Jacob spent years playing Ezreal. Then he ended up in Runeterra wearing the man's face, without his memories or the slightest idea how to live his life. Armed with incomplete lore knowledge and a mysterious System, Jacob sets out to explore a world of Runeterra and of course, level up. Surely being Ezreal is not that hard.
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THAT WAS EZ | League Of Legends SI/System
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User Total Strider27 1 Threadmarks Reader mode
Chapter 1 - One more
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Strider27
Getting sticky.
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"Come ooon, you fat fuck. If you flash auto, he's dead!"
He held Flash and watched the kill walk away with twelve health.
I shoved my chair back from the desk. "Fine. Great. Keep it for next game."
Twenty minutes later, I was running down the river with two people behind me while my Braum stood beside a wall.
"Peel me, man, for fuck's sake! This game is lost. First Braum I've seen who doesn't peel."
The screen went gray before he moved.
"Yeah, all right. I get one-shot with no counterplay. Cool."
*DEFEAT*
I leaned back and rubbed both hands down my face. My eyes felt gritty, and the room beyond the monitor had gone dark hours ago. I had a lecture in the morning. Going to bed was the first sensible idea I'd had since midnight.
Ending on a loss still felt wrong.
"One more," I muttered, and pressed the button. "Come on. One normal game."
Ten minutes into the next one, Caitlyn and Lux had turned my lane into a long-distance execution range. Every time I stepped toward the wave, another strip of health disappeared.
"Another Cait-Lux fucking us. What the fuck? Can't I ever get a good support?"
Thirty minutes later, the enemy nexus remained untouched and mine did not.
*DEFEAT*
"Yeah, fuck this."
I closed the client before the play button could tempt me again. The clock in the corner of the screen said three in the morning. I remembered the lecture and shut the monitor off.
Sleep would have been sensible. I climbed into bed and put on a short YouTube video instead, something easy enough to watch until my eyes closed.
I lasted three minutes.
When I woke, I smelled damp wood and old oil.
Something hard pressed against my shoulder. I shifted, expecting the mattress to give beneath me, and found a plank instead. A stripe of sunlight came through a wall of warped boards. Crates crowded both sides of the narrow space, a rusted shovel leaned in one corner, and scratching inside the wall stopped as soon as I moved.
I stayed down for several seconds. My bedroom should have returned once I woke properly. The plank dug deeper into my shoulder.
"What the fuck?"
My voice came out lighter than it should have. I sat up too fast and cracked the top of my head against a shelf.
"Ow, fuck!"
Dust shook loose across my hair. I held my head and waited for the pain to fade, more awake now and less certain that waking had helped.
I had never sleepwalked. A kidnapping made little sense when my hands and feet were free, but the inside of a strange shed gave me very little else to work with. I pinched the skin above my wrist and felt my nails bite. Not a dream.
The pain stayed sharp. So did the smell.
I looked down at myself. A tan jacket covered a white shirt, and a ridiculous blue feathered collar brushed my jaw when I turned my head. Blue trousers disappeared into scuffed boots. Fingerless gloves covered hands narrower than mine.
I searched the jacket and trouser pockets. Whoever had dressed me had left me without a phone or wallet. My keys were gone too.
"Right," I whispered. "Very funny."
I pushed myself upright, careful of the shelf. My balance shifted sooner than I expected. The legs under me were leaner, and the boots added weight in places I wasn't used to, but the body followed each movement without hesitation. I flexed my hands, rolled one shoulder, then crossed the shed and rested a gloved palm against the door.
The wood felt warm from the sun. I eased it open.
Light struck my eyes hard enough to make me recoil. When they adjusted, I forgot about the pain in my head.
The city rose up the slope in stacked tiers. Pale buildings crowded one another beneath blue-green roofs, with balconies and narrow bridges filling the spaces between them. Brass pipes ran along walls and crossed above streets. Farther uphill, sunlight flashed from windows taller than houses. Downhill, between two rows of buildings, the sea showed as a bright strip.
Carts rattled over stone. Machinery thumped behind brick walls, steady enough that I felt some of it through my boots. Steam hissed overhead and blew apart in the sunlight.
I had seen this place before, though never from a street inside it. The colors and shapes belonged to half-remembered splash art, cinematics, and game backgrounds. I needed another landmark before I trusted the thought forming in my head.
A man shouted from the left. "There he is!"
Several men stood at the mouth of the lane in rough coats. One had a scar down his cheek. Another pointed straight at me.
"Get that thief!"
I checked the shed behind me. It contained crates, dust, and nobody else they could have meant.
"Oh, come on."
They ran. I chose the other direction.
The lane narrowed until my shoulders nearly clipped both walls. Boots hammered the stones behind me, close enough that I could hear one man breathing through his mouth. I burst into a market, swore my way around a fruit cart, and heard wood crack as someone hit it behind me.
"Sorry!" I yelled over the shouting.
I reached a flight of stairs and took them two at a time. The unfamiliar legs were quick, but the city kept climbing. I ran beneath turning gears, vaulted a low chain, and nearly struck a woman carrying folded cloth. She shouted after me while I fought for air.
The men stayed close until I reached a broad square with polished shopfronts and pedestrians dressed well enough to stare before moving aside. I pushed into the crowd, cut around a corner, and ducked under a striped awning. A passage between two buildings brought me back toward the square at a lower level. I crossed behind a delivery cart and kept going until the voices disappeared beneath the noise of the street.
My lungs burned, and my shirt had begun to stick. I ran through another turn before looking back.
The clean paving ended near a stained retaining wall. Weeds grew through the cracks, and water trickled along a runoff channel toward the coast. A round culvert opened beneath the wall. Warm air came through it carrying a chemical stink strong enough to coat the back of my throat.
I bent over with my hands on my knees. Each breath hurt. The body might have been lean, but it had not been prepared for a sprint uphill through half a city.
"Thief," I panted. "Of course."
Water pooled beneath the retaining wall. Most of it was brown with runoff, but a shallow patch near my boot had gone still. A pale shape moved across the surface when I lifted my head.
Blond hair swept away from a young face with a sharp jaw. Mud streaked one cheek. The features were familiar enough that I had seen them angry, laughing, and badly rendered in half a dozen skins.
I touched the mud on my cheek. The reflection did the same.
"No."
I leaned closer until the blue feathered collar entered the water beside the face. Ezreal had been my main for hundreds of hours. I knew the shape of him better than I knew most actors, and the face in the runoff belonged to him.
The city rose behind me in brass and blue-green glass. With the face came the name I had been circling since I opened the shed door.
Piltover.
"No fucking way."
I pinched the inside of my arm again, harder. The mark reddened beneath my fingers. My heart continued pounding from the chase, and the culvert continued filling my mouth with chemical air.
A wet scrape came from inside it.
I turned as a massive rat crawled into the light. On all fours, it came almost to my knee. Patchy fur clung to swollen ridges of gray skin, and its front teeth pushed past its lips. Clouded eyes settled on me. It sniffed once and lunged.
"Shit!"
It struck my legs and drove me into the mud. Its teeth closed inches from my thigh. I caught it beneath the jaw with both hands and shoved, gagging at the heat coming off its body. Claws ripped furrows beside my hip as it fought for purchase.
"Get off! Get the fuck off!"
I planted a boot against its belly and kicked. The rat rolled, hit the edge of the channel, and scrambled upright. It charged before I could get my feet under me.
I raised an empty hand.
Blue light tore from my palm. The bolt crossed the gap and struck the rat in the chest, throwing it into the stones beside the culvert. It twitched once and stopped.
For several breaths I remained in the mud with my hand held out. Faint blue sparks crawled between my fingers and faded. My palm was empty.
Mystic Shot.
I knew the ability. I had pressed the key thousands of times. Nothing on a screen had prepared me for the heat under my skin or the smell of scorched fur.
"Whoa."
An electronic note sounded above me.
I looked up.
+100 XP
He held Flash and watched the kill walk away with twelve health.
I shoved my chair back from the desk. "Fine. Great. Keep it for next game."
Twenty minutes later, I was running down the river with two people behind me while my Braum stood beside a wall.
"Peel me, man, for fuck's sake! This game is lost. First Braum I've seen who doesn't peel."
The screen went gray before he moved.
"Yeah, all right. I get one-shot with no counterplay. Cool."
*DEFEAT*
I leaned back and rubbed both hands down my face. My eyes felt gritty, and the room beyond the monitor had gone dark hours ago. I had a lecture in the morning. Going to bed was the first sensible idea I'd had since midnight.
Ending on a loss still felt wrong.
"One more," I muttered, and pressed the button. "Come on. One normal game."
Ten minutes into the next one, Caitlyn and Lux had turned my lane into a long-distance execution range. Every time I stepped toward the wave, another strip of health disappeared.
"Another Cait-Lux fucking us. What the fuck? Can't I ever get a good support?"
Thirty minutes later, the enemy nexus remained untouched and mine did not.
*DEFEAT*
"Yeah, fuck this."
I closed the client before the play button could tempt me again. The clock in the corner of the screen said three in the morning. I remembered the lecture and shut the monitor off.
Sleep would have been sensible. I climbed into bed and put on a short YouTube video instead, something easy enough to watch until my eyes closed.
I lasted three minutes.
When I woke, I smelled damp wood and old oil.
Something hard pressed against my shoulder. I shifted, expecting the mattress to give beneath me, and found a plank instead. A stripe of sunlight came through a wall of warped boards. Crates crowded both sides of the narrow space, a rusted shovel leaned in one corner, and scratching inside the wall stopped as soon as I moved.
I stayed down for several seconds. My bedroom should have returned once I woke properly. The plank dug deeper into my shoulder.
"What the fuck?"
My voice came out lighter than it should have. I sat up too fast and cracked the top of my head against a shelf.
"Ow, fuck!"
Dust shook loose across my hair. I held my head and waited for the pain to fade, more awake now and less certain that waking had helped.
I had never sleepwalked. A kidnapping made little sense when my hands and feet were free, but the inside of a strange shed gave me very little else to work with. I pinched the skin above my wrist and felt my nails bite. Not a dream.
The pain stayed sharp. So did the smell.
I looked down at myself. A tan jacket covered a white shirt, and a ridiculous blue feathered collar brushed my jaw when I turned my head. Blue trousers disappeared into scuffed boots. Fingerless gloves covered hands narrower than mine.
I searched the jacket and trouser pockets. Whoever had dressed me had left me without a phone or wallet. My keys were gone too.
"Right," I whispered. "Very funny."
I pushed myself upright, careful of the shelf. My balance shifted sooner than I expected. The legs under me were leaner, and the boots added weight in places I wasn't used to, but the body followed each movement without hesitation. I flexed my hands, rolled one shoulder, then crossed the shed and rested a gloved palm against the door.
The wood felt warm from the sun. I eased it open.
Light struck my eyes hard enough to make me recoil. When they adjusted, I forgot about the pain in my head.
The city rose up the slope in stacked tiers. Pale buildings crowded one another beneath blue-green roofs, with balconies and narrow bridges filling the spaces between them. Brass pipes ran along walls and crossed above streets. Farther uphill, sunlight flashed from windows taller than houses. Downhill, between two rows of buildings, the sea showed as a bright strip.
Carts rattled over stone. Machinery thumped behind brick walls, steady enough that I felt some of it through my boots. Steam hissed overhead and blew apart in the sunlight.
I had seen this place before, though never from a street inside it. The colors and shapes belonged to half-remembered splash art, cinematics, and game backgrounds. I needed another landmark before I trusted the thought forming in my head.
A man shouted from the left. "There he is!"
Several men stood at the mouth of the lane in rough coats. One had a scar down his cheek. Another pointed straight at me.
"Get that thief!"
I checked the shed behind me. It contained crates, dust, and nobody else they could have meant.
"Oh, come on."
They ran. I chose the other direction.
The lane narrowed until my shoulders nearly clipped both walls. Boots hammered the stones behind me, close enough that I could hear one man breathing through his mouth. I burst into a market, swore my way around a fruit cart, and heard wood crack as someone hit it behind me.
"Sorry!" I yelled over the shouting.
I reached a flight of stairs and took them two at a time. The unfamiliar legs were quick, but the city kept climbing. I ran beneath turning gears, vaulted a low chain, and nearly struck a woman carrying folded cloth. She shouted after me while I fought for air.
The men stayed close until I reached a broad square with polished shopfronts and pedestrians dressed well enough to stare before moving aside. I pushed into the crowd, cut around a corner, and ducked under a striped awning. A passage between two buildings brought me back toward the square at a lower level. I crossed behind a delivery cart and kept going until the voices disappeared beneath the noise of the street.
My lungs burned, and my shirt had begun to stick. I ran through another turn before looking back.
The clean paving ended near a stained retaining wall. Weeds grew through the cracks, and water trickled along a runoff channel toward the coast. A round culvert opened beneath the wall. Warm air came through it carrying a chemical stink strong enough to coat the back of my throat.
I bent over with my hands on my knees. Each breath hurt. The body might have been lean, but it had not been prepared for a sprint uphill through half a city.
"Thief," I panted. "Of course."
Water pooled beneath the retaining wall. Most of it was brown with runoff, but a shallow patch near my boot had gone still. A pale shape moved across the surface when I lifted my head.
Blond hair swept away from a young face with a sharp jaw. Mud streaked one cheek. The features were familiar enough that I had seen them angry, laughing, and badly rendered in half a dozen skins.
I touched the mud on my cheek. The reflection did the same.
"No."
I leaned closer until the blue feathered collar entered the water beside the face. Ezreal had been my main for hundreds of hours. I knew the shape of him better than I knew most actors, and the face in the runoff belonged to him.
The city rose behind me in brass and blue-green glass. With the face came the name I had been circling since I opened the shed door.
Piltover.
"No fucking way."
I pinched the inside of my arm again, harder. The mark reddened beneath my fingers. My heart continued pounding from the chase, and the culvert continued filling my mouth with chemical air.
A wet scrape came from inside it.
I turned as a massive rat crawled into the light. On all fours, it came almost to my knee. Patchy fur clung to swollen ridges of gray skin, and its front teeth pushed past its lips. Clouded eyes settled on me. It sniffed once and lunged.
"Shit!"
It struck my legs and drove me into the mud. Its teeth closed inches from my thigh. I caught it beneath the jaw with both hands and shoved, gagging at the heat coming off its body. Claws ripped furrows beside my hip as it fought for purchase.
"Get off! Get the fuck off!"
I planted a boot against its belly and kicked. The rat rolled, hit the edge of the channel, and scrambled upright. It charged before I could get my feet under me.
I raised an empty hand.
Blue light tore from my palm. The bolt crossed the gap and struck the rat in the chest, throwing it into the stones beside the culvert. It twitched once and stopped.
For several breaths I remained in the mud with my hand held out. Faint blue sparks crawled between my fingers and faded. My palm was empty.
Mystic Shot.
I knew the ability. I had pressed the key thousands of times. Nothing on a screen had prepared me for the heat under my skin or the smell of scorched fur.
"Whoa."
An electronic note sounded above me.
I looked up.
+100 XP
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