League Of Legends/Arcane: Earthbound

The cold, damp air of the dungeon gnawed at Adam's senses as he slowly regained consciousness. His body ached, his muscles stiff and sore from the beating he'd taken. The dim torchlight flickered along the walls, casting shadows that seemed alive. He blinked, his vision adjusting, and groaned as the pain in his ribs reminded him of Garen's fists and the others who had piled onto him during the chase.

He sat up, his back against the wall, and exhaled deeply. His head throbbed, but he was alive, which was more than he expected after everything. As he glanced around, his eyes fell on the other prisoners in the adjacent cells. Some sat quietly, staring blankly at the walls, while others murmured to each other in hushed tones.

"Great," he muttered under his breath. "What a lovely place to wake up in."

His attention was drawn to a group in the far corner—a woman with fiery red hair, a younger man with dark skin, and an older, grizzled figure. Their ragged clothing and defeated expressions marked them as magic users. Adam could tell from the way their wrists bore the marks of restraints, likely enchanted shackles or cuffs made of petricite, the anti-magic material Demacia was famous for.

But it was the man in the heavily reinforced chains that truly caught Adam's eye. He sat alone, his wild, long hair framing a face etched with a mixture of defiance and weariness. His name was whispered among the other prisoners—Sylas. The infamous revolutionary who had once led a failed mage rebellion against Demacia.

Adam leaned his head back against the wall, letting out a slow, deliberate breath. He needed a plan, and fast. The fight with Garen and the others had shown him just how unprepared he was for the intensity of Demacian law and its enforcers. If he didn't get out of here, he'd be as good as dead—or worse, shipped off to one of those camps they whispered about.

He shifted, wincing as the movement pulled at his bruises, and decided to break the silence. "So, what's everyone in for?"

The fiery-haired woman snapped her head toward him, her piercing green eyes narrowing. "What do you think?" she snapped. "Magic."

The younger man beside her leaned forward, his voice quieter but filled with a bitter edge. "Caught us outside the city limits. We weren't even doing anything—just trying to get away."

"Existing is enough of a crime for Demacia," the older man growled. His rough voice carried the weight of experience and years of resentment. "If you're born with magic, you're guilty by default and sent to those rechid camps."

Adam frowned, his lips pressing into a thin line. He had known Demacia was no friend to mages, but hearing it directly from them made it feel even harsher. " the camps?"

The older man nodded grimly. "That's where they send us. Forced labor. If you're lucky, you last a year or two. Most don't."

"Damn these guys are just straight medieval Nazis," Adam muttered under his breath, his mind racing. He glanced toward Sylas, who hadn't spoken a word. The man was staring at the wall, lost in thought, but there was an unmistakable fire in his eyes.

Adam shifted closer to the bars. "Hey," he called out to Sylas. "You're the big revolutionary guy, right? The one who tried to bring down the whole system?"

Sylas slowly turned his head, his expression unreadable. "That's what they tell me," he replied, his voice cool and measured.

Adam met his gaze, undeterred. "So what's your plan? Just gonna sit here and wait for them to ship you off to some camp?"

Sylas smirked faintly, but it didn't reach his eyes. "And what would you have me do, boy? These chains aren't just for show. They're petricite. Even if I wanted to burn this place to the ground, I couldn't."

Adam leaned forward, lowering his voice. "What if I told you I had a plan?"

Sylas raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. "A plan? From you?"

"Yeah," Adam said, his tone steady. "We make a distraction. Something big enough to draw the guards' attention. When they're busy dealing with that, we make our move."

The fiery-haired woman scoffed. "You're out of your mind, kid. You think we can just waltz out of here? Even if we get out of these cells, this place is crawling with guards."

Adam turned to her, his expression calm but determined. "I'm not saying it'll be easy. But sitting here and waiting to die isn't exactly a better option, is it?"

The younger mage hesitated, glancing between Adam and the others. "He's got a point," he admitted reluctantly. "If we're going to die anyway, we might as well try."

The older man frowned. "And how do you propose we even start this distraction? The guards aren't exactly stupid."

Adam grinned faintly. "That's where you all come in. The guards bring food every six hours, right? We use that as our window. Start a riot. If we can get the other prisoners on board, it'll be enough to throw them off balance."

Sylas chuckled, a low, almost predatory sound. "A riot, huh? Bold. Reckless. I like it."

Adam's grin widened. "Figured you might."

The fiery-haired woman crossed her arms, her expression skeptical. "Even if we manage to get out of our cells, we're still stuck inside this fortress. The only way out is through the main gate, and that's heavily guarded."

Adam's eyes flicked back to Sylas. "That's where he comes in. Once we're out of the cells and away from the petricite, you'll be able to use your magic again, right?"

Sylas's smirk deepened. "That's assuming we make it that far. But yes, once I'm free of these chains, Demacia will have a real problem on its hands."

The younger mage's eyes lit up with a glimmer of hope. "If Sylas can use his magic, we might actually have a chance."

The older man still looked unconvinced. "And what about you?" he asked Adam. "You're not a mage. What do you bring to the table?"

Adam's grin turned sly. "Let's just say I'm good at improvising. And I'm not afraid to get my hands dirty."

Sylas leaned back against the wall, his chains rattling slightly. "Alright, boy. You've got my attention. Let's hear the details."

Adam nodded, his mind already racing through the logistics. "First, we need to get the other prisoners on board. The more chaos we create, the better our chances. Sylas, you've got the reputation—if anyone can rally them, it's you."

Sylas nodded, his smirk fading as his expression grew serious. "I'll talk to them. They'll listen to me."

Adam turned to the mages. "You three will need to be ready to move as soon as the riot starts. Once we're out of the cells, stick close to Sylas. His magic will be our best shot at getting past the guards."

The fiery-haired woman sighed, running a hand through her messy hair. "I still think this is insane. But if it's the only way out of here, I'm in."

The younger mage nodded. "Me too. I'm not dying in some camp."

The older man grunted, his expression still grim but resolved. "Fine. But if this goes south, don't expect me to save your ass."

Adam smirked. "Wouldn't dream of it."

As the group began to whisper among themselves, discussing the finer details of their plan, Adam leaned back against the wall, his thoughts racing. He had no idea if this would work, but one thing was certain: he wasn't going down without a fight.

Above them, in the upper halls of the fortress, Lux, Garen, and the others continued to examine Adam's belongings, completely unaware of the storm brewing below.

Meanwhile, above the dungeons, the heroes of Demacia gathered in a grand chamber, Adam's belongings laid out before them on a long table. Garen stood at the head, arms crossed, his usual scowl deepened by the questions swirling in his mind. Beside him stood Lux, her expression conflicted, a mixture of concern and curiosity.

Fiora stood further down the table, inspecting the blade Adam had wielded in their fight. Her fingers brushed the edge of the weapon, her lips pressed into a thin line. "This boy made me bleed," she said, breaking the silence. "No one has done that in years. He's untrained, yes, but his instincts… they're remarkable."

Garen grunted. "He's skilled, but reckless. He's hiding something."

Jarvan IV, Crown Prince of Demacia, stepped closer to the table, picking up one of the magical ice arrows. He turned it over in his hand, inspecting the craftsmanship. "This is Freljordian. Ashe's handiwork, if I'm not mistaken. What is a boy from the Freljord doing here, carrying something like this?"

"They could be gifts," Lux offered. "He mentioned he was traveling. Maybe he's not a spy—just… lost?"

Garen shot her a skeptical look. "And that's why he fought us in the streets? Why he resisted capture at every turn? Lux, don't let your soft heart blind you."

Lux flinched but didn't back down. "I'm just saying we don't know enough to make assumptions. Look at his things. Does this look like the equipment of a spy?"

She gestured to the strange box among Adam's belongings—the Game Boy. Jarvan picked it up, turning it over curiously. "What is this?" he asked.

Fiora leaned in, her sharp eyes narrowing. "A weapon, perhaps? Or some kind of magical device?"

As Jarvan fiddled with it, the screen flickered to life, a cheerful 8-bit tune filling the room. Everyone froze, staring at the strange glowing object.

"What… is that?" Garen asked, his tone both confused and wary.

Lux stepped closer, her curiosity outweighing her caution. "It's… like a picture. But it moves. And it makes sound…"

The Demacians stood in stunned silence, utterly baffled by the Game Boy.