The potions arranged on Singed's laboratory table gleamed under the harsh lighting—each one a different color, each one representing a specific enhancement carved out from the original Shimmer formula. Unlike the all-encompassing chaos of Shimmer, these new compounds were focused, precise, designed to augment one specific aspect of human capability without the devastating psychological side effects that had made the original drug so dangerous.
"According to Marcus's guidance, I've completely reformulated these," Singed explained, his scarred hands gesturing toward the array of vials. "They're still prototypes, of course. It'll take some additional time and testing before they're ready for widespread deployment."
He led Vander and Silco deeper into his laboratory. The space had undergone a dramatic transformation since Marcus had started providing input. Gone were the chaotic stacks of equipment, the mysterious stains, the general atmosphere of mad science run amok. In their place was something approaching actual scientific methodology—organized workstations, proper ventilation, and row upon row of cages containing test subjects. Mice, mostly. Small, expendable, and surprisingly effective for preliminary trials.
"Let's start with the first formula," Singed said, his tone carrying a hint of pride.
Using a pair of long-handled tongs, he carefully extracted a mouse from one of the cages. The creature squeaked in protest, tiny paws scrabbling uselessly at the air. Singed held up a vial of crimson liquid—it seemed to glow from within, pulsing with barely contained energy. He brought it to the mouse's mouth and tilted it, allowing a few drops to slip past the animal's lips.
For a moment, nothing happened. The mouse continued to squirm, confused and frightened but unchanged.
Then the transformation began.
The mouse's body began to swell slightly, muscles visibly growing beneath its fur. Its movements became more frantic, more powerful, the struggle intensifying with each passing second. Singed, clearly anticipating this reaction, opened his grip and tossed the mouse into a reinforced glass enclosure that dominated one corner of the laboratory.
The enclosure—what Singed called his "sandbox"—was built to withstand considerable abuse. Thick glass walls, reinforced metal frame, designed for testing dangerous substances and their effects. Inside the enclosure sat various objects: a wooden stake as thick as a man's thigh, several large stones, some metal bars. Props for demonstrating enhanced capabilities.
Everyone crowded closer to watch what would happen next.
The mouse, now inside the enclosure, immediately noticed the wooden stake. Under normal circumstances, such an obstacle would be utterly insurmountable for a creature of its size. But these were no longer normal circumstances.
The mouse approached the stake, planted its tiny paws against the base, and lifted.
The massive piece of wood—which had to weigh at least ten times what the mouse itself weighed—rose into the air as if it were made of paper. The mouse held it overhead for a moment, then hurled it across the enclosure. The stake slammed into the far wall with a thunderous crash that made everyone flinch.
The sound echoed through the laboratory, hanging in the air like a question mark. That tiny creature—something any of them could have killed with a single stomp—had just demonstrated strength that defied all logic and proportion.
"I remember Shimmer," Silco said slowly, his mismatched eyes fixed on the mouse as it continued to rampage through the enclosure. "I watched you test it. The subject went berserk, became violent and uncontrollable. This seems... different."
"That's exactly right," Singed confirmed, nodding enthusiastically. "In Marcus's terminology, Shimmer acted on 'all vectors simultaneously'—strength, speed, aggression, pain tolerance, everything amplified at once with no discrimination. This Strength Potion, by contrast, focuses enhancement in a single direction. Massive increase to physical strength, with corresponding improvements to musculature and skeletal density to support that strength. The user's body automatically reinforces itself to handle the enhanced output."
Singed gazed at the still-rampaging mouse with something approaching parental affection. "This is a specialized formula derived from the base Shimmer research. Marcus provided extensive guidance on the refinement process, but the fundamental principles—the underlying chemistry—that's still mine. Still Shimmer, just... evolved."
"You mentioned side effects?" Vander prompted. He'd been around Singed long enough to know that there was always a cost. Always a downside. Chemistry didn't give you something for nothing.
"Ah, yes. The side effects." Singed's expression became more serious. "The Strength Potion has a limited duration—ten minutes maximum. When the effect expires, the user experiences rapid strength depletion, as if their body is paying back all the borrowed power at once. Physical exhaustion sets in almost immediately. Additionally, the formula cannot be administered multiple times in quick succession. There needs to be a recovery period between doses."
He gestured toward the mouse, which was finally starting to slow down, its movements becoming more sluggish. "The potion works by forcing the body to rapidly metabolize its stored energy reserves. That energy can't be instantly replenished. If you tried to inject a second dose too quickly, the body simply wouldn't have the fuel to power the enhancement. At best it would be ineffective. At worst..." He shrugged. "Well, I haven't tested that scenario yet. I'd prefer not to."
Vander frowned slightly, considering the limitations. Ten minutes of enhanced strength, followed by exhaustion. No possibility of chaining multiple doses together for extended effect. For a combat drug, those were significant restrictions.
But Silco was smiling.
"Those aren't drawbacks," the revolutionary said quietly. "Those are features. Do you realize what the market will pay for a combat enhancement that doesn't turn the user into a frothing berserker? Shimmer had buyers despite making users violently unstable—the Noxian military was willing to overlook the psychological deterioration because the physical gains were so substantial. This formula gives better strength enhancement without the loss of control. The ten-minute limit and the exhaustion afterward? The Noxians will see those as acceptable operational constraints, not deal-breakers."
Vander's frown slowly transformed into a thoughtful expression. Silco was right. The weakness of the formula could actually be sold as a strength—a controllable, predictable enhancement rather than the unpredictable chaos of Shimmer.
"Besides," Silco continued, "ten minutes is an eternity in combat. Most fights are over in seconds. Having a full ten minutes of superhuman strength? That's more than sufficient for any realistic engagement."
"There's more," Singed said, clearly pleased by their interest. "The Strength Potion is just the beginning."
He moved to another cage, extracting a fresh test subject. This time he selected a vial of pale blue liquid, almost translucent. The mouse received its dose and was deposited into the sandbox.
For a fraction of a second, nothing happened.
Then the mouse moved.
It was so fast that the eye could barely track it—a blur of motion that shot from one end of the enclosure to the other in the time it took to blink. The creature ricocheted off the walls, leaving visible scratches in the reinforced glass, moving at speeds that seemed to violate physics.
"Speed Potion," Singed announced. "Same duration as the Strength formula, same basic side effects. The difference is the vector of enhancement—this one amplifies mobility and reaction time rather than raw power. Users will be able to move, think, and react faster than normal humans can track."
He didn't need to explain the tactical applications. Both Vander and Silco could immediately envision scenarios where superhuman speed would be decisive—assassinations, courier work, rapid response situations. The Undercity's vertical terrain, with its bridges and catwalks and precarious platforms, would be perfect territory for someone moving at enhanced velocity.
"And this," Singed said, retrieving a third test subject and a vial of yellow liquid, "is perhaps the most straightforward of the bunch."
The yellow potion went down the mouse's throat. The creature was returned to the enclosure, where it sat looking rather confused. Nothing seemed to be happening. The mouse appeared completely normal—no enhanced strength, no impossible speed, just a regular mouse sitting in a box.
Vander and Silco exchanged puzzled glances.
Then Singed picked up a sharpened steel spike—the kind used for ice-picking in the upper levels—and casually stabbed it straight down at the mouse.
The spike struck the mouse's back and stopped, the point unable to penetrate the creature's skin. The mouse squeaked in irritation but was otherwise unharmed. Its fur had taken on a strange, crystalline quality, as if the individual hairs had fused together into overlapping plates of hardened material.
"Calcification Potion," Singed explained, lowering the spike. "Upon ingestion, the formula triggers rapid development of a calcified keratin layer across the entire epidermis. Essentially, the user grows a suit of natural armor. The defensive capabilities are substantial—as you can see, even sharpened steel has difficulty penetrating the hardened skin."
He set down the spike and picked up his notes, reading from them as he continued. "The side effects differ slightly from the previous two formulas. Yes, there's physical exhaustion from the initial transformation—growing all that extra biological material rapidly takes energy. However, once the calcified layer is complete, there's no ongoing energy drain. The armor simply exists, requiring no further fuel to maintain."
"That's a significant improvement over the timed formulas," Vander observed. He could see the value immediately—soldiers could take the Calcification Potion before a battle and maintain their enhanced defenses throughout the entire engagement without worrying about a timer running out.
"There's a tradeoff, naturally," Singed cautioned. "The calcified layer is rigid. Users will experience significantly reduced mobility—it's like wearing full body armor made of stone. Movement becomes slower, fine motor control becomes difficult. And unlike the other formulas, the Calcification Potion's effects last for an extended period. Three to four days before the hardened layer naturally sloughs off and the user returns to normal."
Silco's mind was already running calculations. A soldier who could shrug off blades and bullets for multiple days, at the cost of some mobility? The Noxian military would pay a fortune for access to that formula. And if they could produce it in quantity, if they could become the primary supplier...
The wealth that would flow into the Undercity would be staggering.
"One more," Singed said, his voice taking on a note of genuine pride. "This last formula is, I believe, the crown jewel of my research so far."
He retrieved the mouse with the calcified skin—the one he'd stabbed with the spike—and set it on his workbench. Then he picked up a heavy cleaver, the kind used in butcher shops, and raised it high.
"Wait, what are you—" Vander started to object, but it was too late.
The cleaver came down hard, shearing through the calcified armor that had resisted the steel spike. The mouse's right hind leg was severed completely, separated from the body in a spray of blood. The creature's agonized shrieking filled the laboratory, a sound that seemed far too loud to come from something so small.
"What the hell was that for?!" Vander snapped, genuinely disturbed. He'd seen plenty of violence in his life, but casual animal cruelty still bothered him.
"Patience," Singed said calmly. He was already reaching for the last vial—this one containing a light green liquid that seemed to glow with its own internal luminescence. "It'll be fine. Just watch."
He used a dropper to carefully apply several drops of the green liquid directly to the mouse's wound, where blood was still flowing freely. Then he picked up the severed leg and applied more of the liquid to the cut surface. Finally, with steady hands, he pressed the leg back against the injury site, holding it in place.
For several seconds, nothing happened. The mouse continued to scream, writhing in Singed's grip.
Then the screaming began to diminish. The mouse's struggles became less frantic, less pained. Singed administered a few more drops directly into the creature's mouth, and within moments the transformation was complete.
The mouse stood up, tested its weight on the previously severed leg, and scampered away. Completely healed. No limp, no residual injury, no sign that anything had been wrong. The leg had been fully reattached, blood flow restored, nerves reconnected. Perfect regeneration.
"This is..." Vander couldn't find the words. He'd just watched a severed limb get reattached and healed in under a minute. That kind of medical miracle should have been impossible.
"The Restoration Potion," Singed announced. "Capable of rapidly healing severe injuries, even reattaching completely severed limbs provided they're brought together quickly enough. As you might imagine, the energetic cost is severe."
Even as he spoke, the mouse's body began to change. Its previously healthy, well-proportioned form started to shrink, the flesh seeming to melt away as the creature's stored fat and muscle mass was cannibalized to fuel the regenerative process. Within seconds, the mouse looked emaciated, skeletal, barely alive despite being technically healed.
"The body doesn't create matter from nothing," Singed explained, his tone clinical. "Healing requires raw materials—proteins, minerals, cellular building blocks. The Restoration Potion forces the body to harvest those materials from itself, burning through fat reserves, breaking down muscle tissue, even leeching minerals from the bones if necessary. It's survival chemistry—sacrifice long-term resources for immediate repair. The user will need extensive nutrition and rest afterward to fully recover from the metabolic debt."
He looked down at the emaciated but alive mouse. "However, for critical situations—battlefield triage, life-threatening injuries, scenarios where death is the alternative—this potion represents the difference between survival and mortality. I believe that's a worthy tradeoff."
Vander and Silco stared at the array of potions laid out before them, their minds spinning with possibilities. Four distinct formulas, each with clear applications, each with manageable downsides. This was exactly what they needed.
The financial implications alone were staggering. The Noxian military would pay through the nose for combat enhancements this reliable. But beyond the money, these potions represented leverage. Political capital. Bargaining power. The ability to arm their allies and deny their enemies.
"The prospects for these formulas are extraordinary," Vander said quietly. His earlier concerns about Singed's methods had evaporated in the face of results this impressive. "If you can scale up production, we'll have more buyers than we can handle. The revenue alone will solve most of our funding problems."
"Indeed," Silco agreed, his mind already calculating profit margins. "We'll need capital to continue expanding the Kalinda Crystal Tower—the vein we've found has crystal deposits, but mining it requires substantial investment in labor and equipment. These potions will provide the funds we need."
The two men were practically salivating at the thought of the wealth that would soon be flowing into the Undercity. After generations of poverty, of scraping by on scraps from Piltover's table, they were finally going to have resources. Real resources. Enough to build the future they'd been dreaming of.
"What a shame," Singed murmured, though his tone suggested he wasn't particularly bothered. He was looking at the emaciated mouse, watching it slowly try to groom itself with what little strength it had left. "None of these formulas can address our personal medical conditions—not my chemical scarring, not Victor's degenerative illness. I had hoped the Restoration Potion might work, but the underlying mechanisms are wrong. It heals acute injuries, not chronic conditions. Still, if we could solve that problem, the commercial applications would expand dramatically."
"These potions are already extraordinary," Vander assured him. "Yes, the side effects are significant. But compared to the benefits they provide? The costs are absolutely acceptable. You've done remarkable work."
"Marcus deserves much of the credit," Singed admitted. "He identified the fundamental flaws in my Shimmer research—pointed out ways to isolate specific enhancement vectors, how to reduce psychological contamination, techniques for minimizing side effects. Without his guidance, I'd still be producing nothing but barely-controlled berserkers."
He gathered up his notes, organizing them with surprising care for someone who'd once operated in what could charitably be called "organized chaos." "He's also suggested additional research directions. Ways to further refine these formulas, potential new compounds to explore. If we can master all the principles he's outlined... well. The Undercity could become a place where every citizen is a potential soldier, where even ordinary people can access extraordinary power when needed."
Singed's scarred face twisted into something that might have been a smile. It was hard to tell with his disfigurement. "I'll continue the research. I will create something even better. A super-formula that combines the benefits while minimizing the costs. Mark my words."
After witnessing Singed's impressive demonstration, Vander and Silco moved with renewed urgency. Whatever disagreements they'd had about implementation strategy evaporated in the face of clear opportunity. They pooled their resources, their contacts, their influence, and threw everything behind Victor and Singed's work.
Victor was given an entire factory space—one of the larger buildings in the Undercity that had previously housed a failed metalworking operation. The facility was cleaned out, retooled, and filled with craftsmen. These weren't random laborers; these were skilled workers who'd been trained in Piltover's workshops before being driven out by prejudice or economic pressure. Each one knew their trade, understood precision work, could read technical specifications and produce parts to exacting standards.
Victor organized them into what Marcus had called an "assembly line"—a revolutionary manufacturing approach where complex devices were broken down into simpler components, each produced by specialized workers. One team made housing frames, another created crystal matrices, a third assembled circuit boards, and so on. The pieces flowed through the factory in a carefully orchestrated dance, coming together at the final stations to form complete devices.
The approach was brilliant in its efficiency. Yes, the quality control wasn't perfect—with this many different hands touching each component, the defect rate ran around fifty percent. But even accounting for that waste, the speed of production far exceeded anything that could be achieved through traditional craftsmanship.
Every single day, two to three complete Enforcer Series equipment sets rolled off the assembly line and were delivered to Vander and Silco. Within a week, they had a dozen sets. Within two weeks, nearly thirty. The arsenal was growing faster than anyone had anticipated.
Singed's operation was even more straightforward. The chemical formulas were complete, tested, proven. All he needed to do was scale up production, and he already had the equipment for that. His previous Shimmer manufacturing setup could be repurposed with minor modifications. Within days, he was producing potions by the crate-load—strength enhancement, speed enhancement, calcification armor, restoration healing. Row upon row of color-coded vials, each one a small miracle of modern chemistry.
Armed with their new resources, Vander and Silco launched their campaign.
They both donned Enforcer Series equipment—the full kit, everything from the reinforced body armor to the integrated weapon systems. Vander with his arm-mounted energy blades, Silco with his cane that doubled as a directed energy weapon. They took their most loyal people, equipped them with whatever advanced gear was available, distributed Singed's potions to the most capable fighters.
Then they swept through the Undercity like a storm.
Every gang boss, every chem-baron, every petty warlord who'd been ruling their little territory with an iron fist suddenly found themselves confronted by something they couldn't fight. Their guns were useless against energy shields. Their knives couldn't penetrate calcified armor. Their numbers didn't matter when Vander and Silco could cut through crowds like wheat before a scythe.
The message was clear: submit or be destroyed.
Most chose submission. Those who didn't... well, they became object lessons for the others.
Vander would stride into a gang's headquarters, his energy blades humming with barely contained power, and offer terms. Join the new order, accept the new laws, work together to build something better. Some bosses took the deal immediately, recognizing the futility of resistance. Others tried to fight, throwing everything they had at the seeming invincible figure before them.
It never went well for them.
Silco's approach was more brutal, more direct. He didn't particularly care about recruitment or coalition-building. His cane would unleash its crimson beam, cutting through defenses like they were paper, and anyone who opposed him simply... stopped being a problem. The survivors were given the same choice Vander offered: join or die.
The wind of change blew through the Undercity for weeks, a relentless campaign that left no corner untouched. Block by block, district by district, the old order crumbled and a new one rose in its place. The lawless chaos that had defined the Undercity for generations was being forcibly transformed into something resembling actual civilization.
By the time the storm finally passed, the entire Undercity was under unified control. Vander and Silco's authority was absolute, unquestioned, backed by overwhelming force and technology that seemed almost magical to people who'd been scraping by with salvaged tools and makeshift weapons.
And throughout it all, the Kalinda Crystal Tower continued to grow.
Every day, more crystals were added to the core. Every day, the structure grew taller, more impressive, more powerful. By the end of the campaign, the tower stood nearly ten meters high—still small compared to the massive structures Marcus had described from his homeworld, but absolutely enormous by Undercity standards.
The sight of it dominated the landscape now. That floating crystal spire, pulsing with blue light, visible from almost anywhere in the lower levels. It had become a symbol, a beacon, a promise of the future that was being built.
Everyone who saw it understood: things had changed. The Undercity was changing. And there was no going back.
"Their actions have been quite effective," Marcus observed, watching the ongoing transformation from his vantage point. He stood at one of the observation platforms that overlooked a significant portion of the Undercity, Vi and the others training in the space behind him. "I have to give credit where it's due—Vander and Silco are decisive when they need to be. They identified what needed to happen and executed without hesitation."
He smiled slightly, pleased with the progress. The Undercity was unifying, developing, becoming something more than just a collection of desperate survivors clinging to the underside of Piltover. It was becoming a society.
The only disappointment was that despite all their efforts, despite weeks of searching and investigating and following every lead, Vander and Silco's people had failed to locate any concrete information about Ryze. They'd found rumors, scattered stories, vague references to a wandering mage with incredible power. But nothing specific. No recent sightings, no current whereabouts, nothing that could help Marcus actually track the man down.
But that was fine. Marcus wasn't in a hurry.
Ryze was, after all, one of the most powerful mages in this entire world. The man had dedicated centuries to collecting and securing the World Runes—artifacts of cosmic power that served as the fundamental building blocks of reality itself. Even without actively using the Runes, Ryze was formidable. With them? He could challenge gods.
Finding someone like that, someone who clearly didn't want to be found, was never going to be easy. It would take time, patience, and probably a good deal of luck.
Marcus turned his attention back to the training area, where Vi and her crew were going through their exercises. He'd been teaching them new techniques lately, expanding their combat education beyond just brawling. Proper form, efficient movement, how to read an opponent's body language, tactical thinking. All the things that separated a street fighter from a genuine warrior.
They were taking to it well. Especially Vi.
These days, she trained constantly even without Marcus applying external pressure. She'd wake up early, strap weighted training gear to her limbs, and spend hours working through forms and exercises. Her dedication was impressive, honestly. The girl had real potential.
The results spoke for themselves. Vi could now shatter heavy stones with her gauntlets—rocks that would have been immovable obstacles just weeks ago. And that was with the weapon restraints active. If Marcus unlocked the gauntlets' full capabilities, if he gave Vi access to the complete power of the crystal technology...
Well. She'd be genuinely dangerous.
Mylo and Claggor were progressing too, each developing their own fighting style suited to their strengths. Mylo was getting faster, more precise, learning to use agility and misdirection. Claggor was becoming an unmovable wall, using his natural strength and size to control space and protect his teammates.
It was good progress. They'd be ready for real operations soon.
Meanwhile, Powder and Ekko were pursuing their own projects, applying the scientific knowledge Marcus had been teaching them. And while they needed Marcus's help with some of the more advanced technical challenges, their basic designs were solid. Creative, innovative, exactly what he'd been hoping to see.
Powder had created a specialized non-lethal weapon—a pistol that fired energy bubbles instead of bullets. When the bubble made contact with a target, it expanded and solidified, trapping whoever was inside in a translucent sphere of crystallized energy. No permanent harm, but completely effective at restraining targets. It was a capture tool, perfect for situations where you wanted to take someone alive rather than kill them.
Ekko's invention followed similar principles but with a different execution. He'd designed a spherical device—about the size of a baseball—that could be thrown or rolled near a target. When it got close enough, it activated and projected a localized stasis field, freezing anyone caught within its radius. Again, non-lethal, but highly effective for crowd control or isolating specific targets.
Both weapons demonstrated sophisticated understanding of energy manipulation and field theory. Marcus had helped with some of the more complex mathematical calculations and provided guidance on crystal matrix configuration, but the core concepts were all theirs. These kids were genuinely talented.
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