Capítulo 396: Heartless by Winged Knight
A nice Arcane One shot 🥲
Words: 1.1k+
Link: https://forums.spacebattles.com/threads/heartless.1125008/
( Why did Silco allow for a monument to one of his enemies to be made? )
Heartless
It always amazed him how much cleaner the air was up here.
Not that the Lanes were fresh, of course. The acrid tang of chemicals mixed with burning rubber, creating the stench so common to Zaun. It tickled at the back of the nose, digging deep to rest behind the eyes and fill the lungs until bursting out in hacking gasps. One could even feel it crawling across the skin, thick air touching feather light even when there wasn't any wind. It was inescapable, a gray haze that diluted what little sunlight made its way into the depths and left ugly stains with every filthy caress.
But that was nothing compared to deeper into the undercity, further away from shining Piltover. A question of degree, but such increments could be the difference between life and death. Like drowning in a river, breath turning into fire within the chest and begging to be let out so blessed water could quench the pain.
Such were Silco's thoughts as he looked up into the metal face of his old friend, his brother. The statue was only half complete, with just a hint of Vander's broad chest and shoulders showing in the gap between strong legs and that gentle expression. A solid rod served as the spine, holding the entire thing together on what could charitably be called a fountain.
There was something almost poetic about that. A hole where a heart should be… A heart that had once been full of fire before it had guttered out, leaving only meager dreams and even less ambition. All he'd had left was stubborn resolve, but none of the passion that had once made Vander the Hound of the Underground.
But you did fight in the end, didn't you old friend? You found some of that fire again, if only to save what little you could hold in your own two hands.
"It popped up almost overnight," Sevika whispered, bringing her face close to his ear. Her prosthetic arm whirred as she settled it on her hip. "Not sure who's doing it, but we figure they made most of it elsewhere and started putting it together once the lights were out."
Silco frowned, his ruined eye twitching as thunder rumbled up above. It was going to rain, the pressure changing to disturb nerves already scrubbed raw from the toxins that leaked down from Piltover into Zaun's waters. The rain that would soon fall would be little better, dragging all the filth from the smog down to parched and weary earth. He could already taste it on his tongue, bitter and greasy like rancid oil.
Taking his silence as acknowledgement, Sevika turned to the statue before continuing. "Give me a few days to knock down doors and I'll find out who's responsible. In the meantime, I'll get some hands and hammers to smash this into scrap."
"And why would I want that?"
Sevika's head snapped back toward him. "Are you serious?"
One eyebrow rose, shifting pensive contemplation into something altogether more dangerous. Silco turned his gaze toward Sevika, just the bare movement of his eyes, and the woman stepped back with her hands raised in submission.
"Sorry, sorry," she said with uncharacteristic softness, lowering her eyes. "But still, boss, it seems like a risk. A monument to one of your enemies? That's the sort of thing that might give people ideas. Rebellious ideas."
She was right, of course. Not even two years after his death and the destruction of the Shimmer factory, Vander had become a martyr. A reminder of the 'good old days.' As if that meant anything, living in Piltover's waste. His name was whispered in the streets by the old to the young, treated almost like a prayer. That sort of resistance was far more difficult to stamp out than stubborn gangsters with more muscles than brains.
His frown shifted into a scowl as he turned back to the half-finished statue, irritation bubbling to the surface. He'd spent too much money and spilled too much blood solidifying his control over the undercity to let the memory of a dead man get in the way of his dreams. To make it worse, this wasn't even the truth of Vander. It was simply the idea of him, a cleaned up ghost haunting his Zaun with all the betrayal and weakness stripped away.
But something kept him from giving the order; from letting Sevika off the leash to do what they both knew was the correct course of action. Silco's thoughts turned, slowly and methodically, as he considered again and again the matter of Vander's memory and always he stopped short of lifting a hand for his will to be done. His course was clear, but he could not make himself commit to it.
Why did he hesitate? Was it out of respect for a man he had once called brother? No, that was foolish. Vander had given up, capitulated to gleaming Piltover and thrown away any chance of making those vultures pay for their crimes against Zaun.
But he rose up again, didn't he? In the end, he became like who he once was. For his children…
Perhaps that was the reason. Or, rather, perhaps she was the reason. That little girl in his office tinkering away at her machines that sparked and popped and grew ever more deadly. Months of coaxing, of gentle reinforcement, and she was able to hold proper conversations again. Was able to sleep without waking up in the middle of the night, screaming and crying.
Jinx had loved this man, much as he once had. His daughter had loved this second father, had hugged him close as she did now with him. She had so little, had so much taken away. Would he now tear down even the very thought of Vander, take away everything he had meant to the little girl he was growing more and more to love with every passing day?
No.
"Leave it," he said at last as the rain began to fall, the first few drops trailing down Vander's face. "Let these little people have their gravestone. He's still dead, and they all know who rules this city now."
Silco turned away, Sevika close behind him. There was so much more to do, so many dangerous people he had to meet and bring under control. Smugglers from Bilgewater, representatives from Noxus… The work never ended, could never end, not if his desires were to ever be achieved.
He felt the weight of the stare on his back, those metal eyes weeping dirty tears, and kept walking.
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