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Let’s talk about Malzahar — the one-man cult, the void-summoning, anti-social prophet with a fashion sense stuck in “I got lost in the desert and decided to never come back.”

You know Malzahar. Mid lane menace. Press R, go make a sandwich, collect your free kill. But beneath the gameplay and that questionable bug zapper aesthetic is a lore story that’s actually insane.

So buckle up. We’re diving headfirst into the Void with a man who looked at a whispering cosmic abyss and went,

“Yeah, that seems trustworthy.”

BEFORE THE CRAZY

Once upon a time, Malzahar was a regular guy.
Like… a normal-ass dude. Living in Shurima. Doing that whole “I have emotions and dreams” thing. He was a seer — which in League terms is code for “guy who gets migraines when the plot thickens.”

He wasn’t born evil. He was just really, really tired. Tired of the world falling apart. Tired of seeing people suffer. Tired of being told “it gets better” by people who clearly had never seen a single episode of Runeterra’s Greatest Horrors. Man was depressed, disillusioned, and probably overdue for several therapy appointments and a green juice.

So what did he do? He wandered into the desert.
Classic red flag behavior.
Like, not “go on a hike” wandered. Like “walk into the middle of nowhere and stare into sandstorms until something either eats me or speaks to me” wandered. He was spiritually lost, emotionally cooked, and ready to hitchhike with eldritch forces if they offered dental.

And then… the Void whispered.

THE VOID CALLED. HE PICKED UP. IMMEDIATELY.

Imagine the worst brain freeze of your life. Now add telepathy, colorless monsters, and a voice that sounds like an existential blender. That’s what Malzahar felt when the Void touched his mind. It didn’t knock. It didn’t ask. It just slithered in and started rearranging the furniture.

The Void didn’t demand his loyalty.
It didn’t need to.
It showed him a vision — a world without pain, without chaos, without meaning. Just peace… through total annihilation. And Malzahar, bless his nihilist little heart, thought that sounded like a really good idea.

So what does he do next? He doesn’t scream. He doesn’t fight it. He does what any emotionally damaged prophet would do: he builds his brand. Cloak? Check. Hood? Check. Creepy voice and long pauses in conversation? Double check.

He emerges from the desert like some kind of doomsday influencer, except instead of pushing supplements and manifesting abundance, he’s pushing void worms and manifesting The End.

ACTUALLY A CULT LEADER

Did I mention he’s got followers now?
Yeah. People follow this man. Willingly.

Because what’s more comforting than the end of all things told to you by a guy in a hood who talks like he’s always on the verge of a TED Talk breakdown?

His cult isn’t just crazy — it’s efficient. These aren’t just weirdos chanting in basements. These are organized lunatics helping Malzahar locate rifts, spread the Void’s influence, and occasionally get disintegrated as a fun side effect.

They don’t care. He doesn’t care. Because in Malzahar’s twisted little mind, every life fed to the Void is a noble sacrifice. He’s like a cosmic HR manager, onboarding people into nonexistence with alarming professionalism.

And what’s wild is… he’s convincing. Malzahar doesn’t scream. He doesn’t rage. He whispers. Calm, collected, creepier than a silent elevator ride. You don’t even notice you’ve joined a death cult until you’re already planning your first sacrifice.

KASSADIN IS READY TO THROW HANDS

Now, if you’re wondering who’s trying to stop this madness, meet Kassadin — the anti-Void dad who’s been chasing Malzahar ever since he turned his daughter into a void battery.

Kassadin and Malzahar have beef.
Eternal, interdimensional, emotionally charged beef.
Like, “you stole my daughter, corrupted her with void energy, and now I have to wear glowing armor and blink through space to kill you” levels of beef.

And Malzahar? Doesn’t care.
Because remember — he thinks this is all necessary. The end of the world is the beginning of peace. Or whatever edgy thing he writes in his void journal at 3 AM.

Their whole dynamic is basically Kassadin showing up like “Give me back my kid,” and Malzahar going “What kid? We are all one with the Void now.” Which is just the most insane possible way to dodge child support.

Meanwhile, Kai’Sa is out there in a bodysuit made of nightmares trying to survive, while her dad and her void-sugar-daddy cultist are metaphorically and literally tearing the world apart around her. It’s a family drama directed by cosmic horror.

IN GAME VS IN LORE

In the game?
Malzahar is that guy who presses R and turns you into a Reddit thread. You’re rooted, silenced, swarmed by voidlings, and questioning your life choices while he stands still like a smug purple scarecrow.

In lore?
He’s a mad prophet actively trying to unmake the world with void rifts and brainwashed zealots. Basically, if Cthulhu ran a multi-level marketing scheme.

He’s not evil for the fun of it. He genuinely believes he’s saving us by feeding us to the void like cosmic compost. And that, my friends, is more terrifying than any stat line.

It makes you rethink every kill you got with him in ranked. You weren’t just securing a W. You were helping a nihilistic oracle spread the gospel of deletion. That pentakill? That was five lives added to the great nothing. Congrats, you monster.

Meanwhile, every time you cancel his ult, you’re not just interrupting a channel — you’re delaying the apocalypse. You’re a hero. A sweaty, spammy, probably-1-and-9-but-still-trying hero.

Final Thoughts

So next time you see a Malzahar mid, just remember:
You’re not just laning against a champion.
You’re laning against a man who looked at an interdimensional horror and said,

“I’d die for her.”

And then made that everyone else’s problem.

Thank you for watching. Like always…Like, comment, subscribe, and sacrifice your sanity to the Void.
Or just ban Malzahar. Honestly, that’s safer.


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