"Mmm…"
A faint groan escaped the woman's lips as she stirred awake, her head throbbing in pain. When her blurred vision cleared, she found herself seated among the velvet rows of an empty theater.
What happened?
She blinked in confusion, trying to recall the final fragments before everything went black. She had finished her day's work, clocked out as usual, and headed home.
The streets that night had been unusually quiet, the kind of silence that made her distinctly remember the faint hiss of a triggered mechanism before it all went dark.
Then came the violet smoke, flooding her senses, swallowing her whole before she could react.
"Sleeping gas…?"
She pushed herself up from her seat—but froze when a sound drew her gaze to the stage.
A man stood there beneath the spotlight.
He wore a white leather mask and a flowing white cloak. Beneath it clung a tight black bodysuit, the sheen of eel-skin faint under the light. His shoulders were uneven—one slightly higher than the other.
The cane in his hand tapped against the stage, click, click, click, rhythmic and deliberate. On the fourth tap, he paused.
Under the blinding light above, his figure shimmered with a radiant gold hue. His cloak fluttered, the gemstones and ornaments adorning him glittering like stars.
The man noticed her awakening. Slowly, unhurriedly, he stopped tapping and turned toward the audience seats.
"Ah, Officer Grayson," he said in a smooth, lilting tone. "Did you sleep well?"
"Who are you?" Grayson demanded, eyes narrowing as she rose from her seat. "What were you doing just now?"
"Why, setting the crescendo, of course, my dear."
Khada Jhin leaned lightly on his cane, speaking with the unhurried grace of an artist. "Tell me… what do you think of this stage?"
"Stage?"
Following his gaze, Grayson looked up toward the ceiling—and froze. Her breath caught in her throat, eyes widening in horror.
Her vision was sharp—her marksmanship had always depended on it—and that clarity made the sight before her all the more revolting.
Suspended high above the stage was a corpse dressed in ornate finery, its elegant form hanging spread-eagle like a grotesque marionette.
Pale, delicate hands remained outstretched. From each fingertip extended a thin crimson thread, all converging across the stage in a tangled lattice—like a great, blood-red web.
"You… you sick freak!!"
Grayson's voice trembled with rage, but Jhin only sighed softly, almost regretfully.
"How unfortunate. Another soul blind to art."
"Art?!" Grayson shouted, her fury breaking through her fear. "If this is your idea of art—stringing up corpses like decorations—then you're no artist, you're a monster!"
"Art," Jhin declared, slamming his cane against the stage, his brown eyes gleaming behind the mask, "must move the heart!"
"You maniac! I'll see you behind bars! I'll make sure you rot in Stillwater Prison for the rest of your life!"
Grayson took a step forward—but a sharp metallic click froze her mid-motion.
She glanced down.
Her foot was caught in a blooming steel flower—each petal a blade. The more she moved, the wider the blades spread, threatening to shred her leg to the bone.
At the flower's core glimmered a faint, ominous light. She recognized it instantly—volatile alchemical explosives.
"What… is this?"
Her voice quavered.
"That," Jhin said softly, brushing a hand along his mask, "is one of my brushes—a tool to craft the perfect masterpiece."
He chuckled. "Though, I've made a few… improvements. This version has far more dramatic impact."
"You're insane!"
"They always say that."
Jhin strolled to a grand piano at the center of the stage and seated himself gracefully. "Sometimes, my dear, beauty is pain."
His fingers danced across the keys. The music that followed was powerful, intense—melancholy laced with ecstasy.
Even Grayson, who had little taste for classical music, could tell the man before her was no amateur. The melody carried a sense of noble grandeur that could make a concert hall rise in ovation.
But there was no audience to cheer. Only her—and her fear.
"Enough!!"
Her shout sliced through the music like lightning.
Jhin's hands stilled after a few final lingering notes.
"I had hoped this piece might move your heart," he said softly.
"What do you want from me, you lunatic? Why bring me here?!"
"Every artist," Jhin replied, resting his hands upon his knees, "needs an audience for his private performance."
He straightened, eyes gleaming.
"This is my rehearsal—and you… are my first spectator."
"Monster! Murderer!" Grayson spat. "You're nothing but a demon!"
Then her eyes widened as a chilling realization struck. "The murder this morning—was that your doing too?!"
"I merely granted her the beauty she deserved."
"Insane!"
Jhin ignored the insult, rising to his feet with theatrical poise.
"This city," he said, spreading his arms wide, "will soon witness a performance of unparalleled beauty. Every soul within will become part of my art—part of my masterpiece!"
"What are you planning?!"
"Ah… nothing too elaborate. I only need two more guests to complete the audience. Two women, specifically. Though," he smiled faintly, "they don't seem to like me very much."
Grayson's pupils shrank. "Your targets are Caitlyn and Vi!"
"Indeed. Such lively, spirited women, aren't they?"
Her thoughts raced. Why them? Caitlyn and Vi—the rising stars of Piltover's law enforcement—sharp, fearless, relentless. Their partnership had cracked countless cases and angered plenty of powerful figures in Zaun's underbelly.
"Are you working for the Chem-Barons?" she demanded, narrowing her eyes.
Jhin tilted his head, intrigued. "What a perceptive lady you are. A body strong as a man's, yet a mind refined as a woman's… two traits that should never coexist—and yet, in you, they merge beautifully."
"Truly…" He paused mid-sentence, his gaze flicking to the faint yellow lights flickering through the dark theater. "How… exquisite."
Tiny, glowing orbs—fireflies—hovered in the shadows, catching both his and Grayson's attention.
"Another one of your tricks?" she asked coldly.
"Hardly. Though fireflies have their charm, their beauty lacks… tension."
His tone dropped, playful and cruel. "Perhaps if I plucked your teeth one by one and set them into your skull, then the contrast might be perfect."
"Maybe," a voice interjected, cool and sharp, "but only if you survive long enough to finish the piece."
Both Jhin and Grayson turned toward the sound.
A man stood on the stage where there had been no one a moment ago—his body encased in red-and-gold armor that shimmered under the light.
He had appeared as if from thin air.
Jhin's eyes lit up with fascination rather than alarm. "Ah, a fine concept indeed. The purity of bone and enamel, set in contrast… yes, yes, that could be beautiful."
"I thought you were insane," the armored man said evenly, his tone edged with dry disdain. "Turns out, you're far worse than that, Khada Jhin."
"And you are?"
Duke rested a hand on the blade mounted to his forearm. "The one who's here to arrest you."
"Arrest me?" Jhin chuckled softly, fingers brushing the weapon at his side. Duke made no move to stop him—curiosity gleamed in his eyes. He wanted to see the weapon of the infamous Virtuoso.
Jhin lifted it slowly—gracefully. The firearm, Whisper, gleamed in the dim light, every curve and engraving a testament to obsessive craftsmanship.
Dark-green alloy traced with gold filigree, the signature of a true artisan. This was no Piltover creation—it pulsed with Ionian craftsmanship and living magic.
Duke's eyes narrowed, analyzing its structure. Four chambers, each loaded with a bullet brimming with arcane energy, the magical pulse visible even from afar.
Not ordinary bullets, but alchemical capsules filled with liquid mana—each a masterpiece of destructive art.
He nodded slightly, impressed. "Ingenious design."
But Jhin's soft whisper cut through his thoughts.
"One…"
The gun flared.
The first bullet tore through the air like a comet, leaving a trail of shimmering smoke.
Duke clenched his fist, pressed a switch on his knuckle—and vanished, shrinking out of sight.
From that miniature perspective, he could see it clearly: the bullet, a droplet of pure condensed magic, tracing a line of beauty through the air before colliding and blooming like smoke on stage.
Bang!
The sound thundered through the theater, amplified by its acoustics.
Ion thrusters ignited on Duke's back, wings of light bursting to life as he launched forward.
Jhin spun Whisper in his hand, mixing the fluid inside its cartridges to amplify the detonation.
"Two!"
Another shot rang out.
Jhin had lost sight of Duke—but that only made the performance sweeter.
His lips curved beneath the mask.
"The curtain rises," he whispered. "The grandeur approaches!"
And with that, he tossed a slender, ornate grenade into the air—a creation as deadly as it was beautiful.
End of chapter....
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