Hunt For Power

Warwick, League of Legends' own good boy, has been hunting the dark streets of Zaun for years now, and is ready to start aiming for bigger prey- of course, he too needs to get bigger too.

NSFW Alt included, enjoy all, and thanks for your support!

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Warwick breathed deeply, sniffing the air and inhaling the scent of blood on the air; the hunt was grand tonight indeed. Zaun, a vast collection of smog-belching factories, workshops, and criminal cartels shambling about in the guise of a city, was rife with Warwick's preferred quarry tonight. The wolf-like chimera that stalked the darkest alleyways of this cesspit of a city was a force to be reckoned with, a seven and a half foot tall beast of sinewy muscle and dagger-like fangs and claws.

He had once been a gangster, working for one of the chem-barons that had carved up Zaun like a cake, but it was only after he put that life behind him that he had been grabbed by a mad alchemist, Singed, and forcibly transformed into the monster he was now. A set of wires and pipes grafted on to his back glowed with the green alchemical concoction that kept him alive and fed his abilities, but lately, it felt even this strange potion wasn't strong enough for Warwick to keep up his hunt. His vengeance on Singed and the chem-barons was to stalk Zaun's dark underbelly and take out the criminals who propped them up, but lately, there were more murderers, muggers, and worse teeming across Zaun's alleys and backstreets.

Warwick sniffed the air, following the scent of blood until he finally spotted his quarry— the human part of him took pause. He saw a tall, lean and hungry creature, with the features of a cat, covered in sleek black fur. Its fangs and claws were dipped in blood of its last victim, but Warwick had never seen something so close to… well, him. But this creature was far from his equal; Warwick tackled his prey to the ground, and there was a brief tousle, but the fight ended quickly. The wolf monster had size, strength, and clearly experience on his side, and he ended the fight with a savage cut across the neck. Warwick breathed deeply as he stood to his full height, looking over the creature, the bloodlust ebbing as the fight was over.

"Pity," he growled, glancing over to the mangled body of the creature's victim. He was about to stalk back in the night, but then, the murky moonlight caught on something. Clutched in his quarry's clawed hand was a small device of copper and wire, a vial set in the center, and filled with a purple liquid. He collected the vial, and fled into the night.

It was morning, but it was hard to tell in the long shadows and fog that blanketed Zaun. Warwick was curled up in the corner of his derelict lair, sleeping off the few wounds and bruises he had taken from his hunt. There was a knock on his door, followed by a soft shuffling of paper. It was enough for the beast to wake up— Warwick spent a good amount of coin paying forgotten souls of Zaun to give him information, leads on good prey across the sprawling city. He reached for the hastily scrawled note, and opened it gingerly with his claws.

"Crimson and Eramis dead— gang war in Black Lanes and Factorywood"

"Ah." Warwick grunted. That explained it— Crimson and Eramis were two chem-barons, the rulers of Zaun. With two of them gone, their underlings would tear the city apart carving out their new territories. Warwick's first reaction was one of elated hunger— so much quarry would be packed in the streets. But then, something tugged at him. He half-remembered what it was like during a gang war; it was hell on earth. Chaos for the people.

Some lingering bit of humanity tugged at Warwick's heart, and he sighed, massaging his forehead. He could stop it. He just needed to be more surgical, take out the underlings keeping the war going. Yes— Warwick was good at killing, if nothing else. If he could add something instead of just taking out the trash, then so be it. He glanced over to one corner of his lair, where the purple liquid he had found off his last hunt still caught the light. Something about it seemed alluring, but Warwick was smart enough not to drink strange, glowing liquids undoubtedly made as a result of alchemy. Besides, he had to start planning which names to put on his list…

A few nights later, Warwick had made good progress. The gang war between Crimson and Eramis' underbosses still raged, but the news had begun to spread about Warwick's single-minded war against them both. They were getting scared, desperate— and desperate men made mistakes. It could make things interesting for him. The smell of blood that so egged him on was mixed with a palpable sense of fear, and for Warwick, it did make him smile. The next name on his list was Rackham, one of Eramis' cronies. Eramis loved food more than anything, and that rubbed off on his underlings. If he was going to remove one more fat maggot, Zaun would be all the better for it.

The chimeric wolf dropped down from the rooftops, the scent of Rackham's blood driving him on. He was near. He had seen Rackham around, a big lump of meat in a too-tight waistcoat, who relied on his fists to keep smaller people around him in line. He was used to being the biggest guy in the room.

"Until he meets me," Warwick chuckled to himself darkly. He followed the scent until his nose was itching, his mouth salivating… and no sign of Rackham.

"Where are you, you fat worm?" he growled, scanning the empty, cavernous warehouse he had tracked him down to.

"Look up." A rough voice growled. Warwick had seconds to roll out of the way before a massive beast dropped down from the ceiling, the floor cracking under his weight. The beast in front of Warwick was a mountain of brawny heft and shaggy fur slick with blood. Arms thick as the wolf's chest bristled with thickly roped muscle, but were dwarfed by his enormous keg of a gut.

Warwick practically hissed. "Rackham?"

The beast, with distinctly bear-like features, grinned toothily, holding out his great arms. "In the flesh. Heard about you, Blood Hunter." He flexed his massive arm, bicep swelling to bigger than his head. "How's it feel going from apex predator to prey for the feast?"

"I wouldn't know." Warwick flexed his fingers, claws long as daggers and hard as adamantine. He lunged for Rackham, raking his quarry's thick skin. He saw in the gloom a familiar glow mixed in with Rackham's blood, and over his sprawling shoulders, spotted a familiar device— a series of copper machinery, vials and wires grafted onto Rackham's skin, a purple elixir pumped into the beast's veins.

"You've been to Singed."

Rackham put a finger to his lips, smirking cruelly before he landed a blow on Warwick that knocked the wolf off his feet and sent him flying, crashing into a crumbling and rusted column.

"The good doctor wanted more experiments, I wanted results." Rackham tackled Warwick, his immense weight hitting the beast like a ton of bricks. Warwick thrashed in his grip, those swollen muscles pressing in on his sides. "We were both satisfied with the transaction."

Warwick kicked and struggled, the breath leaving his body as he felt his bones begin to ache, his body nearly crushed. He heard the crack and shattering of glass, and felt his fur grow wet. His own apparatus had broken, and his serum was running out— he'd be dead if he didn't act. In desperation he clawed at Rackham, scratching at him, until he finally wriggled himself free enough to bring his jaws down on his opponent, snapping around his arm like a bear trap.

Rackham howled in pain, dropping Warwick. The wolf had to think fast, dodging Warwick's blows and circling him to strike at his back. He tore at Rackham's wiring, the glowing purple liquid spilling out.

The bear-like monster howled in rage and pain, swinging wildly at Warwick. "You've not been a hunter for long, Rackham." Warwick snarled, slipping into the shadows and waiting for Rackham to tire himself— and open himself to attack. "These hunting grounds aren't kind to new bloods."

"I'm not a new blood anywhere, Warwick!" Rackham snarled.

"Maybe." Warwick leapt from his hiding place, hurling himself against Rackham's torso, digging his claws into Rackham's chest as if he were a mountain to be scaled. "But now your blood is mine." Warwick growled, slashing his claws at the bear's throat. Rackham, eyes wide, thrashed blindly before he staggered backwards and collapsed, his last words a gurgled mash of howls and nonsense.

Warwick's bloodlust was sated, and he examined Rackham with cold calculus, his steps staggered— he needed more serum soon, but he couldn't get back to his lair before he passed out.

A thought then struck him; Singed was behind this. The serum pumped into Rackham's body must be like his own, turning him into this monster. But Rackham was so much more powerful than Warwick, even if he didn't know how to use it. He looked at the apparatus grafted onto the bear's great back and knelt down, prying the cannister of purple serum free. It was always difficult, reaching behind his back to empty his own vials, but he had grown used to it. He felt light-headed as the serum that powered his monstrous form dried up in his own body; he had to act fast. By the time he was done snatching Rackham's own serum and vials and slotting it into his own machinery, his vision was blurry. It was like dying of thirst and drowning at the same time— he could barely stand.

Warwick let out a silent, desperate prayer to whatever powers might be listening, and waited. Thankfully, he didn't need to wait for long. It was a shock to his system; the old serum burned his blood, this electrified him. Energy pulsed through his body, sharp, jagged bolts shooting into every extremity. It was too much, and Warwick could feel his body starting to tear itself apart— he only held on through sheer willpower, and then felt himself begin to grow. Bones cracked, muscle tore, and he shuddered— but he was growing.

Thick veins, engorged with the new serum, snaked their way across his expanding body, like rivers stretching over a sprawling landscape. His muscles surged, his deep, wide chest pushing out by several inches past his snout. His neck and shoulders spread up and out, like a mountain range. His springy legs tightened, tearing at his shorts as sculpted quads sprung to life, thickening into tree trunks that held up the rest of his increasingly monstrous body. His back spread out like wings, and his arms thickened, his triceps filling out to the size of anvils as his biceps inflated as large as his hands.

Warwick's breath was ragged and shallow, his now-massive body tensed and shivering, muscles primed, his chest swollen to the point his chin kept bumping against it as he looked over himself, wide-eyed. It felt… good. Warwick flexed his fingers, the strain in his arm still fresh, but even this caused his muscles to tighten and flex. There was power in this new form, an intoxicating rush. He had to test it.

Warwick looked around the warehouse, spotting rusted, broken down hulks of machinery— suitable enough for a test. With an adrenaline fuelled roar, he lunged himself at an old furnace, the rusted metal crumbling like paper in his powerful grip. His arms and pecs flexed, biceps and his chest jostling each other for room as he heaved the entire furnace off its supports, heaving the enormous hunk of metal over his head and throwing it with all his might. It hurtled towards the wall like a comet, striking the brick work and devastating it.

The wolf smirked toothily. "Yes. This will do."

Warwick felt as if he were flying. His powerful leg muscles would coil like springs and send him soaring with every leap, and his arms propelled him faster and faster through the city. Everything was heightened— he could see further, hear better, the scents of Zaun came alive, and he could think. His mind was clear. The assurance of power and strength was apparently a wonderful balm for the mind. Taking out the underlings wasn't enough; they were like ants. For every one he crushed, three more would come crawling out to take their place. No— if he was going to stop the gang war, he needed to take a more active role.

Two gangs were tearing Zaun apart, because they didn't have a strong hand to bring them in line. Warwick had a strong hand— stronger than it had ever been. Perhaps it was time for the Blood Hunter to come out of the shadows and expand his hunting grounds. If he was going to do that, however, he needed more of this miracle serum. That meant he was going to have to meet with someone he swore he would see dead— now, unfortunately, he had a need for him.

Warwick could smell Singed's stench on the air. His lab was located in the bowers of Zaun, hidden away even from the lowest dregs of the city's people. Warwick knew the way here only too well. It was a place that filled him with a towering rage, but now, he could think clearly and keep himself in check. He wanted nothing more to remove Singed's miserable, ugly head from his shriveled, misshapen body— but if he could make more of this serum, make Warwick even more powerful, then he had a stay of execution, for now.

Warwick wasted no time on pleasantries. The beast threw himself at the wall of Singed's lab and took the alchemist by surprise. His arm was larger than Singed's entire skinny body, and he marched through the haze of his toxins like it was gentle rain. He grabbed the alchemist by the neck and hoisted him off his feet.

"Hello, Singed." Warwick growled. "I have a job for you. You and me are going to save Zaun from itself."