He was the chosen prophet, touched by the void to spread emptiness into this world. And yet, here he was, shrunken, tiny and helpless and worst of all, relying on some teenage blond for mere mobility. It was demeaning and as soon as he figured out how to get back to normal, Malzahar was going to hunt down the person that did this to him and snap his neck.
But first, he had to suck it up and play the cards he was dealt.
He looked at the giant explorer. Ezreal looked like he was strolling but Malzahar had trouble estimating the blond's speed from down on the floor. Nevertheless he figured he could grab onto something, maybe his shoe or his pants if he timed it right. And he did.
With a lunge the tiny prophet jumped into the air, propelled by what was the last traces of void power leaving him and swung himself at Ezreal as he passed by. In mid air Malzahar reached out and grabbed the edge of a seam on the explorer's pants as his leg went by and pulled himself forwards, battling the force of the swinging leg and his own momentum. His scarf flew off his neck as he did but he managed a sturdy grip, pulling both his arms against the fabric. Now Malzahar faced a new problem. Ezreal's pace may have seemed slow while he was walking from afar but now Malzahar realized it was far faster than he had originally thought. Although both his hands were firmly gripped around a small seam line that ran vertically up and down he could feel himself slipping. Things would end in disaster if he couldn't hold on.
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