Chapter Text
Jinx stared at her distorted reflection in the shattered mirror as she smeared black paint across her face—an x over each of her eyes. To anyone that knew her, it would be an obvious sign of who she was, but to most of the drunken fools that sat in the audience, she was nothing but a mysterious stranger with an infamous reputation to uphold. It was amazing that all it took to go from Zaun’s most recognizable figure to a nobody was a haircut, hair dye, and some face paint.
She supposed it helped that only a handful of people knew about her permanently pink-tainted eyes, too. According to the wanted posters plastered to every wall, she still had blue eyes, so nobody would think to look for anything different. Who knew those stupid posters would actually help her stay hidden in plain sight?
When she first started fighting, she stared blankly at the paper asking for her name. Obviously, she couldn’t write Jinx, and she sure as hell wasn’t about to write Powder, so after about five minutes of internal panicking, she finally settled on X and scribbled the letter on the paper to hand to the referee. She figured most of the dimwits she was fighting wouldn’t be able to put the pieces together, but maybe Vi would. It turned out, whatever she wrote on that paper meant nothing because after three fights, she had earned her nickname.
Now, they called her The Ghost. If nothing else, it was appropriate. She was surrounded by ghosts that whispered in her ears and lurked in the corners of her vision, endlessly tormenting her as punishment for her mistakes. She should’ve been a ghost, but for some reason Fate found humor in fucking up her plans and keeping her alive, even when, more than anything, she wanted to die.
The real reason she had gotten her nickname was because of her ghastly appearance and bursts of superhuman speed that allowed her to move so fast she was nearly invisible. Oh, and there was the fact that some people insisted she was possessed. It was an easy assumption to make when she spent the first half of her fights letting herself get hit over and over until the beast inside her woke up and decimated her opponents in a matter of seconds.
Even after months of having her veins full of shimmer, she still hadn’t fully adjusted to her new abilities. Usually, when the aching flames consumed her, making her vision blur with pink as her body moved faster than she could comprehend, it was easier to let her mind slip away into the thick clouds of fog that always welcomed her with open arms. She surrendered control, allowing her body to do whatever it needed in order to stay alive. She was getting tired, though. She deserved every bruise, cut, or broken bone that she got, but it was starting to take its toll on her.
She just needed to hold on long enough to be able to fight Vi. Once she faced her sister, she would finally be able to rest. She hoped she could keep fighting until then.
This was her fifth night in a row of fighting. Normally, she took at least a day or two between fights to sleep off her injuries and stalk her sister, but she was getting antsy. Already, she had waited for months to fight Vi, and she still hadn’t been granted the privilege of fighting her sister again. The more time she spent at the pits, the greater her likelihood of getting matched against Vi, right?
She was starting to feel the negative side effects of letting herself get thrown around like a ragdoll just to expend all her remaining energy to pull off a win, though. Every muscle in her body ached, and she felt slow and clumsy. She was used to her mind moving far faster than any of her opponents—another thing that usually worked in her favor—but today, it felt like the world was moving in slow motion.
“Let’s go, you’re up next,” a gruff voice called, making Jinx’s vision snap back into focus.
She knew she was setting herself up for failure by going into a fight in this state. She was already injured from the previous night and she couldn’t even remember the last time she slept, but she refused to give up on an opportunity to face Vi.
Jinx took a shuddering breath and stepped out into the ring, squinting as she was momentarily blinded by the bright lights. When her vision cleared, her chest tightened with apprehension as she saw who her opponent was. So far, she’d been lucky enough to have only faced strangers. She should’ve known her luck would run out at some point—it always did.
She quickly recognized the tattooed man—Gustove, according to the announcer, though she had never bothered to learn his name when he had worked for Silco. Unfortunately, she was certain that this was an instance where some makeup and hair dye would not be enough to protect her identity. The man had worked for Silco since the beginning, and he had every reason to hate her—she had technically ruined his life by accidentally shooting him and leaving him behind to be arrested by enforcers. Back then, she had been far more focused on the pink-haired Firelight girl, she hadn’t cared who else had gotten caught in the crossfire. Unfortunately, now her carelessness had come back to haunt her.
Any small, foolish hope that she wouldn’t be recognized died the moment that Gustove’s gaze locked on her, and his eyes hardened with hatred. Her chest tightened with anxiety and her heart pounded loudly in her chest as she braced herself for what was coming.
“So this is what you’re up to now that Silco’s not here to rescue you anymore,” Gustove grunted with satisfaction.
Jinx snarled, but she didn’t respond. Instead, she clenched her fists and prepared for the fight. She would win. She always won. She just had to be strategic. This game was one of strategy as much as it was of skill. She might be smaller and weaker than most of her opponents, but she was smarter than all of them. She had learned that pitfighting didn’t exactly draw in the most intelligent group of people, though maybe she should’ve gathered that from her idiot sister’s participation in the fights.
As far as she knew, Vi still hadn’t figured out that she was there, biding her time until they were inevitably matched together and could finish what they had started in Janna’s temple. This time there was nobody else to get in the way—or to save her.
Of all the times the memory of that night—of a little girl with eyes like sunlight, peering up at her with astonishment and curiosity—could resurface, this was the worst. She needed to focus. Her other fights hadn’t mattered. Sure, she might get beaten to shit, but there were rules, and most people respected those rules. This was the first time someone had recognized her, and had a pretty good reason to hurt her. Gustove wouldn’t care about the rules. She had ruined his life, and he had just been handed his chance for revenge on a silver platter. If he wanted to, he would kill her, and as much as she wanted to die, killing her was a right reserved for Vi.
The ringing of the bell to mark the beginning of the fight forcefully pulled Jinx away from the surge of memories, and her vision sharpened as Gustove charged at her. She gritted her teeth and quickly dodged the fist that was flung at her face. She was successful the first time, but not so lucky the second time. Gustove’s fist collided hard with her face, and the sharp crack of her nose, likely breaking from the impact, echoed in her ears.
She yelped and stumbled to the side, her body already trembling from the pain and adrenaline. All those untreated injuries from previous fights were doing her absolutely no favors now. Of course, of all the fights she had been in, her body would choose to give up now. She couldn’t let herself die. She had to see her sister again.
Her hand instinctively lifted to her face to wipe away the blood that dribbled from her nose, but all it did was smear the crimson liquid further across her pale skin. She hissed and side-stepped as Gustove swung at her again. She only narrowly missed a sharp hit to the ribs, but she suspected she was only delaying the inevitable.
For once, she yearned for the uncomfortable burning beneath her skin, and the loss of control as the drug that permanently lived inside her veins drove her to survival. Until now, she had always been able to rely on it to get her to victory, or at a bare minimum survival. This time, there was nothing but exhaustion. She could barely stay upright, and she was certain that one more hit would be enough to knock her down for good.
This was her own fault. She had gotten impatient and pushed herself too far, and now she was paying the price.
Jinx’s eyes snapped toward Gustove as he prowled toward her, and a low growl rumbled in her throat. She needed to at least try to put up a fight. She wouldn’t humiliate herself like this, and she wouldn’t let him kill her. While she didn’t have the brute strength that most of her opponents possessed, she had the advantage of agility, a skill that someone as burly as Gustove would inevitably be lacking.
She charged forward and pushed herself off the ground, throwing herself at him. If she could catch him off guard and get a good hit on his face, maybe she would stand a chance. The key was acting fast. She stared down at him and watched as his eyes narrowed to slits, and his hands raised, preparing to grab her. She clenched her own fist and reared her arm back, ready to strike.
Her fist collided hard with his face, making her wince. She never had been good at throwing proper punches—that was Vi and Ekko’s thing—but it was enough to make Gustove flinch and groan. She heard the satisfying crack of his cheekbone breaking, and though she would pay the price with a bruised, aching hand, it was worth it.
One hit was far from a victory, though, and her hand was too sore to do much else without injuring herself more in the process. Gustove took full advantage of her split second of hesitation as she assessed her trembling hand, and he greedily claimed his revenge by threading his fingers through her hair and yanking hard.
Her stupid hair. She had enough sense to chop off the braids before starting in the pits, but it was still long enough to be a disadvantage if her opponent was smart enough to use it against her. Unfortunately, Gustove seemed determined to exploit every weakness she had. She fought the urge to shriek as she was pulled to the ground by her hair, and she didn’t even have the chance to blink before a heavy boot came down hard on her chest and a sickening cracking filled her ears.
She shuddered and tried to take a breath, but instead of air, it felt like knives had filled her lungs. She wheezed and coughed, but the abrupt motion only made the pain worse.
Fuck. This was how she was going to die. She was never going to get to face her sister again. Of all the people that had at least some right to kill her, Gustove was not one of them. Unfortunately, most of the people on the list were already dead—most of them because of her.
The funny thing was, as much as she tried to justify it, her desire to die by the hands of a select few had nothing to do with justice and everything to do with her crippling fear of dying alone. She tried so hard to banish her fear, but it still loved to rear its ugly head, especially in moments like this. She was going to die alone, and nobody she loved would even know or care.
Why would they? It’s better for everyone if you die.
Tears filled her eyes as she weakly attempted to roll onto her stomach so she could try to push herself up, or at least try to crawl away. Gustove wasn’t having it, though. He chuckled at her pitiful attempt to escape and he pushed her back down.
“Where ya going, Jinx?” he spat as he wrapped his hand tightly around her throat and lifted her off the ground like she was nothing more than a sack of flour. She kicked and thrashed and clawed at his hand, trying to free herself, but his grip remained firm.
Pressure began to build in Jinx’s head from the lack of oxygen and blood flow, and black spots danced in her vision, making her focus waver. Her struggle began to die as her limbs turned to lead, and finally, the victory bell rang.
Talk about saved by the bell.
Leave it to Mylo to mock her even as her body had begun to spasm from the lack of oxygen. Surprisingly, Gustove released her, and she grunted as she was unceremoniously dropped, her body crumpling like paper as she hit the concrete floor. Gods, she wanted to go home.
No. She wanted her sister. She wanted this to be over.
Dark spots still danced in her vision as she looked up at the wild crowd, and the prying eyes of the audience made her feel like a mouse caught in a glue trap. She didn’t know how she was going to make it out of there, much less how she was going to get herself home. The deafening cheers and bright, fluorescent lights made her already throbbing head feel like it was going to explode. She needed to get out.
A sharp ache sliced through her chest and her strained muscles screamed in protest as she unsteadily propped herself up on hands and knees. She tried to focus on her breathing, but every breath hurt worse than the last, and she was pretty sure thinking about it was only reminding her of how much agony she was in. She wanted to cry, but she wouldn’t humiliate herself like that. She couldn’t let the mask fall and let everyone realize that she really was just a scared, pathetic little girl.
She clung to what was left of her mask and bared her teeth as Gustove approached, his hulking form blocking out the lights and casting a shadow over her.
“Not so scary without a gun in your hand, are you?” Gustove taunted as he hovered over her with a mocking smile.
Jinx inched back, sensing the danger, but she wasn’t fast enough. Clearly, the personal aspect of the fight was far more important to him than the rules of the game. If he hit her once the match was over, he’d be penalized and not allowed to fight for the rest of the month, but the cruel gleam in his eye was enough for Jinx to know that the consequences meant nothing to him. Sure enough, the same boot that had crushed her ribs collided with the side of her jaw, and there was a sharp pop as lightning bolts of pain stretched across her face.
She fell back and hit her head on the concrete, but that dull, minor ache was nothing compared to the agony that pulsated from her jaw. Gustove chuckled, ignoring the announcement of his penalty. Apparently her misery was the only thing that mattered to him.
Tears stung her eye and she watched through blurred vision as Gustove wove his hand, gesturing for her to be dragged away. She wanted to protest, but she couldn’t make her body move, and her mouth hung partially open, unable to move or form words. All she could do was wriggle and whine as they dragged her away and dumped her in the dark alley behind the concrete building.
Great. She was definitely dead, now. If Gustove didn’t come out to finish her off, some other sleazebag would find her, and she was too injured to fight them off. At this point, she hoped someone would come finish her off quickly. The anxiety that grew like vines in her veins was arguably worse than whatever pain would be inflicted on her. Frankly, she doubted her body could take much more damage, so it wouldn’t take much to finish her off.
Jinx managed to drag herself to the wall and she stayed tucked behind the dumpster for some semblance of cover from any prying eyes that may wander past the alley. She would just have to suck it up and ignore the rancid stench that stung her nose. Stinky trash was better than being discovered and abused by some enforcer or chembaron goon, right?
Maybe, if she was lucky, the Firelights would find her. If Vi wouldn’t be the one to kill her, she supposed the Firelights had just as much of a right—she had killed their leader, after all. That memory stung like acid in her mouth. He should’ve been the one to walk off the bridge, not her. It was just another example of all the ways Fate liked to fuck her over, though. No matter how hard she tried to die, somehow she always survived and was instead forced to watch the people she loved die.
If the Firelights found her, she would have to come face to face with the reality of everything she had done to them, but at least the worst they would do to her was kill her. She couldn’t say the same about the Chembarons. If they got their hands on her, Janna only knew what they would do. Whatever got them the most profit, she guessed, whether that was selling her to Piltover or to a brothel. Or maybe they’d lock her up and force her to build them weapons. None of those options sounded pleasant, and they all scared her far more than just death. She was certain they wouldn’t waste her life when there was a profit to be made, though. That was how they operated—fueled by their greed.
Jinx took a shaky breath as she lifted her hands to prod her jaw. She had heard it pop out of place, but the question was whether she could push it back in without fucking up her mouth permanently. It seemed risky, but it wasn’t like anyone else was gonna come around to help her, so what choice did she have?
She gently pushed on the spot where Gustove had kicked her, and winced as pain bloomed wherever her fingers touched. She wasn’t sure how she was going to do this herself when even the tiniest touch was agonizing, but she had to suck it up. It would feel better once it was over, right?
Her heart hammered in her chest as she took a shuddering breath and tried to push her jaw back into place. Janna, she was stupid. Her mouth exploded with pain, and she couldn’t hold back her scream of anguish. Hot tears rolled down her cheeks and her breathing became urgent and panicked. She couldn’t fix this. Her jaw was locked in place, and there was nothing she could do about it and nobody would come to her aid.
If she had the energy to move, maybe Sevika would help her out, but she hadn’t been able to face Sevika since Janna’s temple. Besides, it was a fifty-fifty shot on whether Sevika would take pity on her and help her or if she’d laugh at her situation and throw her out for being so stupid and worthless. She didn’t have the strength to move, though, so none of it mattered anyway.
Saliva bubbled at the corners of her mouth as she breathed frantically with no way to swallow and clear her mouth. How long would it take before she suffocated on her own spit? What a pathetic way to go out.
She needed to stop crying. The tears and snot were only making things worse, but she couldn’t make the fear and pain go away. She always tried so hard to run away from the truth of who she was—tried to bury Powder in the same river that was now home to Silco’s corpse—but no matter how hard she tried, she could never really escape the truth of who she was. She would always be that scared, pathetic little girl that ruined everything.
You’re such a baby.
Vi was twice the person at half your age.
You jinx everyone and everything.
Mylo’s voice echoed in her head, murmuring unhelpful reminders. He had been quieter since Silco died, but he still liked to show up to taunt her in her worst moments. It was always the same cycle: he’d remind her of every mistake she’d ever made and she’d sit and take it for as long as she could until she snapped and ended up hurting other people or herself.
You’re the reason Vi hates you. You did this to yourself.
You killed us.
You killed Little Man.
You’re the reason the kid—
Jinx covered her ears and shook her head as an urgent whine was ripped from her throat. Thanks to her locked jaw, she couldn’t speak to argue with Mylo, so she was stuck, doomed to silently endure the torment.
You’re the reason she’s dead. She died because of you.
You’re a jinx!
Jinx took wet, ragged breaths in between her sobs and she couldn’t stop the drool that spilled from her mouth, dripping down her chin from her inability to close her mouth. The more she cried, the less she was able to breathe. Maybe that was good. As pathetic as it was, maybe it was better if she died this way.
She didn’t want to think about the kid. In fact, she was always actively working to not think about her, despite the fact those piercing amber eyes always seemed to inch their way right back into her head.
There were so many things Jinx wish she could go back in time and redo, but there were no redos. Death was final, and there was no taking it back, so now, Jinx had to live with the weight of another death on her hands, and the ghost of a little girl always lurking in the corner of her vision.
Isha had been her name, except Jinx hadn’t known that at the time. She had never bothered to ask her name, instead, she learned it when she picked up the girl’s helmet from where it had fallen when she ran to get to her, and saw the letters engraved on the inside of it. The kid had died for her, and she had never even bothered to learn her name—how fucked up was that? She had killed so many people, and yet she had never felt more like a monster than she did that day when the little girl’s body went limp atop her, and her blood spilled, staining Jinx’s skin.
She had warned the kid that she was no good, and had even tried to run her off, but she was stubborn. Jinx should’ve known better. Kids latched on to whoever they deemed safe and caring, or in Zaun, whoever showed them even the faintest trace of kindness. Wasn’t it ironic that saving her was the same thing that had marked her for death?
Jinx had spent those weeks so preoccupied by her mission to drag Caitlyn and Vi on a wild goose chase through Zaun, just to end it everyone once and for all. She hadn’t been thinking about the kid. Really, she hadn’t been thinking much at all. Those weeks were a blur. She had only been going through the motions to stay alive long enough so Vi could be the one to finish the tragic story of her life. She guessed it was so different from her current status, only now, she didn’t have the kid to keep her company.
She should’ve known things wouldn’t go according to plan that day. Nothing ever went according to plan. She always found a way to fuck things up.
You should’ve been the one that died.
As if she needed to be reminded of that. She should’ve died alongside her family all those years ago, and yet she had been doomed to become a monster—a daughter of chaos and death.
She should’ve died on the bridge with Ekko. It was supposed to be her, not him. When she realized he wouldn’t finish the job, she had pulled the pin on the chomper, expecting it to be the end of her. Ekko should’ve had time to get away, or, if he chose to stay, they should’ve died together. She wasn’t supposed to wake up again. She definitely wasn’t supposed to have had her body pumped full of shimmer.
In Janna’s temple, she was supposed to be the one that died. She had planned to die there, and she had considered almost every detail except the possibility of a kid taking a bullet for her.
It should’ve been her. She should’ve been the one with a bullet in her brain, and her blood painting the stone altar crimson. She should be the corpse left to rot alone in the buried temple, not the little girl.
The shadowy figure of the girl emerged from the shadows, her glowing, golden eyes slicing deep into Jinx’s soul. Jinx urgently shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn’t do this right now. She didn’t want to see her.
For a few long moments, Jinx’s head was a cacophony of voices, reminding her of all her faults and mistakes. She wanted it to stop, and finally, she got her brief reprieve. The sound of footsteps emerging silenced the voices and grabbed Jinx’s attention. The sound was far from a comfort, though. There was no telling who had found their way into the alley. She held her wheezing breath and made herself as small as she could, expecting the worst.
How stupid was it that a few months ago, she was the most feared person in Zaun, and now she was cowering behind a dumpster? She was pathetic.
Her eyes locked on the dark brown boots that approached her, and she reluctantly allowed herself to look up. Her breath hitched as her gaze landed on an eerily familiar white owl mask. Would the Firelights reuse Ekko’s mask? Was this their new leader? It couldn’t be him. He was dead… right?
The fact that he reached for his mask, preparing to gently pry it off his face, was enough of an answer to her questions. There was zero chance that any other Firelights would be dumb enough to reveal themselves to her, but he would. Tears of relief pooled in her eyes as she watched him pull the owl mask off, and those warm, chestnut eyes peered down at her with a mix of concern and wariness.
He was alive. She had been so certain that he was dead—that she had killed him—but somehow, he had survived.
Aside from her relief that he was alive, there was comfort in knowing she was safe. Ekko might despise her, or at least hate who she had become, but he wouldn’t hurt her. Well, he wouldn’t kill her—he had proven that on the bridge—and given her current status, she was pretty sure anymore injuries would end up being lethal, so therefore, she doubted that he would hurt her. Most importantly, there was no chance that he would leave her to be captured and tortured by Chembarons, and that was enough to offer her a little bit of comfort.
For once, she was grateful for Ekko’s insufferable savior complex. As much as it pained her to admit, she needed her boy savior right now.