Arcane: Bond Beyond Death (R18)

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The transport rattled as it made its way across the bridge, metal bars reinforcing the windows, ensuring no prisoner could escape. Bael sat inside the armored transport, his hands shackled tightly, his mechanical arm disabled and locked in place with thick restraints. His body ached from the previous night's struggle, but none of that compared to the rage simmering inside him.

Stillwater Hold.

A prison where Zaun's rebels, criminals, and anyone Piltover deemed "problematic" were sent to rot. The place was notorious—cold, brutal, and nearly impossible to escape from. Few ever came back. Fewer still ever left alive.

Bael stared out through the narrow window, his mind racing. Jinx was still out there, trapped under Silco's control. He clenched his fists, but without his mechanical arm's functions, he felt weak—helpless.

The enforcers sitting across from him in the transport gave him smug looks. One of them chuckled, leaning forward.

"Welcome to Stillwater, freak," he sneered. "You and your little psycho girlfriend gave us a lot of trouble. But now? You're done."

Bael's jaw tightened, but he said nothing. His time for words was over.

The transport came to a halt. Heavy boots echoed as enforcers gathered outside. The doors unlocked with a loud clang, and harsh daylight flooded in as they pulled Bael to his feet.

"Out," an officer barked.

The warden approached, his gaze cold and calculating. He gave Bael a once-over before smirking.

"You'll learn your place soon enough," he said before motioning to the guards. "Take him inside."

As they dragged him through the gates, Bael didn't resist. He didn't struggle.

The metal door slammed shut behind him with a heavy clang. Bael stood still, scanning his new prison cell. It was small, barely enough space to move around, with cold, damp walls covered in scratches—marks left by prisoners before him. A single bed with a thin mattress sat against the wall, opposite a rusted toilet and sink.

Bael sat on the bed, resting his head against the cold wall. His mind kept returning to Jinx—her screams, her tears when they were separated. It made his blood boil.

A voice interrupted his thoughts.

Bael heard the voice again, but this time, it was different—sharper, cocky, and definitely female.

"New blood, huh?"

He turned his head slightly, expecting to see another scrawny thug or some old Zaunite survivor. Instead, leaning against the bars of the cell across from him was a woman with a sharp grin, her face lit by the dim prison lights.

She had short, messy dark hair, streaked with faded neon colors, and piercings lining her ears and nose. Her arms were covered in tattoos—intricate Zaunite designs mixed with chaotic scribbles, scars cutting through some of the ink like battle trophies. She wore the same dull prison uniform as him, but even in this place, she carried herself like she owned it.

Bael's eyes narrowed. "Why the hell did they put me in a block with a girl?"

She let out a dry laugh, rolling her shoulders. "Oh, sweetheart, you think that matters here? This ain't Piltover. They don't give a damn about that stuff in Stillwater. We're all the worst of the worst here."

"I killed a kid and I liked it. What did you do?" She said, a hint of pride in her tone.

Bael didn't reply immediately. His eyes scanned her again. There was something dangerous about her—like a caged beast that had learned to enjoy its confinement.

She smirked, noticing the way he looked at her, exploring her body and brains.

She winked. "Booms aren't the only thing I enjoy, yknow?"

Bael couldn't help but let out a small, bitter chuckle. "Guess we got that chaos love in common."

She tilted her head, her grin widening. "Now that's interesting."

Bael crossed his arms, his expression unreadable. "Tell me about this place. Who runs what? Who do I gotta watch out for?"

She leaned against the wall, smirking. "Oh, now you want a history lesson? That kinda info usually costs, metal boy. But..." She dragged her tongue across her teeth, eyes flicking over him. "Since you're cute, I'll make an exception."

She stretched her arms before settling in. "Alright, listen up. Stillwater ain't just a prison—it's a damn jungle. Guards don't give a shit what happens inside, so long as we don't cause them trouble. That means we police ourselves, and by that, I mean the biggest bastards in here make the rules."

Bael stayed quiet, letting her continue.

"There's a hierarchy," she said, counting on her fingers. "At the top, you've got the Overboss—whoever's the strongest and smartest asshole in here. Right now? That's some big guy named Garrick. Likes to break skulls for fun." She grinned. "Then you got the gangs. There's the Steel Fangs—ex-mercs, bounty hunters, real professional killers. They run the black market. Then there's the Fangs—wannabe tough guys, but they've got numbers."

She rolled her wrist. "Then you got the Lone Wolves. The ones who don't play by the rules. People like me, baby." She winked.

Bael ignored that. "And the ones to avoid?"

She grinned wider. "Oh, everyone if you're weak. But if you really want to keep your limbs attached, stay clear of Garrick's boys and... her."

Bael raised an eyebrow. "Her?"

The girl's smirk faltered for just a second before returning. "Red hair. Fists like a goddamn freight train. People say she used to be a big deal on the outside, but now? She's just another ghost locked up in here. Doesn't talk much. Doesn't need to. If she wants you dead, you'll be kissing the floor before you even see her move."

Bael felt something itch at the back of his mind. Red hair. Fists. That felt... familiar.

He clenched his jaw. "What's her name?"

The girl shrugged. "Don't know. Don't care. But if you got a death wish, be my guest."

Bael didn't respond, but the feeling gnawed at him. Something about this wasn't right.

Suddenly, he felt the pain in his abdomen, he vomited Shimmer which surprised the girl. "That's... something."

Bael remembered that during this time of the day, he'd have Jinx give him his dose of the antidote. But since it was over, his body was still being accustomed to it.

He remembers Jinx and his eyes gleam. He could practically hear Jinx calling his name and shouting for him to help her. He started feeling his mechanical hand again.

So the way they deactivated it, is by emptying all shimmer inside, because his hand used shimmer as base fuel, meaning everything his body overdoses on Shimmer, the excess is sent to the arm.

Bael wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, still tasting the acrid burn of Shimmer. He exhaled sharply, shaking off the nausea before glancing at his cellmate.

"Sorry for the nasty display," he muttered, running a hand through his hair.

Rebecca—Beca—was leaning back against the cold wall, arms crossed, watching him like he was some interesting specimen in a lab. But there was no disgust on her face, no annoyance. Just amusement.

She smirked. "Pffft. You think that's nasty? Kid, you're crazy."

Bael let out a breath. "Right... Well, name's Bael. Eighteen."

Beca snorted. "Yeah, I know who you are, Rockstar." She leaned forward, grinning like a devil. "You and your crazy blue fury are all over Zaun's wanted posters. Half the prison wants your head, the other half wants to kiss your boots. You really think you need an introduction?"

Bael tensed at the mention of Jinx, but Beca waved a lazy hand.

"Relax, I don't give a shit about politics. Name's Rebecca, but you can call me Beca. Not that it matters—nobody in here cares about names, only how long you'll last." She leaned closer, her piercing eyes glinting with something between mischief and danger. "So, tell me, Bael… how long are you planning to last?"

"...I'm leaving as soon as possible, in the span of three days. My arm should have recharged by then, and I'll have all the information I need to escape." Bael announced.

Beca raised an eyebrow, then let out a low whistle. "Three days, huh? Bold. I like that." She smirked, tapping a finger against her chin. "Most people in here don't even dream of getting out, and those who do? They either rot in a ditch or get their heads turned into wall decorations."

Bael didn't flinch. "I'm not most people."

Beca chuckled. "Oh, I know. But escaping Stillwater? That's a whole different level of crazy." She leaned in, her voice dropping. "Tell me, Rockstar, you got a plan, or are you just gonna punch your way out?"

Bael flexed his fingers, feeling the faint hum of his mechanical arm slowly regaining charge. "A little of both." He met her gaze, unwavering. "My arm should be fully recharged by then. And by that time, I'll have everything I need."

Beca's smirk widened. "Damn. You're serious." She leaned back, stretching. "Well, this just got interesting. You got three days to make this work, huh? Guess I better stick close. If you pull off a miracle, I definitely don't wanna miss the show."

During the next few hours Bael would sleep in his bed till it's lunch time. He and Beca left the cell under the enforcers' eye and went to the cafeteria where they've been served. The food was terrible, but Bael was accustomed to shit food like that. He saw plenty of eyes looking his way, "If I had my arm working i bet none would look at me that way..." He muttered under his breath.

Bael was halfway through forcing down the bland, rubbery excuse for a meal when the first of them approached—three men, all wearing the same cocky smirks, all looking for trouble.

"Well, well, look who we have here," one of them jeered, tapping Bael's tray with his fingers. "The great Bael, fresh from the streets of Zaun. Bet you think you're something special, huh?"

Bael barely looked up. "Leave me alone." His voice was flat, disinterested. He had no energy to waste on these idiots.

That only encouraged them. Another one leaned in. "Aw, what's wrong? Lost your fire without your little girlfriend?" He let out a mocking laugh. "Bet she's out there crying for you. Or maybe she's already found someone else to keep her warm—"

Bael's grip on his fork tightened, the metal bending slightly under his fingers. His body was already on edge from Shimmer withdrawal, and now his patience was gone.

The leader, a tall man with sharp cheekbones and a thin scar down the side of his face, scoffed and grabbed Bael by the collar, yanking him up. "You deaf, boy? We're talking to you—"

Bael's tired eyes finally met his, and in that instant, his breath hitched.

That face. Something about it—something in the sharpness of his features, the way his single eye studied him with cold arrogance—reminded him too much of Silco.

Bael's pulse spiked. His heart pounded in his ears. That familiar, seething rage surged through him, igniting like a match dropped in oil.

The Shimmer inside him reacted instantly.

His veins pulsed with an unnatural glow beneath his skin, his muscles tensing as a wave of raw aggression shot through his body. His mechanical arm twitched, still deactivated, but the energy running through him was unmistakable.

The temperature around him seemed to rise. The gang leader faltered for half a second, sensing something was off.

And through all of it, Beca sat right beside Bael, watching with an amused smirk, resting her chin on her hand.

She could step in. She could de-escalate. But it was no fun.

The moment Bael felt the faint hum of power returning to his mechanical arm, he didn't hesitate.

His fist connected with the punk's face in an instant, the force behind it cracking like a gunshot. The man's body flew across the cafeteria, crashing into a table, sending trays and bowls clattering to the floor. A stunned silence followed.

The gang leader groaned, pushing himself up with shaky arms, dazed. His vision swam, and he reached up to wipe his face—only for one of his friends to go pale.

"Uh… boss?"

The leader blinked at him. "What?"

"You… uh… you got something on your face."

Confused, he touched his cheek. His fingers brushed over raised, glowing lines, shifting in color from red to orange—

A Boom-Boom tattoo.

His breath hitched. He knew exactly what that meant. Panic flooded his system, overriding the pain in his skull.

Bael clenched his fist, prepared to detonate it. His breathing was ragged, his mind lost in a haze of fury. His entire body screamed for blood, for release. Silco had taken everything from him. Everything. And this bastard, with that face, had the nerve—

Just as his fingers twitched, just as the tattoo began to pulse brighter—

A hand clamped onto his wrist.

"Chill, big guy."

Bael's head snapped to the side, wild-eyed. Beca stood beside him, her grip firm but casual, like this was all just a minor inconvenience.

"Kill someone here, and they'll toss your ass into solitary so fast you won't even have time to regret it," she murmured, voice laced with amusement. "And last I checked, you had a little escape plan to worry about, yeah?"

Bael's body was shaking. His entire being screamed to finish what he started. His breath came in heavy, uneven bursts. The tattoo's glow pulsed, waiting for his command—

Then, with a guttural growl, he released it. The energy faded.

He turned and grabbed his tray, the plastic cracking under his grip, and hurled it across the room. It smacked into a wall, food splattering everywhere.

With a final glare at the gang leader, who was still frozen in terrified silence, Bael stormed out of the cafeteria, his rage barely contained.

A particular individual furrowed her brows as she watched Bael storm out.

That face… something about it was familiar. The way he moved, the way he carried himself—it tugged at something buried deep in her memories.

No way… she thought, shaking her head. It can't be.

The Bael she knew was just some scrappy kid from the Lanes. A genius, sure, but not… this. Not a guy throwing people across the room and nearly blowing them to bits with some tattoo magic.

She leaned forward, elbows on the table, eyes locked on the cafeteria doors.

Had Zaun really changed him that much?

Or… had she just been gone too long?

...

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