MTLNOVEL Chapter 19: 3. The Cell And The Knife
Chapter 3: The Cell and the Knife
Year: 975 AN
Zaunite Cell, Piltover Enforcer Station
Ashryn sat on the cold metal bench, back against the concrete wall, arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her head ached where they'd clocked her with the butt of a rifle before dragging her here. The cell reeked of rust and something bitter, like sour oil. Her clothes were torn, stained with street grime and dried blood from the market chase.
For the first time in a long while, she had a moment to think.
She had really believed it might work. That maybe—just maybe—someone would listen. Someone with a lab coat or a golden badge would hear her out. She wasn't just a street rat. She had knowledge—Earth knowledge, damn it. She remembered fusion theory, micro-reaction systems, even power-loop balancing. Enough to revolutionize some of the failing chemtech systems in Zaun.
But no one had even let her talk.
"I really thought I could logic my way in," she muttered, almost amused by the memory of herself trying to speak reason into that enforcer's stone face. "Idiot."
Ash's fingers drummed idly on her thigh, her thoughts racing, splintering.
She had been wrong—not just about the academy, but about Piltover as a whole. It wasn't about good or bad people. That was too simple. The truth was more insidious. To the Pilties, Zaun wasn't a neighboring city. It wasn't even a place. It was a problem. A stain on their shining brass skyline.
Zaun = crime. Zaun = filth. Zaun = them.
It hit her then. For a city to unify behind that kind of thinking, it had to be taught. Manufactured. A propaganda fed drip by drip through public schooling, media, news-sheets, casual conversations.
She scoffed. "They don't hate us 'cause we're bad. They hate us 'cause they need to."
Piltover needed a contrast. A 'beneath.' Their city of progress needed to stand on something. And that something was her home.
Ash's eyes burned, but she didn't cry. Not anymore. She remembered her mother's smile and the blood that had soaked her hands. Her father's last words. The way the bridge lights had flickered on the Day of Ashes.
She hadn't run from that nightmare to be caged again.
The door creaked. Enforcers entered, casual in posture, but cold in their gaze.
"Stillwater," one of them said, unlocking the cell.
She frowned. "I—I'm not supposed to go to Stillwater. I didn't even do anything."
"You breathe, don't you?" the second enforcer said, cracking his knuckles.
Then darkness.
---
Zaun – Unknown Location, Later
Ashryn stirred to the sound of distant clanging. Her limbs were heavy. Her head throbbed. She blinked up at a low ceiling and realized she was behind bars—but something felt off.
The air was thicker. Sweaty. Foul. There was no faint hum of tech like the Piltover cells. No uniforms. No laws.
Just heat.
A low whisper from the corner of her cell confirmed it.
"New blood. Bet they got you from Piltover too, huh?"
"Where... am I?" Ash croaked.
The girl who spoke was older, with a busted lip and a sunken gaze. "You're in Renni's pit now. Welcome to hell."
Ash's breath caught.
So this is what happens to the ones they take.
No charges. No trials. Just a handoff to a chembaron who fed off blood.
She clenched her fists, fury flooding her chest.
The next hours blurred together. Her name was called. A weapon—just a chipped dagger—was tossed at her feet. She was shoved toward the makeshift arena. The crowd's roar became thunder in her ears.
Ashryn stepped into the pit, blinking under the lanterns. Her opponent was a boy. Maybe fourteen. His eyes were dead already.
She hesitated.
He didn't.
He lunged. She stumbled back, raising the dagger too late. Pain streaked across her shoulder.
"Talk to him!" her instincts screamed. "Don't fight!"
She tried. "We don't have to—"
Booing. Jeers. The announcer barked: "Fifteen minutes. If both still stand, both die."
Of course, she thought bitterly. This place runs on blood.
The boy lunged again. This time, she sidestepped, using his weight against him. He slammed into the dirt, gasping. Her hand trembled, dagger gripped tight.
She didn't want this. But survival didn't care about what she wanted.
He lashed out, catching her off-guard. A flash of silver. Pain tore through her stomach.
Ashryn fell.
The world blurred.
She saw her parents again.
Her father's last hug.
Her mother's voice telling her to run.
Her past life—hazy flashes of lights, laughter, something lost.
Then a realization.
No one's coming to save me.
Not in this pit. Not in this city.
The only thing that could save her now... were her fists.
With a guttural yell, she gripped the boy's wrist, twisted hard, and slammed her forehead into his nose. Blood. Screaming. She straddled him, raised the dagger—and hesitated.
He's just a kid.
His eyes widened.
Then he stabbed again.
Pain.
Ash's hand dropped—then surged forward.
The dagger plunged into his throat.
Everything went quiet.
---
Zaun – Same Cell, Later
The dark pressed in—thick and suffocating.
Ashryn stood frozen in the pit again, blood on her hands, the boy's wide, fading eyes staring up at her. His lips twitched like he wanted to say something, but only blood bubbled out.
The scene shifted.
Smoke. Screams. Her mother's bloodied face twisted in terror. Her father coughing, shielding her with his body as enforcers yelled. The crack of gunfire.
"Ashryn, run!"
She jerked awake with a sharp inhale, heart thundering. Her bandaged stomach burned, cold sweat dripping down her back.
Still alive.
Still in the cell.
And still haunted.
Her fingers twitched. Her body ached.
She didn't cry.
She laughed. Bitterly. Low and cracked.
"Guess this is character development, huh?" she rasped.
The ceiling didn't answer.
She stared at the rusted bars and thought about the system. Piltover. Zaun. Herself.
She remembered wanting to build bridges.
Now, she was learning how to burn them.
Ashryn exhaled, settling into the dark.
She wasn't going to wish for a better world.
She was going to make one.
One scar at a time.