Warwick is a monster that hunts the grey alleys of Zaun. His body was subjected to painful experiments and mutated, fusing intricate reservoirs and medicine pumps to inject alchemy-synthesized anger hormones into his veins. He emerges from the shadows to hunt down the criminals who ravage the deepest parts of the city. Warwick is attracted to blood, and the smell of blood makes him lose his mind. No bloodstained man escapes his prey.

One might think that Warwick is nothing more than a beast, but buried beneath his furious exterior lies a human mind – a gangmate who wants to change his mind and become a new man. But no matter where he fled, he could never escape the sins he had committed in the past.

Memories of those days would occasionally flash through Warwick's mind, but eventually they were inevitably forgotten entirely, replaced by burning memories of him on Sinjid's bench. The face of the mad alchemist appeared in front of his eyes, lingering.

Warwick's world was a cloud of pain, he couldn't remember how he had fallen into Sinjid's hands, and all memories of it were blurry before it began. The scientist patiently transformed him, implanting a pump and catheter, and injecting alchemical substances into his veins, seeking the eternal quest of every alchemist: the transformation of essence.

Sinjid wanted to reveal the true nature of his subject, a deadly beast hidden beneath the surface of a "good guy".

The alchemical substance injected into Warwick's veins by the pump strengthened his ability to heal himself, so that Sinjid could gradually and painfully reshape the man. During the experiment, Warwick's hand was severed, but Sinjid not only took his hand back, but also installed him with a more powerful pneumatic steel claw reinforcement, allowing Warwick to unleash his true potential step by step.

Warwick has an alchemical reservoir installed on his back, which is integrated into his nervous system. Whenever he felt anger, hatred, or fear, the reservoir would push the liquid rage into his veins through the medicine pump, completely awakening the beast in his subconscious.

He was forced to endure everything, to endure every cut of the alchemist's scalpel. Sinjid had already informed his subjects that pain was essential; Pain will be a "powerful catalyst" for his eventual metamorphosis. Although the alchemical substance strengthened Warwick's physical healing ability, allowing him to withstand most physical trauma, his spirit collapsed under the untold pain.

Warwick had a hard time remembering memories of the past. All he could see was blood. But he could remember a little girl's scream. He couldn't understand what the screams were about. Sounds like a name.

He had forgotten his name. He thought it would be fine.

Pain soon swallowed up all other thoughts. All that remains is blood.

Although the operation on the stone platform left him physically and mentally devastated, Warwick's body suffered a severe rejection reaction with the alchemical substance that caused the mutation. The tears that flowed from his eyes were no longer tears, but venom. All he choked out was a burning mass of corrosive mucus in his chest, which immediately burned mottled holes when he landed on the lab floor. The cold steel bound him to the bench, and he endured hours of intense pain, struggling, twisting, and finally collapsing completely.

Subject eventually died. Sinjid dumped the body in a mass grave deep in the Zaun ditch and began to design and conceive of his next experiment.

But death proved to be the real catalyst for Warwick's transformation. He lay on the top of the pile of corpses, his body gradually cooled, the alchemical substance began the final process, and the reservoir on his back began to pump medicine.

His body twisted unnaturally, his bones snapped and reconstructed, his teeth grew wildly, his Achilles tendon was torn and then healed with an alchemical glimmer, and his necrotic flesh was replaced by a new force. Eventually, his heart began to beat again, but the Warwick and the life he had lived through were completely gone.

He was awakened by hunger. All sensations bring pain. There is only one thing that makes sense.

He needs blood.

The first is the blood of a ditch scavenger, who is picking through the pile of corpses. Then a priestess of the Glorious Evolution Order came down to find one of her congregation. Then there is a Piltover student, who takes a shortcut on the trail. There's also a stiff-faced merchant who hides from the gang, a shimmering liquor dealer, a salesman, and an alchemist gangster......

The vague memories in the beastly mind made him obsessed with a place, and he lived near it. There, he continued to hunt, and as long as there was blood dripping between his teeth, his moral conscience was just a red spot to him, and the hunger and thirst in his body made him completely disregard the identity of the hunting target.

Although he had bowed his head to the beast, memories of the past began to come back. He saw a bearded man in the reflection of his pupils before he bit off the throat of a beggar. The man looked melancholy, with a certain familiar feeling: he had scars on both arms. There were also times when he hunted down lone gang members in the dark alleys, and the smell of the dagger reminded him of the blood flowing from an old knife. Blood trickled from the blade to his hand, and then everything he touched was bloody. Sometimes he thinks of the girl.

And then there was still blood.

He realizes that he has never been able to escape his life, and that no matter what he does, he will not be able to wash away the past. He left too many scars behind that even if he can't remember his past, the city won't fade away. Every time he saw the eyes of the criminals in Zaun—gang bosses, murderers, thieves—he saw himself. The reservoir behind him would inject hatred into his body. His iron claws would tear apart his fingers and stretch outward.

He began to hunt.

Indiscriminate killing is no longer enough for Warwick, who now hunts down those whose hands are already stained with blood. Just like the one who came to Sinjid's door in the first place.

He still wondered if all this was what he wanted. He had forgotten a lot of details, but the parts he remembered were enough. He remembered that Sinjid was right - that the good guy was just a lie, and the catastrophe had exposed the lie and revealed the naked truth.

He's Warwick. He's a killer.

And there are so many killers in the world, waiting for him to hunt them.

When I landed in the ruins of Nerima Raksha, I didn't feel like a leap. The magic of the starry sky burned in the sky along my trajectory – it was the feeling of falling.

After all, I'm just a mortal.

On the swirling sand dunes around me, a squad of Lahorac was fighting. This group of Sun Cult warriors had made the long journey from the temple of the Giant God Peak. They had fifty spears in all, and they had been deep into the desert for three weeks—a distance I could cross in a matter of moments. They came to investigate a power that was overflowing—even if it was losing itself. Here, the sun they worship is always shining, and the back of history still seems to be imprinted in the desert, outlining the remnants of a lost empire from ancient times. The tall mansion has now been buried in the sand dunes. The sun, which once allowed mortals to ascend to heaven, has long since sunk into the ground.

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