from round to round, keeping it pointed down and away from me. "One might think your efforts are wasted pursuing this hextech of yours." When I was unable to repress my snort, she lifted an eyebrow. "You disagree?"

"I came up with this on break, Ms. Kiramman," I replied, with a touch of derision, but with good humor mixed in. "It was really just cobbling together a few things I'd read about, and making them work together. If you really wanted weapons, I could make things far, far worse, but I'd rather create devices that make things better, not reduce them to ash."

The Councilor was silent for several seconds, before she stated, "The explosion at the docks."

"The equivalent of someone detonating a cobbled together mining charge," I confirmed. "But it's a lot more complicated to use Hexite then creatively directing explosions in tubes, and the fact that the person who set that off managed as much as they did was impressive, considering whoever set it off clearly didn't know what they were doing."

"You believe that was intentional," the other woman observed, still playing with the revolver.

I nodded. "If they just set it off, like someone lighting a powder-keg, you'd get something closer to the explosion that wrecked my old apartment. Nasty, but half of my workshop was still intact, and the rest of the property was untouched. I poked around the blast site after I heard about what happened at the docks," I lied. "Hexite cascades are somewhat distinctive, after all. That thing took out an entire warehouse, from the blast patterns it went off inside, and the roof was just gone."

"So they can create bombs," Mrs. Kiramman noted, unhappy, but paused, reading something in my face, despite my best attempts to keep my visage calm, giving nothing away. "Or they won't. The Enforcers never caught the Undercity filth who burgled your workshop."

I didn't say a word, and my patron put the pistol on the table, pointed away, and took another sip of her tea. She considered me, before noting, conversationally, "Your guests. Two young girls."

Before I could respond, Caitlyn rushed over, grinning, cradling the rifle to her chest. "Jayce! This is amazing! It's so much easier to fire than my old rifle! I'm even able to hit the furthest targets, and asked them to set up even farther ones!" She paused, "But, it'll be so far away that it'll be hard to see. Hmmm."

Taking the opportunity presented, I almost sprang from my seat, pulling out the second rifle I'd brought, this one with a brass cylinder attached to the top, carefully crafted glass inset into it. "Oh, you put a telescope on top!" Caitlyn practically chirped. "That's brilliant, Jayce!"

"It's really not," I deferred, the science behind the optics something that Jayce already was fairly knowledgeable about, having studied the subject when he thought that Mana moved like Light did, based on some diagrams of it flowing through the air he'd found in ancient Shuriman scrolls. Holding a hand out, the teen hesitated, before handing over the rifle she was holding, quickly taking the new one and dashing back off to try it out.

Taking my seat once more, Mrs. Kiramman smiled fondly as her daughter impatiently waited for the servants to finish up setting up the range, but she made sure they were clear before she started firing. The woman's fond expression vanished when she looked back at me, and clearly waited for my response to her earlier statement.

But that was the problem, I didn't know how to answer, so instead bid for time, asking, "And what do you know of my guests, Mrs. Kiramman?"

From the momentary frown, that'd been a misstep, and she took a moment to swirl her tea, taking a sip, before informing me, her voice a touch more frigid, "Two girls. One young, with bright blue hair, and one my daughter's age, perhaps younger, with white. Refugees from the constant infighting those frozen barbarians inflict on each other in the North. I was not aware of their... 'clan'," she stated with distaste, "but they shift and change like the wind." Pausing for a moment, the Councilor noted, "White hair is common in those peoples. Even light blue, though I have heard it is rare. Caitlyn, meanwhile, would be quite out of place."

She let it sit at that, and, again, I had a choice. I had a feeling that, if I were to lie, she'd accept it. But that acceptance would cost me. So what would cost more? Confiding in her, binding myself closer to this woman and her cause, or keeping my secrets?

Glancing over to Caitlyn, who was laughing gaily, having hit a target I couldn't even see, I went with my gut.

"The person who developed that crude, Hextech explosive will not do so again, because she knows better now. And because she no longer is in danger of death, or worse," I stated, turning to meet my patron's stare. "The Academy, and the Council, has a long history of patronage. A small amount of aid when a person is in need can pay very large dividends, and talent should be fostered if it can be turned towards beneficial ends."

Some of the coldness faded from Mrs. Kiramman's gaze, as she queried, "The two boys?"

"Dead. Killed in the blast."

She processed that, or more specifically the woman showed me that she was processing that. "From the Undercity?" the Councilwoman finally questioned, disbelievingly, and with clear distaste.

"My partner, Viktor, is from the Undercity," I revealed, Mrs. Kiramman's eyebrows subtly raising in suppressed surprise. "And if they were uniformly scum, clan Ferros would not have the power it wields today."

Again, the woman waited before responding, but I had nothing else to say. She broke the silence that stretched between us, the sound of Caitlyn firing, and cheering, in the background. "So one is intelligent. The younger?" Mrs. Kiramman checked, then nodded, despite the fact that I hadn't answered. "The younger. Then for what purpose are you protecting the older girl?"

Knowing I was completely outclassed, I went with honesty. "The two are sisters, and taking in both engenders gratitude. Past that, the older one is a combat savant, and, with some time, training, and gear, wouldn't be out of place amongst Demacia's Elites. I do not have a Councilor's status, and given my occasional trip to the Undercity, a bodyguard I could trust would be appreciated."

"And you trust... ah, I understand. Her appearance has been changed, but her sister's has not," the older woman observed.

Which meant that, while we were in Zaun, Powder, Piper now, would be up in Piltover, and if something happened to me down there, there was the possibility that I'd set something to happen to her up here. I hadn't, but if Mrs. Kiramman wanted to give me credit for it, I wasn't going to disagree.

"I have a little, but she is still recognizable despite her haircut. However, given time, no longer practically bathing in toxins, and as she is no longer suffering mild malnutrition, she will be rendered nearly unrecognizable in a few years," I pointed out.

Mrs. Kiramman glanced at me, no, at my body, "And you've had the older one teaching you. You're moving differently," she explained, at my confused look. "My daughter thought you were still recovering from your ordeal."

"I'm still recovering from an ordeal," I quipped with a smile, Vi's training downright hellish, "but please reassure her that I'm fine. While having a bodyguard is good, being able to defend oneself is better, and having both is best of all."

"Something my fellow Councilors could do well to learn," the older woman sniffed, before commenting with careful neutrality, "and there is, of course, another benefit to having her beholden to you."

The way she said it practically screamed 'trap', but I just frowned, trying to figure out what she was referring to. My only other reason for saving Violet was that she was a good person who deserved to be saved, and I had the power to do so, but that had nothing to do with her being 'beholden' to me.

Slowly, and feeling a little foolish, I asked, "And that is...?" At the woman's incredulous look, I shrugged, "I'm sorry, Ma'am, but I really have no idea what you're talking about."

A little annoyed, Mrs. Kiramman expanded on her cryptic statement, "She is young, living under your roof, and dependent on you for the well being of both herself and her sister. Given their criminal record, they exist on your forbearance."

I just stared, still not getting it.

"And," the woman noted, clearly annoyed, as if I was being willfully ignorant and difficult, "I have heard that she is not unattractive."

Then it clicked.

"Oh. Oh. I, uh, you are aware that Violetta is fifteen, correct?" I checked. At the woman's flat look, I felt myself scowling. "And you do know that'd be extraordinarily inappropriate, right?" I demanded, voice still quiet, but my anger at the thought of anyone taking advantage of Vi in that way leaking into my tone.

"There are many that would say that it is only inappropriate if one is caught," the Councilor countered mildly.

"That's not how morality works," I shot back, a sudden thought occurring, putting her previously assessing looks into a much darker light. "Ma'am, the favors I am expecting to be paid back by her are not those kinds of favors," I stated formally, "And, as age differences seem to not matter, I must say that, attractive as you may be, I will not be paying you back for your kindness in that manner."

As my own words caught up to me, I mentally winced, having been caught off guard, but instead of being offended, Mrs. Kiramman covered her mouth with her hand and broke out into loud gales of laughter, the few servants in sight all looking her way, surprised.

Caitlyn walked back up, smiling, but looking slightly confused at her mother's mirth. "I, what's going on?"

Getting a hold of herself, my patron shook her head slightly. "Jayce made a particularly amusing comment. Repeating it would ruin it however. We were talking about how he was settling into the Brentsworth estate, Caitlyn, and his choice of servants."

"Oh, yes," the girl smiled, looking my way, "Mother always says that finding the correct help is difficult, but well worth the trouble."

The nearby servants, who were all pretty blatantly eavesdropping, stood slightly straighter at that.

Mrs. Kiramman smiled at her daughter, glancing my way. "While a little unconventional, I believe he has chosen well enough. Now, you have a third rifle, Jayce?"

Once again caught a little flat footed, I rolled with the topic change, and nodded, getting up and pulling it out, this one not a bolt action, but with a modified revolver mechanism that could take the larger rounds with ease. Upon seeing it, Caitlyn practically squeed, hesitating and looking at her mother with a chagrined, "Sorry!"

"It's alright dear. No need to stand on formality when it is just us," the Councilor noted with a smile, that caused Caitlyn to hesitate, glance my way, then smile even broader than she had before, almost skipping over to me.

The blue haired girl exchanged her rifle for the revolvered one, with a sunny, "Thanks, Jayce!" taking another box of ammo, and dashing back down to the range.

"If I may," the Stateswoman requested, holding a hand out, and exchanged the loaded pistol for the scoped rifle, taking another box of ammunition herself and starting to head after her daughter. Noticing that I hadn't moved, she indicated the un-scoped one I'd put on the table, and instructed, "Do come along, Mr. Talis. I daresay you still have a great deal to learn."

Still trying to process what just happened, and still a little turned around from the conversational whiplash, I nodded numbly, flipping the safety on and stowing the pistol, grabbing my rifle and some more ammo myself, and I followed the Councilor to where her daughter was already starting to get used to her newest weapon.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

"We've checked the inscriptions?" I checked, full of nervous energy.

"Yes," Nodded Viktor, wearing large goggles, leather gloves, and a leather smock.

"Thrice?"

"Yes," my lab partner agreed.

"And you're tied down?" I specified.

"Jayce, today is my day to worry, not yours," the man reminded me, tone jokingly chiding. "We've ran the calculations, over and over, we should be fine. What could go wrong?"

I shot him an annoyed glance. "Well, now that you've said that, a lot!"

"That is not how science works, my friend," the other man smiled, "Now go take your position. We are ready."

Sighing, I nodded. "We're kinda at the edge of science, but, yeah, you're probably right."

What we were doing was beyond the reach of any of my classes, as wormhole creation, however instantaneous, was the kind of thing that was often subject to dimension-specific rules, and I wouldn't even be attempting it yet on Runeterra if I didn't know it was already possible. We'd leant heavily on my knowledge of the inner workings of magical systems to get this far in only a month and a half, but each day seemed to lead one of the two of us to figuring out something new, defining some variable a bit more, or working on the, for lack of a better word, syntax that Runeterran Runes utilized.

My first demonstration with the Mana Cannon had been the equivalent of me drunkenly slurring, 'Magic Push Spin Go!', while the Zero Gate was more clearly stated 'Charge-Begin Open-Door Float-Stabilize Area-Ready In-Enter Transfer-Jump Out-Exit!'

Or, at least, that's what we thought I'd been saying.

We very much could be completely off.

Hence, the safeties.

So now we'd added a bit more to the Hex-Matrix, giving it a destination, which was really just a few dozen feet away, but pointed so that, if we messed up by an order of magnitude, again, like we had when we'd tried to shrink the field, we'd just be dropping whatever we sent through into the forests of Noxus, or the ocean. The new spell matrix accepted the Hexite, this part of the process something we'd tested extensively, even to the point of figuring out what it took to cause a cascade detonation.

Thankfully the Academy had an explosive range specifically for making things go boom, and while a few of the staff had watched, interested, I'd chosen a time that Heimerdinger would be busy, so he could only come and chastise me afterwards, tut-tutting over the lack of 'proper safeguards', despite such things not existing because this was an entirely new branch of science. Sure enough, as we were wrapping up the Yordle did, and I defended myself by explaining my position to the extent that he was somewhat mollified, but also I made a production of taking notes over his more ridiculous requirements, so he strutted away, a happy little ball of pompous floof.

Now, though, I tried not to hold my breath as Viktor, shooting me a bemused glance, started the seven-piece activation sequence, spinning the runes in time with the formation of the 'totally-not-a-spell'. Too little time between runes and the meaning would get muddled, in ways we still didn't understand, while taking too long would cause the effects to... crystalize, preventing the mixing of the following components. If we were forming a sentence, too fast and things would get hyphenated, while too long and it'd create a period, or perhaps an exclamation point.

A question mark would perhaps create some sort of divination spell, which I had no idea how to accomplish.

Regardless, my lab-partner knew what he was doing, and input the seven rune sequence with ease, having done a half-dozen dry runs in preparation, and I watched the larger formation spin into place, defining itself with every component added, until the last one, the ending-activation-actualization rune, was set, the room bursting into light, the overpressure rattling the windows, and the spherical gate flashed into existence, exactly where it was supposed to, twenty feet away from Viktor, above him, and a little in front of his current position.

I grit my teeth, waiting for something else, some unforeseen variable to make itself known. Perhaps the air itself would start to pass through the gate, creating a suction effect that'd draw everything into it like a vortex, which was why the finished version only flashed into existence for a moment? Perhaps it'd destabilize, expanding to pick up everything nearby and tossing it through? Would the distance additions to the matrix cause the Gate's entrance to start to move forward itself, until the exit, or entrance, flew out over the ocean?

But nothing happened. In fact, I couldn't even see the exit point, making me wonder if it just hadn't worked at all. Wait, I thought, squinting through the heavy glass barrier. There was a slight distortion in the air, as far away from the gate's entrance as the exit was supposed to be, though the angle was a bit off, a few degrees down, and to the right, instead of straight across.

"Do you see the destination?" I called, the gate humming, but not too loudly.

"I. . . think so? But why is it so low? It shouldn't be," Viktor mused, frowning. "Should, should we stop the test?"

Considering it, I extrapolated out the distance in a line to see what we might hit. Not for the first time, I was glad that the Academy was built at the edge of Piltover, the upper edge as a place of privilege and prominence of course, but still the edge. "No, we might give some birds a scare, but it'll be fine. Let's go ahead. You have the first experimental sample?"

"I have the water balloon, yes," the other man smiled, flipping open the case and picking up the fluid filled bladder. Hefting it, he judged the distance and threw it into the Gate, while I waited with bated breath.

The balloon, labelled 'Voyager 1', flew through the zero-g zone with ease, striking the shining sphere, sparking with mana-lightning, before it was accelerated, pulled through the magical event horizon.

And, on the other end, an explosion of liquid erupted, directed downwards slightly, spraying the tables with a surprising amount of force, the water momentarily drumming on the steel surfaces, which were bolted to the floor.

There was a moment of relative silence, the Gate still active, before I turned to Viktor and stated, deadpan, "And that's why we didn't start with using lab mice."

"In hindsight, perhaps exposing living things to the warping of space itself was not the best of ideas," he agreed absently. Reaching into the box and lifting the ball-sized pillow, he questioned, "But, test number two?"

"Of course," I scoffed, "That was just the living viability test. We also need to see if it sets things on fire, or stains them with eldritch energy, or something. Fire when ready!"

Viktor smirked, cocking his arm back. "Firing!"

​

Finishing up the tests, we confirmed that the Gate neither heated nor cooled whatever was sent through it, and neither did it turn things odd colors, put it out of phase with reality, nor create new life from the biological matter sent through that croaked 'kill me' before we hastily set it on fire. I was pretty sure the last thing wasn't going to happen, but some of my classmates that'd specialized in magical research had shared some pretty messed up stories of projects gone wrong back in Basic.

What we did do was completely cover half of our lab in shrapnel, as anything that went in one side of the Gate came out the other side in pieces, and at speed. The copper sphere we'd sent through at the end had turned the transfer mechanism into a teleporting shotgun, which had... possibilities, but if I was leery of introducing rifling, introducing teleporting munitions was a hard no.

Thankfully, we'd figured out how to close down the Gate without just running it until the Hexite expended itself, and the extra end-dispel-death-close rune did its job, and, yes, we'd ran a test to make sure it didn't kill everything in the room when used first, Viktor slightly annoyed when I did the second test while he was standing outside the lab, but the fact that nothing so much as nudged my Defenses told me there wasn't any kind of subtle 'shave off your lifespan with every use' kind of side-effect.

Picking through the trash, I looked for indications of torsion, compression, and the like, getting a bit from some of the weaker materials, like the pencil that I'd lobbed in myself, which had exited at the correct point but with a differing angle in accordance with its entry vector, but anything that had any kind of spring to it was fine, just in about a hundred uneven and unequal pieces. It made for... confusing results, to say the least, though, picking up one of the copper pieces, I dropped it, hissing at the sudden pain, as it was insanely sharp.

"You alright?" Viktor asked, looking my way as I sucked the cut, though at least I knew it wouldn't get infected.

"Yeah, just be careful, some of these suckers bite," I called back.

"... literally?" he questioned after a moment, concerned, which... fair.

I shook my head, "No, sorry, being metaphorical, and I shouldn't be when it comes to experiments. I meant some of these bits are sharp, but I'm not sure if it's tearing or a portal cut."

"Portal cut?" the man echoed.

"Some types of magic, of the 'doorway to another place' variety, can be... dangerous when the doorways are shut," I explained absently, more carefully retrieving pieces and trying to match them together, dropping them in seperate containers. "Or even if something catches the edge of the hole in space they've created. Imagine something being sliced with an infinitely sharp blade, the subtle knife of space itself. What they leave behind is, similarly, an extraordinarily thin edge, though limited by the material its cut from, so diamond blades are thing, banana blades not so much."

That got a thoughtful look from the other man. "You think there is an issue with the entrance to the Gate? To create such a... 'Portal Cut' effect?"

"Maybe?" I offered, unsure. "Not the edge, though, or else there'd be a larger, intact bit. So, maybe the issues inside the gate, or it just got torn up by the trip and is extremely ragged. A true portal cut would've seen this thing sliced with a smoothness that'd be hard to match with our current tools, or so the accounts say. But, if it were just one thing that was wrong, someone would've figured it out long before us."

"I think we're a little beyond where most people have gotten, Jayce," the ex-Zaunite remarked with a smile.

I laughed, "True, true. But you know what I mean. Single-factor problems are as easy to handle as they are rare in real life." Looking over the mess, I sighed. "You know what would make this easier?"

"Turning the Zero Gate on to make it all float?" Viktor suggested.

"No, well, yes," I smiled, the other man matching mine with one of his own. "No, we need an assistant."

The other man snorted, waving a hand towards the door. "Just go outside. I'm sure there's plenty of Academy students that'd be more than happy to learn what you've taught me, Jayce, and to learn what we've discovered since. But I was under the impression that you wanted to be a little more, shall we say, tight lipped about such things. Hold it closer to the chest, as it were?"

Shaking my head, I countered, "No, not one of them. No, what we need is someone that we can trust. Both with Hextech, and around it."

"... You have someone in mind," Viktor remarked, sounding like he wanted to be surprised, but wasn't.

"I have someone in mind," I admitted easily. "A foreign contact." I smiled a little, "You might like her."

"Her?" the other man questioned, intrigued. "And you think we can trust this... foreign contact of yours?"

My smile broadened. "I already do. I think you'll find her... surprisingly insightful."

​

"Alright, so the whosiwhatsit connects the whirligig, and that makes the doohickey get ready to go off when you press the button!" my instructor explained.

I stared at the drawing, parsing the colorful, almost jagged looking blueprints, done as they were with the multi-hued pen set I'd gotten her. At first they looked random, but, following its flow, the shifts in color matched up with the differing properties of chemtech being utilized in each step, blue for force, pink for heat, green for light. The orange bits were purely decorative, however, or, they probably were, given they were little versions of Vi and myself going 'wow!'.

"This would be a definite improvement to our current firing range," I agreed, remembering the setup from the show. "Have you built something like this before?"

"Worked on it," Piper replied, grinning. "Used to use it a lot with Vi and... and the others," she trailed off, frowning, before shaking her head. "They, they were better at hitting things than fixing them, so I had to."

"They were naturally better at hitting things than fixing them, but everyone can learn, if they're willing to," I replied absently, still studying the diagram. "Just look at our training sessions with Violetta."

That got a giggle out of the small girl, "Yeah. And, uh, thanks." I lifted an eyebrow, glancing her way, not sure what she meant. "For getting Vi to teach me! And for doing it too. She, she tried, before, but..."

"Your sister's got a natural talent when it comes to combat, which, ironically, makes teaching difficult," I explained easily, having come across this problem a lot before, and on both sides of the issue. "Same reason you had trouble explaining your inventions to her."

Piper frowned, opening her mouth to deny my statement, but paused, glancing to the side, then back to me, asking with careful pronunciation, "What do you mean, Jayce?"

"You've seen Vi's lessons," I replied deadpan, but with a slight smile to show her there was no condemnation in my words. "She repeats the same five or six pieces of advice, makes us run drills, and then beats the stuffing out of me. That's pretty much it." Which was, by dint of the difference in our abilities, enough for Martial Talent to kick in and start teaching me instead of her, skimming off the brawler's skills to add to my own. "Now compare them to the lessons I give you on other days, the ones where Violetta's decided she needs some time to herself, teaching you the same thing your sister technically is, where I go out of my way to show you how footwork, using body mechanics in regard to angling attacks, and how to use that knowledge to generate power all work. Now realize that we're both trying to teach you the same thing," I stated, slowly, for emphasis.

"But, but they're completely different!" the inventive girl disagreed. "Your lessons are way better than Vi's stupid drills!"

And this is why we're having this conversation away from your sister, I thought, instead asking, "How did Vander teach you?"

Piper hesitated, frowning, then hung her head, admitting, "By having us do drills. But, your lesson-" she cut herself off, before biting her lip and then going forward with what she clearly wanted to say. "Yours are still better."

"Mine are more accessible," I stated. "For some, that makes them better. For others, it could actually be a hindrance, if I don't do it correctly. The way I teach, it eliminates the discovery process. If this were a different sort of place, I'd say it 'incites bottlenecks' but we're not cultivators, so that doesn't have the same cultural weight."

I leaned back on the couch, and considered how to phrase things, patting the seat next to me. Piper, looking thoughtful, jumped up and took a seat, folding her legs under her, talking slowly, figuring out her statement word by word, "I'll learn... but I won't learn... to learn?"

Freezing for a moment, I processed that, then laughed, smiling as I nodded. Powder looked worried, then relaxed a little, laughing a bit herself, but clearly still confused.

"That's exactly it," I told her patting her on the head, which got a more genuine smile from the tween. "The way I'm teaching you is the way to get someone up to a certain level of skill quickly, but then there can be all sort of problems if I teach you things that are wrong, or, more likely, work for me but don't work for you, because we've got different bodies, and different general approaches to things. I tend to analyze, respond to attacks, and act decisively to end fights with precise strikes, while you have a greater tendency to charge into a situation before others can move first, react to their reactions to you doing so, and play off the chaos you make to continue keeping people off guard until you can hit them with overwhelming force. Both are perfectly valid, but, after a certain point, if we tried to copy each others styles but not the underlying mindset, it wouldn't work. And you, having only learned to do what I tell you to do, will have problems figuring out for yourself what works for you, and what doesn't."

Piper frowned, bit her lip again, and looked up at me, clearly wanting to say something, but not doing so. I waited, giving her the most encouraging look I could, and she finally argued, "But, what you're doing does work, Jayce. All of it! And I could change!"

"You don't need to change," I smiled, patting her on the head again, "And even if you approached things the exact same way I do, we're still piloting around two completely different meat-suits, yours, when you grow up, and assuming we both train, just as good as mine." The smile I got from her that time was disbelieving, but still encouraged, and I counted that as a win. "As for what I'm doing right now? As far as it being correct?"

"Probably," I agreed, after a moment of thought, which just confused the girl all over again. "But I'm not a master of hand-to-hand combat. Or combat in general. You just need to look at the fact that your sister kicks my ass every time we spar for that. I don't know what even works for me the best, so, especially once we get past the basics, I might make a mistake with your training and never even know."

"And Vi?" the blue-haired girl asked. "What's wrong with her training? Because, trust me, it ain't working," she stated, tone surprisingly caustic.

"Vi has the opposite problem my teaching might present," I told her, not remarking on the girl's rapid shift in mood, "compounded by the fact that, well, she's not terribly introspective, so she doesn't put the same level of thought into things that I do."

Piper bit out a laugh. "You can say that again."

Nodding, I started to repeat myself, with the exact same tonality and cadence. "Vi has the opposite problem my teaching might present, compounded by-"

"Jayce," the small girl groaned, rolling her eyes.

Smiling at my unrepentant Dad joke, I told her, "I'm just doing what you asked, Piper. But, yeah, opposite problem. By putting you into combat scenarios, you'll develop your own habits, techniques, and the like. Ones that are suited to your own bodily mechanics instead of someone else's. For instance, you and your sister have different builds. She's stockier, and thus more suited to upper-body techniques like punching. You, meanwhile, have a slighter build, so more acrobatic techniques might suit you more. Kicks and full body strikes, instead of short jabs and heavy crosses. However, that's when done well."

The blue-haired tween considered that. "And Vi... isn't?" I said nothing, giving her a look that, I hoped, said 'Yes, but why?' She seemed to get what I meant, brows knitting as she gave it some more thought. "You said... you said 'combat scenarios'. But, I'm not in any combat scenarios, am I?"

Smiling, I tapped Piper on the nose as I said, "Exactly," getting a pleased giggle from the girl who playfully pushed my hand away. "Vi's good for her age, but she's not a master, not yet, and she's not a trainer, which is a different skill set. But that doesn't mean I'm not learning anything from her. Just that a good deal of what I'm learning from her I'm doing so while knowing the problems inherent in her training, so I can account for them a little. There's also the issue that, if you're left to learn for yourself, you can make mistakes since no one's guiding you, or hyper-specialize to handle the couple types of combat scenarios you end up in. Tell me, does Violetta fight like Vander?"

The girl nodded emphatically, then her eyes widened as she gasped. "Wait, so, she's not fighting like she should, she's fighting like Vander did!"

"Probably," I warned. "I never saw your father fight, Piper, so I can't tell how much of her style is her, and how much is her copying her father. And some of what she's copied likely works for her really well. She's got a more masculine build, and I don't mean that as an insult, so it reflects in her style. And, being a man with a masculine build, though not as much as what Vander had, her style is likely to work fairly well for me."

Smiling, I told the blue-haired girl, "When I can get us a better trainer, he'll be able to help her get even better herself, able to tell what parts of her style work for her, and what bits are borrowed from other people and don't function that well, it's just that she's always been the better fighter to make up for it. And they'll be able to tell what moves are situation dependent and what situations are the appropriate ones to use them in, and which ones are not. He, or she, will also be able to help out both of us as well, but we both need to be at a certain minimum level of physical ability, which we currently aren't, and a minimum level of skill, which neither of us have, to take advantage of that kind of trainer. So, Vi handles the physical exercises, to get our bodies up to snuff, while I get you up to speed with technique, but know that you need to check what I say, because I can be wrong, just like everyone else."

Piper nodded, thinking what I said over, then nodded again, looking up and asking warily, "and me?"

"Yeah, you can be wrong about stuff too," I slowly replied, unsure, thinking that part obvious.

"No," she shook her head. "What's wrong with how I try and do things?"

I blinked, taking a moment to rewind the conversation until I understood what she meant. "Oh, that's a lot easier to explain, because it's something I've studied a lot more." Reaching out to the blueprint the tiny tinkerer had put together, I asked, "This here, with the different colors, it shows how the chemtech's used in different ways, right?"

"Yeah! And it looks cool!" the small girl chirped, proud. "There's nothing wrong with it!"

"Piper," I sighed, just a little chidingly, "the issue is that you didn't write anywhere that that's what the colors meant, nor did you label anything. I'm pretty sure the 'whosiwhatsit' is a kinetic converter, the 'whirligig' is the chemfluid circulation system, but an energized one, and the 'doohickey' is a kind of trigger spring, only with chemical energy instead of mechanical. That close?"

The blue-haired girl frowned, "Uh, is a kinetic converter what it sounds like?"

"If it sounds like it's a device that energizes chemfluid in the way that excites it to make it boil, but slower than you'd use for a chemtech bomb, then yes," I clarified.

"Oh. Then. Yeah. Duh?" she said haltingly, though it was phrased as a question.

I shook my head, "No, not duh. It's as obvious to you as proper footwork is to your sister."

"But, but you're good at both," Piper said, frowning. "I thought different people were good at different things." As soon as the words left her mouth, here eyes widened. "I'm not saying you're lying, or that yo-"

"I'm okay at both," I disagreed, cutting her off with an upraised hand and a soft smile. "I'm older than either of you, and I've had a lot of training, more than the two of you combined."

"Is that where you learned about the different ways to learn how to fight?" the girl questioned, interested.

Smiling ruefully at the memory, I nodded. "Yep. By two Gods of War. Kratos was kind of intense, but Futsunushi was much calmer. Though that's not saying much. Very different approaches, those two, is what I'm getting at, one was like your sister, and one was like me, but way better, obviously."

Then again, given that almost all of us were going to be resleeved into different bodies after we passed Basic, most of which would either have their own combat training to call upon or be in a position to learn locally, we didn't train how to fight the way I was now in those classes. No, it was tactics that were drilled into us, along with modes of thought, how to psychologically deal with the realities of combat of all types, and, of course, that we should really, really buy Martial Talent, because we were incredibly far behind compared to most of the foes we'd likely face.

The tiny tinker shot me a skeptical look. "Jayce... if you were taught by gods, why is Vi still kickin' your ass? Wow, you must've really sucked."

I laughed at the girl's unintentional back-handed compliment on my 'progress' thus far, "No, I'm just not as good as your sister is in her specialty. I only trained with those two for a few hours a day for a couple months, but they didn't teach me how to fight, Piper, they taught me how to kill. Those two things aren't the same, not really. If we both fought, fully geared, in the ways we both prefer, I wouldn't lose, but I wouldn't do that to her. Or to you." After all, while the white-haired brawler could likely dodge my blade, she couldn't dodge my bullets. At least not with how she was now.

Once she'd gotten better, with how League Champions could fight, on par with RWBY Hunters and Halo Spartans, there very well could be some Jedi-esque precog that let the fantasy version of an angry hoodrat punch gods in the face and not be instantly taken out by her crazy sister's minigun.

But the latter was something that wouldn't happen now, and the former, hopefully, wouldn't happen for a long time.

Breaking myself out of the 'what ifs', I refocused on our conversation. "It's like how you know Chemtech, and are better at me when it comes to working with it, but I'm better with Hextech, though you're doing very well," I smiled, Piper perking up and preening a little at the praise. "If I need to eliminate someone, I'm... okay, but if someone starts to fight me, I've got two options: Take it, or kill them. Learning from your sister, however, gives me a third option, that being 'hold them off until they back down, or go down', which will really help me going forward, which is one of the reasons I'm willing to go through the torture she calls training."

"And if she's training you, she's also training me," Piper sighed, conflicted.

I nodded, "That's the third reason."

"Third?" she questioned, cocking her head. "What's the second?"

Summoning my phone, I checked, finding the teen in question outside, doing some stretches, getting ready for the very training we were talking about. Good, I thought, as her hearing about this would blunt its effects. "Don't tell her, but training me is also helping her," I quietly stated. "You understand that I'm helping because it's the right thing to do, but Violetta? She doesn't believe me."

Piper started to object, but I held up a hand, and she remained silent. "It doesn't matter if she's right or wrong, your sister's a very 'actions speak louder than words' kind of person. That's not necessarily a bad thing, but that means words alone aren't enough. She now has something to do, something that she can look at as the reason to keep you both around, so it makes her feel more comfortable, more in control. Now, if she's being an unmitigated asshole, I'm not gonna just roll over and take it because of what she went through, nor would that really help, I don't think, but I can work with her this way, and she's not wrong in that she is helping me, she's just incorrect that I'd kick her to the curb if she couldn't do anything for me right away."

With that perspective, what I was doing could be seen as the cold calculus that the Company thrived on, investing in them now to reap the rewards later, but just because I was ultimately going to profit from Piper's genius and Violetta's strength did not make my desire to help them any less, it just meant that it wasn't completely altruistic, but, realistically, there were far easier ways of getting what I wanted, and I was willing to accept the extra difficulty to satisfy my own morality, however twisted by my circumstances and the compromises my cloned ass had already made thus far.

And, well... the Company had angels on their payroll, un-Stamped ones. Yes, they were an evil multiversal sex slavery corporation, but a large number of the 'forces of good' were distressingly willing to look the other way as long as the Company kept its vices out of their local multiversal cluster. Hell, from what I heard they were a sizeable percentage of Class E's staff, bringing Holy Retribution on any Agent dumb enough to violate their contract and try and get away with it, to the level that it was officially noticed.

More immediately, Piper was staring at me, expression complex. "You're letting her hurt you just to help her? That doesn't sound right," she argued.

"I'm letting her train me, getting hurt sparring with her to get me better at non-lethal combat, to make sure you get trained to fight too, to motivate myself to do what's needed to get stronger when I'd naturally focus more on invention because training sucks, and to help your sister deal with her trauma," I pointed out. "Because, trust me, if it was just me here, I wouldn't be working out a tenth as hard as I am nowadays. Give me a mental task and I just don't quit, but repetitive exercises suck, even if I understand exactly why I need to do them, even when I start seeing gains within the week. Vi gives me the kick in the ass I need. Sometimes literally," I smiled, getting a matching smile from the other girl, though hers had other aspects to it, too hidden and shifting for me to pin down.

Glancing at my phone, I saw my white-haired torturer was on her way. "Trust me, I almost never have a single reason for anything that I do, Piper, but that doesn't make the reasons any less important."

"Hey, Jayce!" Violetta called, looking around, "You nerds can stare at paper later! Get your lazy butt in gear, it's time!"

Calling back, I put a bit of worry in my tone, "Oh, uh, already? Are you sure?" I gave Piper an exaggerated wink, and she covered her mouth, stifling her giggles.

The brawler turned my way, still several rooms away, smirking as she yelled, "I am, now come out or I'll get Powder to drag you out. Maybe this time you'll finally outrun her!"

"See, I need it, you can use it, and, in her own way, she needs it too," I whispered, getting a smiling nod from the blue-haired girl as I stood, making my way towards Violetta, dreading the experience, but knowing I'd be better off for it, and really glad that Body Defense meant I wouldn't have to worry about backsliding in terms of strength if I decided to take a break for a week, month, year, or century.

Was it kind of cheating?

Yes.

Did I care?

Nope!

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Babette had been on edge the entire day, not that it showed on her face.

Not anymore.

A month and a day ago, she would've called anyone who'd suggested what'd happened to her crazy.

A month ago she still would've said it, but she would've doubted.

Now...

A knock on the door to her office made her jump, the two-two-three pattern telling it her it was who she'd been expecting. "Come in, Jayce!" she called, voice melodic and alluring, doing her best to look like she hadn't been waiting for him all day. He'd said he'd be back in a month, and something about him had told her that he'd meant that exactly.

Charlie opened the door, shooting her a wink that wasn't subtle in the slightest, and let in...

What happened to you, Kid?

It was Jayce Talis, or rather the new Jayce Talis she'd met with, but, once again, he was different.

He had muscles.

Well, he'd had them before, but now there was a subtle power to his steps that, in a way, reminded her a little of Vander. The young man had always been in good shape for an academy student, and had been moving differently recently, but now his steps were more balanced, more ready without seeming like he was really expecting a scrap.

Somehow, even with people watching him, the Kid had gotten experience fighting, not just killing, and a lot of it.

He was dressed in Pilty fashion that was muted enough that it let him not stick out too bad in The Lanes, but paused as he, in turn, saw her, blinking in surprise. "Holy shit," the boy swore. "Babette you're..."

Despite herself she started to preen a little.

"Adorable!" Jayce laughed, and she winced.

Pouting sexily, the Yordle leaned forward, subtly bringing her arms together to make her not insignificant bust jiggle, her girls, if anything, bigger than they were when she was young the first time. "You're saying you don't want to take me for a ride?" she questioned coquettishly.

Shaking his head, the boy sat down on the other side of her desk, Charlie shooting her a questioning look from the mostly-closed door and she waved her adopted son off. "Babette," the Kid said, voice full of mirth, "You look like I'd break you in half. And yeah, Yordle physiology means you'd be fine, even though my dick's about a third the length of your entire body, but... no. At least not for a while. Nothing against you," he said, holding up a hand, as she looked at him crossly, "But I prefer my sexual partners to be at least half my height. Maybe in a decade, or a century, but for now, no, though I'm sure you've had an uptick of... satisfied customers."

"You can say that again," she remarked, smirking. The Yordle had to admit, it'd been downright hilarious to see the looks on some of her John's faces when they realized the 'new talent' wasn't new at all, and you could practically see them trying to reconcile this her with the old her.

A couple had even gotten violent, but she'd taken them down, and Charlie threw them out, after they were charged a 'disorderly conduct' fee from whatever they had on them, of course.

"I'm sure you've had an uptick of... satisfied customers," Jayce repeated, exactly, same intonation and everything, and she shot the young man an annoyed look, which just caused him to laugh again. "Sorry, it was right there," he offered, and again, Babette was taken aback, the man before her acting in a way that just didn't track once more.

Which was as worrying as it was intriguing.

Babette had lived for well over a millennia, closer to two, and in that time she'd seen people of all sorts. Good men, bad men, righteous ones who thought of themselves as villains because they weren't perfect, and blackguards who thought of themselves as heroes because they claimed their noble ends were worth the darkest of deeds they committed to get there. Dull men, bright men, cunning men, and there was a difference between those last two, and everything in between. She'd met killers that cut lives short like they were removing loose threads, beasts barely clad in civilized skins, and self-elected leaders who would sacrifice everything for the greater good, though the greater good of who was always the question. She'd met men who bound themselves so tightly they physically could not do what they considered evil, and men who were bound by nothing but their own whims.

But, for the life of her, she couldn't figure out Jayce Talis.

And she needed to.

Because he'd been so honest with his deal, it'd taken her weeks to realize he'd left out some important details, but she couldn't figure out if he'd done so on purpose. Possibly because he didn't see it as important, or possibly because even he didn't know, and she knew she was making excuses for him, but found it hard to care, which, was, in the end, the problem.

Frowning, she removed her glove, and summoned the Stamp to her marked, yet otherwise unblemished, hand, the bit of solidified evil comfortable in a way that scared her, and she felt it, just as he'd warned, the desire to go out and press it to the skin of every one of her girls. It'd make them young forever. It'd mean they could never be drugged, or sick. It'd heal them. And it was only Jayce's own words, along with that new, greater, unexpected need that let her ignore the lesser one.

"Copper for your thoughts?" Jayce asked, and, damn him, she could hear the concern in his voice, as she realized she'd gotten lost in her own head.

And some fucked up part of her, some part of her that she knew wasn't natural, wanted to love him for that.

"You left some things out," she stated dryly, looking up, watching his expression carefully.

And was again confused.

His mirth, and his concern, didn't drop like they would like they were if they were the mask she feared they were, as he looked back at her, calm, yet still with some levity, and stated, "You're going to have to be more specific, Babette." There was no maliciousness in his words, but neither was there apathy. If she had to guess, he had an idea of what she was referring to, but wouldn't tell her unless she asked him directly. If she knew what questions to ask, he'd be honest, but unless she figured out the right questions, she was shit out of luck.

Or... was she?

"The Stamp does more than you said it does," she stated flatly, trying the tactic she assumed wouldn't work, curious to see if it would, and he smiled, but... it wasn't the smile of cruel victory she'd seen on some rulers of the Lanes, when they had you trapped, and knew it. There were a number of things going on there, bits of sadness, amusement, relief, and... pride? But not in himself.

"That it does," he nodded, tone light, but eyes sharp as he studied her as much as she studied him. "Would you like to know just what it does? Remember, you're not to use it," the young man warned, voice becoming something more for a moment.

The Yordle sighed, opening a drawer and pulling out a cigarette, lighting up and taking a long drag. "Kid, I'm gonna be honest. I feel like I'm going nuts," she stated, showing a vulnerability which she probably shouldn't, especially as she really didn't know the Kid that well.

He laughed at that, which made her frown, but... it wasn't the right, or wrong, kind of laugh. "So, first of all, that's now physically impossible," he stated with utter certainty.

"What?" she questioned, confused.

"Your mind is now defended. Mind control only works if you want it to, and, while you can feel down, or afraid, or confused," he told her, waving her way, "It'll never be to the point of inaction, self-harm, or going truly berserk. The Stamp makes you capable, and keeps you that way. That means your mind, your body, your soul, and your destiny are now all inviolate to outside forces. Because, as far as the world is concerned, they all belong to me, and I'm not one for sharing."

The Yordle froze. "You, you own my soul?" she demanded, paling. Oh this was such a terrible, terrible idea and she'd been so stupid once agai-

"As far as the rest of the world is concerned, yes," Talis answered, still smiling like he wasn't a monster worse than any mage.

Wait.

"But, do you?" she insisted.

He held out a hand, wiggling it. "Technically yes, functionally no. If you die, you'll go wherever Yordles go when they die. There's a connection between us, yes, but as far as I'm concerned it's really just a 'hands off' thing for, say, the Shadow Isles. Or demons. Or spirit mages. Or, you know, The Void."

"The Void?" she echoed, disbelievingly. "Honey, you aren't the first one to believe that."

"Shurima?" he questioned, and she nodded. "Were you around for that?"

"Only what came after," she sighed, frowning, not having meant to say that, but the Kid hadn't done... whatever it was that could make her talk. It just felt... right to tell him. And she'd ask, but first-

The boy looked at her, then through her, and nodded. "And you were young, so didn't help, until it was too late. That's why you stuck around when it happened again." He smiled fondly, "I'm glad I made you the offer, Babette. But don't worry, I don't make those claims mildly. Tentacles more made of screaming mouths than anything else can still rip us to shreds, they just can't poison our souls with the lightest touch of their blood, nor pull our spirits free of our mortal forms with teeth that bite more than flesh. The mere sight of things that should not be will not shatter our minds, nor will it warp our forms, and those that play the strings of fate like finely tuned instruments will cut themselves trying to strum ours. But, Babette, be honest, if I told you this before, you would have thought me mad."

And that was the other problem.

Sometimes the boy acted his age, and sometimes he sounded old. Almost as old as she was. She didn't think he was lying about having only spent a few years somewhere else, somewhere he didn't grow older, like she wouldn't anymore, but what had happened in those years she didn't know.

In some ways he reminded her of the Sunborn she'd met, what felt like lifetimes ago, the ones who weren't corrupted into Darkin, and then, a second later, he'd be a young man once again. Sometimes she'd be reminded of the survivors of the Rune Wars, those that'd seen too much, but kept going.

Like her.

But, he'd given her the answer, hadn't he?

"You have these protections too, hun?" she questioned gently.

"Of course," he replied easily. "And Talents that I, unfortunately, cannot share."

She ignored the second half of the statement, not sure if it was a distraction, and asked her follow up question. "And you saw some things while you were away, didn't you?"

And, like that, his good-natured smile died. Naturally, not like a mask, as the boy frowned, looking away, for once sounding just as young as he actually was. "Yeah. Yeah, you could say that." Glancing up at her, he lifted a single eyebrow, and asked, "Have you ever seen a world die, Babette? Watched as billions withered, their lives eaten piecemeal by a void that is as cold and desolate as the one here is feverish and active, unable to truly help, only powerful enough to do what you needed to in order to fulfill your task, and be allowed to escape?"

"Can't say I have," she answered helplessly, out of her depth, but not backing down. "But I've seen other things like that, and done what I could. Even if it wasn't enough."

It was odd, but, thinking back on those times, she found the pain was... less. Still there, the horrors she'd seen she would always remember, and, in some ways, her recollections were clearer now than they were before, but those memories didn't have the teeth they used to.

Another piece of the puzzle that was Jayce Talis fell into place, but there was still so much missing.

"Then you're a better person than I," the young man smiled ruefully. "And the best part? I could've done it. Could've saved them all if I'd taken a crazy chance. One that was more likely to get everyone killed than let me save my comrades. But I didn't, and innocents died, so here I am."

"Is, is Runeterra...?" she started to ask, the thought too terrible to voice.

But Jayce just snorted. "No, you're fine." And the fact that he said you're and not we're spoke volumes. "No, but that's why I want to help. Along with it, you know, being the right thing to do," he added, rolling his eyes, before taking a deep breath, sitting up, and letting it out, once more smiling, with just enough tinges of melancholy that either it was honest, or he was a really good liar, and Babette couldn't tell which one it was.

"So, the Stamp, full defensive setup, eternal youth, and a one-time tune-up to your optimal form, hence," he glanced at her now uncovered, unscarred hand, the mark on her visible. At the center was the rune-inscribed circle, but radiating outwards was an interweaving pattern for several inches in a ring of art. Elements of the horrors she'd seen were intertwined with some of her proudest moments in the reconstruction, the details packed so tight she was still finding new bits, lines overlapping that brought up different images with each viewing.

"Why hasn't anyone noticed?" the Yordle questioned after a moment, lifting her hand. "My girls know art, but this? This is a masterwork. One that'd take... days, weeks, months even. They should be asking where I got it. Should be asking how I got it. But everyone acts like I've always had it."

Jayce shrugged, though he was studying the design, and she held it steady for him to see clearly. "Perception filter," he finally stated. "A sufficiently insightful godling could notice, but only if they'd seen you before. And it's a masterwork because you are," he commented, glancing up to meet her eyes, and she blinked, the flattery unexpected, stated like it was simply truth, and all the more impactful for it.

"Your life, not your body," he added, as she stared at him, now trying not to blush like a maiden of two-hundred, mistaking her reaction for confusion. "The base of the Stamp is mine, declaring my 'ownership' of you to reality itself, but the rest is a representation of you, who you are, and your identity the same way the core is a vastly simplified expression of myself, but yours is given room to spread out. It's a snapshot of your soul, in a way, what you do after this point not showing up, though if you want to expand it with the same veracity, I might be in a position to call in a favor from her in a century or two. Acat will probably get a kick out of seeing a design like yours, but that alone won't be enough to get her to help update it."

"So others you've Stamped aren't as..." Babette said, waving her inked hand.

"There aren't any others, at least not now," Jayce replied mildly. "Though, eventually, yes, unless they have a history as complex as yours, they won't."

That couldn't be true. "Who turned you down?" she questioned. Maybe she could talk them around-

"No one, yet," he replied easily, which couldn't be true, but...

"You came to me first?" she checked, and he nodded. "Not that I'm not flattered, Kid, but why?"

"Because you're useful," Jayce shrugged. "Because you were the most likely to say yes." He paused, then added softly, "Because, in a future that will never be, you didn't have the power to fight evil yourself, but you helped those that did."

She stared at the impossible man, before pinching the bridge of her nose, muttering in the language only known to her kind, "&Oh, this is one of those tales, isn't it?&"

To her shock, and she really should stop being surprised, Jayce shook his head, responding in perfect Yordle, the sounds of nature slipping from his lips as easy as the common tongue of the land, "&Don't worry, it was a vision of the future, no time travel involved. Even I know not to mess with that stuff.&"

"&You speak Yordle?&" she questioned, kicking herself for asking, because obviously he did.

"&In a way. I speak& Sylvan," he stated, switching on the last word. "Language of nature spirits, and the Fey."

Babette looked at the Human skeptically. "Fae speak Yordle, not the other way 'round."

Jayce winced, but looked thoughtful. "Do the terms 'Summer Court' or 'Winter Court' mean anything to you?"

The woman scoured her memory, finally shaking her head. "Can't say that it does, honey. What are they?"

"Fae to you are little things, kinda dumb, flit about?" he asked instead, and she nodded slowly. "Cool. Imagine them as demigods, bound by arcane rules, and complete assholes about it. Shouldn't be an issue, but if you ever see me meeting an impossibly beautiful, slender being with pointed ears and an ethereal presence, you speak Sylvan. Doubly so if they're incredibly pale, and their very presence causes an unnatural stillness around themselves. Just. . . trust me on this," he stressed.

"I will, you don't need to worry 'bout that. They that bad?" she asked gently.

"YES," he growled, a rage that she hadn't seen before flicking across his features, but gone in an instant. There was so clearly a story there even Isla would've been able to tell, and that girl had four thoughts a day, on average.

"Then I'll be careful," Babette promised, the boy relaxing a tad. Dragging the conversation back, the Yordle prodded him, asking, "Is there anything else the Stamp does?"

Jayce paused, thinking. "Well, it makes you more likely to find me attractive, but that wasn't an issue before, given how we met. It makes you more amenable to similar relationships with other Stamped, but, again, it's an inclination, not any kind of guarantee." He paused, and she stared at him, waiting, the man smirking slightly. "Or do you mean the enforcement mechanism?"

"Yes. That," she replied flatly, but found herself looking away, almost embarrassed, when she should be furious. "I... I need to help you."

"Close," he disagreed, and she opened her mouth to tell him he couldn't tell her what she was feeling, but his next statement stopped her. "It ensures loyalty."

Glancing down at the Stamp on the table, then her tattooed hand, a terrible thought occurred to her. "Oh lord, It's a slave-mark."

"Little bit of yes, whole lot of no," Jayce replied easily. "It was, originally. Now it's something less, yet something more. As long as you have willpower, and you do, Babette, you could tell me to pound sand if what I ask of you is truly not something you want to do. You could try and stop me, if you thought that I needed to be stopped for my own good. You could even kill me, if certain conditions were met, and you thought that I'd fallen far enough that you were doing me a mercy, putting this mad dog out of his misery."

Reaching over, he picked up the Stamp, playing with it, rolling it between his fingers with practiced ease. "You would not believe the number of idiots who think 'loyalty' means 'eternal agreement and obsequiousness', or that the ability to give absolute orders means they can easily create a cage with blanket conditions instead of creating conflicts that allows their bound to act as they wish, with the commands they've been forced to carry out either engendering hatred or driving them insane."

"I would," she disagreed, and the fact that she could lifted a weight from her shoulders she hadn't known she'd been carrying. "Rune Wars, remember Kid?"

He nodded to her, "Point. So, if you feel the need to help, that's just how you are with people you're loyal to. But, imagine. What would you say if I informed you that I was going to do something horrible, like walk out of here and kill all of your employees, one by one, while you had to sit here, and listen?"

Even the thought of it stirred something in her, something unpleasant, but also something distantly familiar. "&You'd try, boy!&" she snarled in her native tongue, then blinked, realizing that, yes, she would do her damndest to kill the man in front of her if he tried. Also that whatever he'd done to her had un-blunted her emotions.

She'd gotten soft in her old age.

Weak.

Worn.

But now? Now she wouldn't sit back. She wouldn't cut her losses. No, Babette would act, just as she had before.

Oh, to be young again.

Her hand throbbed at the idea, and she felt the Stamp try to dissuade her, but that was her family out there and, while she couldn't do much for most in the Lanes, she'd killed before to protect them, by the hundreds, and she'd do it again if she needed to. She looked up at him, expecting him to meet her challenge with one of his own, to remind her of her place, to tell her how weak she was, but instead he was... smiling, looking just as relieved as she was. "You didn't know," she whispered.

"I'd hoped," he offered. "And, if we're being honest, another reason for why I asked you first? You were a test case, to see if I'd been lied to. Fun fact, the Fey? &They lie, and lie, and LIE, without ever speaking a single falsehood.&"

The Yordle cast her mind back to their last conversation. "You said there were older examples of that," she stated, pointing to the Stamp in his hands. "And you were told how one example worked, the newer one, but didn't know if the one you're holding was the one you were told about."

"Exactly," Jayce sighed, relaxing into his chair, more than he had before. "I might still be wrong, Babette. The Stamp might stop you at the last moment but... short of that kind of destructive testing, I can't know, and I won't abuse someone's loyalty like that. Even if it's artificial." He laughed, and it was a tired one, pained, "Hell, the only reason I'm telling you half of this is that I needed to see if I could, or if there were controls put on me as well."

"And if you were wrong?" she prodded, but she had a feeling she knew what the answer was.

"Then I'd feel bad for effectively killing you, overwriting who you were with who the Stamp made you into, and be more careful in the future," he offered simply. "Probably do my best to make sure you still took good care of the people here, not sacrificing them to help me, but I'd keep going, and only make the offer to people who I wanted to remove from this world."

And there was another part of the puzzle, one that made his claims, outlandish as they were, believable. She'd seen what Blood and Spirit Mages could do to a person. How what was left, while it looked like them, even sounded like them, wasn't them anymore. And if Jayce Talis had done that to her, he would've just learned from it, made sure not to do it to anyone else he didn't think deserved it, and moved on.

Something that would've been unthinkable from what little she knew of the Kid before his 'trip'.

An awkward silence stretched between them, which she broke, motioning to his body, commenting, "You've been working out."

"That obvious?" Jayce frowned, glancing down at himself.

Babette shrugged, taking another drag off her cigarette. "I'm a bit of expert when it comes to the physical form," she smiled seductively, more out of habit than anything. "And you've clearly been putting in the work. Think your trainer would mind showing my girls a thing or two?"

The look he gave her was measuring, intense, searching. "This isn't a Favor, but can I trust you to keep this a secret?"

The look the Yordle gave him back was drier than Shimura. "You're asking that now?"

"You tell anyone else what I've told you, they'll think you're insane," he dismissed, and she had to admit, he was right. "This is closer to normal, and could easily get people killed. People who don't deserve it," he added as an afterthought. "This is something that you might think, 'Oh, it's okay if I just tell this one person', but it won't stop there. Prostitutes hear a lot, but they're also known for talking a lot," the Kid stated, pinning her with an intense stare. "After all, that's why I came to you."

He's not worried for himself, Babette realized, and nodded. "I promise, Ki- Jayce. But what's so important?"

He rose from his chair, and ordered her, "Tell the guy standing outside that you're not to be disturbed, and do whatever you need to do to make sure we're not overheard, so he doesn't notice voices that aren't either of ours."

Babette nodded, confused, then bit back a gasp as the Kid turned, a blue portal opened in the air, and he stepped through it without hesitation. That's how he understood Bandle City so easily, she realized, the gateway looking nothing like the ones leading back to her childhood home.

Getting up from her desk, she moved to her door and opened it a crack. "Give us some privacy, won't you, hun? He's a little shy," she smiled to Charlie, who, yes, was just outside the door, where he could hear a shout and come to the rescue, though she wasn't sure how the Kid had known that.

Her adopted son just gave her a knowing, salacious grin. "Told you he couldn't resist you, Babbette. Have fun," he told her, heading down the hall for the front door.

Rolling her eye at her boy's antics, she closed the door, and locked it, glancing at the portal, unsure. Something about it unsettled her a little, the energy of the room swirling around it oddly. Not for the first time, the Yordle wished she'd spent a bit more time studying magic, even having seen how it could turn out. Being a Mage did things to Yordles, things none of them really understood, so she'd given it a wide berth, especially after the Rune Wars.

Sitting at her desk, Babette waited several long minutes, before Jayce leaned out of the portal, and, once more wearing a mischievous, boyish grin, gave her a questioning look. She nodded, and he disappeared, stepping out a moment later, followed by...

No.

They were dressed like Pilties, had their hair cut, and colored, but she'd recognize those two anywhere.

"May I present my wards, Piper and Violetta Vandottir, from Freljord," he announced, smug, as Vander's girls looked at her nervously, like they weren't sure what to say.

The words slipped out without really meaning to, as she pointed out, "Freljordians don't have last names."

Jayce smiled, "Yeah, you know that, but most Piltoverians don't, and it makes things easier."

"Uh, who're you?" Violet questioned in that aggressive way of hers, while Powder glanced around, her eyes going wide.

"No way!" the smaller girl asked, looking to the Yordle with wonder, "Babette?"

"Where?" her sister asked, glancing around, before looking Babette's way, then turning on the Kid. "I... Jayce, what'd you do?"

Slowly getting out of her seat, and walking around her desk, Babette smiled, "He offered to help, and I said yes. Now let me look at you two." She glanced at Vi, asking, "You're the one that's this boy's personal trainer, aren't you?"

Powder giggled, "Personal butt-kicker, more like."

Jayce shrugged, "Have to learn somehow."

Violet, meanwhile, kept glancing between Jayce and Babette, almost looking panicked, as out of her element as Babette had been, and not sure what to do.

Poor girl, the Yordle thought, seeing what Jayce probably hadn't, and gently took the white-haired teen's hands, leading her to a couch, sitting her down. Looking the girl over, Violet looked... good, better than she should've, healthier in a way living topside for a couple months shouldn't've been enough to do, but Babette could tell, somehow, that the girl wasn't Stamped, even without looking for a mark.

"I'm so sorry about what happened to Vander," the old woman cooed, not letting go of Violet's hands, the girl's carefully constructed mask starting to crack, as she sniffed, looking to Jayce, clearly not wanting to break down in front of him.

Before the Yordle could say anything, the Kid asked, showing he was more perceptive than Babette thought, "Should I step out for a few minutes?"

"If you could give us an hour?" she requested, wondering if he'd brought the two here knowing he couldn't help them this way, wishing she had more time, but too long and her people might get curious. And, with Silco telling everyone these two were dead, the old woman now understood why Jayce had been so firm on keeping this a secret.

He smiled, and looked to the two, telling them, "You can talk to her. Babette's trustworthy."

Violet scowled, annoyed at being told what to do, the girl just as stubborn as the Yordle remembered, but, worryingly, Powder just smiled, happier than Babette had ever seen her being, and almost chirped, "Okay, Jayce!"

He stepped through the gateway, and, looking at the blue-haired girl, the Yordle had to remark, "You're taking this pretty well, short stuff."

The girl just shrugged, stating, "He's Jayce!" like that was all that needed to be said.

Turning to Violet, who clearly didn't agree, the older woman asked, "Honey, what happened to you two?"

The girl hesitated, while Babette just held her hand comfortingly, but then started to talk, first haltingly, then it came out in a flood, a tale so outlandish that she wouldn't have believed it, if she hadn't met the man in question, and taken him up on his offer.

By the end, she was just holding the crying girl, patting her back, while Powder stood there uncomfortably, guilty over what she'd accidentally done, but not as bad off as her sister was. And the revelations, the revelations. Who 'Justice' was, what'd happened in Stillwater, Jayce's other patron, and so much more.

Part of her knew that she could wreck the Kid's plans, stop him from doing what he wanted, maybe even get the people of Piltover to turn on the young man who was a Mage in everything but name.

But he'd been correct.

She was loyal.

And not just because of the Stamp.

With everything he'd done for her, with what he'd done for these girls, and with what it was obvious he was going to try and do for everyone else? To try and wash away the guilt of what he'd seen, and done, or not done?

The gateway rippled, and Jayce leaned through, seeing Violet, a complex expression of pain, guilt, concern, and relief flitting across his features. Looking to Babette, the spiritually scarred boy mouthed 'more time?' When the Yordle subtly nodded, he held up a hand and opened it twice, indicating ten minutes, she nodded, and the young man slipped away once more.

Babette was loyal to the Kid, who was not as young as he seemed, whether she wanted to be or not.

But she was... okay with that.