UFF

Jace Beleren stepped through the grand doors of the League of Legends, and they slammed shut behind him with a sonorous clang, cutting him off from any source of illumination.

“This is a League Judgment?” he wondered aloud.

“Apparently,” said someone far off in the darkness.

Jace reacted instantly, throwing up every shield he could think of and searching frantically for any nearby minds. His shielding was thick enough to glow a faint blue, his sweep found nobody and if the owner of that voice was who he thought it was then instantly wasn’t anything like fast enough, but he wasn’t going to let anyone say he hadn’t tried.

“Show yourself!” he called. His wish was granted when the room suddenly blazed with light, as torches in alcoves around the walls flared to life. When he could finally stand to so much as squint again, Jace peered at his surroundings. He was in an ornately carved stone room, with two sets of double doors, one ahead and one behind. Between Jace and the way forward was the room’s only other occupant: the owner of the voice and the man Jace was least okay with being locked in anywhere with. “You!” he snarled.

“Me,” said Tezzeret. He had to have been lurking in the darkness long before Jace had arrived, but the maddening son of a bitch wasn’t showing the slightest sign of discomfort in the bright light. In fact, he wasn’t showing anything at all, just staring levelly at Jace with his face absolutely blank. That kind of stare should have been easy for Jace to track back along and slip into his mind, but still he felt nothing. Either this wasn’t the real Tezzeret, or he’d picked up a new trick or two. Knowing Tezzeret as he did, he wasn’t prepared to place a bet either way.

“You’re a League Judge?” Jace asked, trying to keep both eyes on both of Tezzeret’s hands and watch his face at the same time. Maybe he’d have a second or two warning that way. Tezzeret simply gave him a smile in response – no, an imitation of a smile; there was no warmth behind those eyes.

“Just for you,” he said at length.

“So, what, you knew I’d come here? You weaselled your way into the League, just so you could torment me some more? Haven’t you hurt me enough?” Jace shouted. An unpleasant idea occurred to him. “This wasn’t Bolas’s idea, was it? You said you were partners, I don’t believe that for a second, so are you just doing his dirty work now?”

“I assure you that Nicol Bolas has had no hand in this Judgment,” Tezzeret said. “Nor is this encounter related to any schemes I may or may not have to hurt you. I am conducting this Judgment because it is my duty, and because it can be done in no other way.”

“Don’t think for a moment I don’t remember your speech back on the Metal Island,” warned Jace. “You said yourself that if ever you thought I wasn’t scared, you’d do something about it. Well, here I am.” He pointed at his opponent. “I’m not scared of you!” he declared, though the shaking of his hand told a different story. “So what are you going to do, here and now? Get it over with!”

Tezzeret just shook his head slowly, still staring at Jace. “Then I will,” he said, quietly enough that Jace had to strain to hear him. Then, louder, he asked a single, simple question: “Why do you want to join the League of Legends, Jace?”

The question struck the mind-mage like a thunderbolt. He’d been so wrapped up in preparing to defend himself from an attack he only suspected might come, he’d forgotten why he was really there. He stood stock-still, as he searched for a response. Finally, he settled on the only one that came to mind.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I didn’t think I’d need a reason. To be honest, I’m not sure I really do.” Tezzeret nodded.

“How does it feel, exposing your mind?” he asked. That one Jace could answer.

“Horrible,” he said. “Absolutely horrible, every time.”

Tezzeret waited in silence, still keeping up that damn stare. After a minute or two of silent contemplation, during which Jace felt very sorry for himself, he cleared his throat.

“Leave this place, Jace,” he said. “There’s nothing for you here.” A pair of double doors swung open – the doors that Jace had entered by. Daylight streamed in and warmed his back, then his face as he turned to leave. Just before he crossed the threshold, Tezzeret called his name again. He turned, and to his astonishment he saw his nemesis’s face contorted into a genuine, friendly smile.

“You were right, of course,” Tezzeret said. “I’m not the real Tezzeret. Good luck to you.”

Jace stepped outside, took a deep breath, and planeswalked away from Runeterra.

On a slab, in a laboratory, in a castle, on a mountain, in a far-off land, there lay a human body. Not exactly a corpse, though it certainly wasn't alive; the varying skin tones and obvious sutures made it all-too clear that it had been stitched together from a number of different bodies. There were two living men in the laboratory with the horrible thing. One, short, bald and twisted, was even now putting the finishing touches on some threadwork in the leg. The other, a tall young man wearing long, black, lightning-bolt marked robes, whose messy hair had turned prematurely white, was determinedly staring out of the window, occasionally glancing round at his colleague's handiwork, only to once more look away in disgust.
"Are you done yet?" the young lightning mage asked.
"Nearly," answered the old surgeon, not bothering to look up. "Why, not getting twitchy are you?" The younger man spun round with annoyance on his face, then the irritation turned to nausea and he nearly threw himself out of the window, so desperate was he for a breath of fresh air. It wasn't just the sight of the thing that revolted him; the damn thing gave off such a smell.
"I think it's understandable," he said, once he'd recovered sufficiently to open his mouth without retching. "We're so close, a little impatience is surely excusable. And I'd like to be able to leave the room through the door some time today."
"I can't imagine what you think would be stopping you," chuckled the surgeon, inhaling deeply. "And... there. We're done." The lightning mage sighed in relief, then was overtaken by a choking fit.
"Just... the brain... then?" he asked, between coughs.
"That's the one," the doctor said, a sinister smile creeping over his face. "I don't suppose you could fetch it for me, could you?" He gestured to a brain in a large glass container with condensation forming on the sides. All of his creations' limbs had been kept in similar receptacles, as had the results of his craft. Carefully preserved, until some day they could be brought to life. For twenty-four years he'd been collecting body parts and seeing what he could assemble from them, until he found some way to raise the monsters he'd made. Six months ago, he'd met this lightning-mage - an obsessive madman, willing to do whatever he had to to achieve his goals. The mage had put forth his idea: That lightning, to which he also attributed the properties of thirst-quenching, timekeeping and lice removal, could restore the dead to life. So obvious, and yet he was kicking himself that he hadn't seen it. So he'd employed the wizard, used his help to both 'acquire' specimens and develop the specialised mechanisms that would bring the spark of life to his... "children". And now, the mage would complete the final task for which the doctor required him.
With a large clump of cloth stuffed into his mouth, the lightning-wizard eventually managed to reach the jarred brain, and with no small effort carried it to his employer.
"My thanks," the twisted old man muttered, as his young assistant set the organ on the slab beside him. "Now, if you would just assume your position..."
"Of course," the wizard replied, and he began to move towards the head of the table. No sooner had he taken a step, however, than something hooked around his ankle, and he fell flat on his face, bashing the side of his head against the edge of the slab. The doctor watched him until he was satisfied that he was dead, then picked up a bonesaw and tested the edge on his finger.
"What an unfortunate accident," he said out loud, though there was now nobody left to listen. "Still... shame to waste such a promising brain." He advanced towards his erstwhile subordinate's mortal shell, his brown and yellow teeth glinting in the light of the moon.

"I'm so sorry," said Doctor Jack Studman. "Your husband is in a critical condition. I need you to agree to this surgery to save his life."

"What is it?" asked Helena Goodlady, her distraught bosom heaving with despair as she shook her silky, golden locks. "Please... Doctor Jack Studman, I'll do anything!"

Doctor Jack Studman smiled, and again Helena was struck by how... rugged he was. His firm, square jaw and light coating of stubble were incredibly attractive to her, but something about his amazing blue eyes spoke of danger. The man was a caged lion, and she felt the raw force of his masculinity wash over her, like a soothing tidal wave from the sea. She almost felt that maybe... maybe it wouldn't be so bad if Maximillian...

No, she told herself. My first duty is to my husband.

"Tell me, Helena," Doctor Jack Studman said, and Helena couldn't help wondering what he might look like with his white lab coat and surgical clothing off. Doctors knew how to take care of themselves, after all. "How much do you know of the language of medicine?"

"Oh..." Helena said, taken aback - surely he couldn't think that a woman like her could know of such things? "I... I don't really know anything about technical matters like that." She stepped forward. "Perhaps... you could teach me?"

Doctor Jack Studman didn't move, just gazing at her with those brilliant green eyes. "The operation I want to perform on your husband is called a motorneurotomy. I'll need your permission to go ahead."

"Yes, yes..." Helena whispered, locking eyes with Doctor Jack Studman. "Please, tell me... What is a mote...rotty thing?" she asked.

"The details are much too difficult to explain," explained Doctor Jack Studman. He reached out to put an arm over her shoulders. She didn't resist. "But trust me... Mrs Goodlady... the operation is just what Maximillian needs. Will you consent?"

Helena stared at him admiringly. "Yes... yes, I consent," she said.

"STOP THIS CONSENTING!" bellowed a voice from the door! A man strode in, dressed in the uniform of a police officer. It was...

"John!" exclaimed Helena.

"Colonel John Fortitude of Scotland Yard!" ejaculated Doctor Jack Studman.

"That's right!" declared Colonel John Fortitude of Scotland Yard, for it was he who had entered the hospital ward. From all around, there was an audible intake of breath as the female patients caught a glimpse of the famous Scotland Yarder. "I am Colonel Fortitude of the Yard, and I'm here to stop a terrible thing from taking place!"

"Colonel Fortitude!" said Doctor Jack Studman. "What brings you here?"

"Only a heinous crime!" said Colonel Fortitude. "The crime of murder!"

"No!" everyone gasped.

"John, what are you talking about?" wailed Helena.

"I shall explain!" Colonel Fortitude said. "You might not know about medicine language, but I've picked up more than a few things in my time with the force, and I can tell you that a motorneurotomy is not as simple as it sounds! In fact, it means 'removing the motor neurones'! In other words, Maximillian would be left paralysed at the hands of Doctor Jack Studman! This was his plan all along, to leave your husband helpless and then blame it on complications in the surgery - but the only complication here was one very bad doctor!"

"Curse you, Colonel Fortitude!" Doctor Jack Studman snarled, and he hurled himself towards the door. But John was faster, and with one swift motion of his firm, rippling, muscular arm he snatched at Doctor Jack Studman, halting him in his tracks with an iron grip on his upper arm.

"Oh, John!" gasped Helena, and she ran to him, wrapping her slender arms around his solid torso. "Thank you! Now we can get a better doctor, and we can save Maximillian's life!"

"That's right," said John, though each word tore at his heart. "Maximillian is going to be just fine." He turned around and left through the door, dragging Doctor Jack Studman with him.

The truth was, he'd loved Helena from the moment he had first met her, at a garden party three years ago. Even now, the thought gnawed at the back of his mind... he could have let Maximillian die, and taken Helena himself. But... damn his kind nature, he was too good a person to do it.

"Wait, John!" Helena cried. "I have to know... Doctor Jack Studman, why were you going to do it? Why would you kill my Maxie?"

And that, dear reader, is up to you.