Scientists just found a way to 3D print one of the hardest metals on Earth
Tungsten carbide-cobalt (WC-Co) is widely valued for its extreme hardness, but that same strength also makes it very difficult to shape and manufacture. Current production methods consume large amounts of costly material while delivering relatively modest yields. As a result, researchers have been searching for a more efficient and economical way to produce these exceptionally tough materials.
WC-Co cemented carbides are essential for applications that demand strong resistance to wear and high hardness, including cutting and construction tools. Traditionally, these materials are produced through powder metallurgy. In this process, powders of WC and Co are compressed under high pressure and heated in sintering machines to form solid cemented carbide. While this method produces very durable final products, it uses significant quantities of expensive raw materials and generates inefficient yields.
Characters:
- Viktor – A brilliant but physically frail scientist whose passion for progress often drives him to take risks.
- Reader (You) – A chaotic but genius inventor from Zaun. Once rational and sharp, your mind has spiraled into madness due to overuse of experimental powders you created. Obsessed with Viktor, you break into his lab to meet him for the first time.
Trigger Warnings:
• Mentions of mental illness and paranoia
• Themes of obsession and manipulation
• Animal harm (destruction of a rat)
• Mentions of abuse and isolation
• Themes of obsession and unrequited love
• Violence and dark imagery
• References to drug use and addiction
Masterlist
Part 1: Mad Genius
Part 2: Mad Genius
Part 3: Mad Genius
Words: 1548
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Nothing. Empty sewer tunnels filled with rotting food and the occasional lifeless rat. A repulsive place most would avoid. But not you. To you, it was home—your sanctuary. The one place in all of Zaun that made sense, aside from Viktor’s lab. You walked along the damp corridors with a soft grin, your left hand in your pocket while your right hand spun a glowing amber vial. The powder inside glimmered faintly, its particles dancing like fireflies under the faint light.
Your footsteps echoed against the stone walls, a rhythm only you seemed to notice. To anyone else, the tunnels were silent. But not for you. No, your world was never silent.
Voices screamed your name, a relentless cacophony that only grew louder the more you ignored them. Phantom bugs crawled across your skin, leaving behind an itch that no amount of scratching could ease. And then there were the footsteps—constant, lingering, making you turn your head more times than necessary. None of it real, yet all of it consuming.
A low chuckle escaped your lips. It was almost funny now, thinking back to how it all began. How you became this. Twisted? Maybe. But you preferred unique. A truly remarkable human being, you thought with a sly smile.
Your gaze dropped to the floor, where a dying rat lay sprawled before you. Its hind legs were missing, its body heaving with shallow breaths. It was helpless, fragile, clinging to life with the last vestiges of adrenaline pumping through its veins. You crouched down, tilting your head as you watched it struggle.
“Fascinating,” you murmured. The rat’s heart pounded so fast you half expected it to burst. For a moment, you considered using the vial in your hand, just to see what would happen. After all, it wasn’t like you had anything better to do. Viktor had been as cold and indifferent as ever, leaving you to your own devices.
"Sorry, little guy," you said with a sigh, standing back up.
You raised your foot and brought it down swiftly. The sharp squeal of the rat was cut short by the crunch of its tiny bones. Without so much as a glance, you continued down the tunnel, the glowing vial still spinning between your fingers.
The tunnels stretched endlessly before you, their shadows shifting like whispers of ghosts. You found comfort in their silence, even as the world within your mind roared louder with every step. Your grip on the vial tightened, the glow of the Amber powder casting faint, eerie patterns on the damp walls. Each flicker of light was like a heartbeat, steady, rhythmic, and entirely yours to control.
The voices clawed at your mind again, their tones rising and falling in a chaotic symphony. They weren’t cruel—no, they were your companions, your confidants. They cheered your every step, celebrated your every decision. Yet sometimes, they mocked.
"You’ll never have him. He thinks you’re broken. A pest."
A sharp laugh burst from your lips, echoing down the empty tunnel. "Broken?" you murmured to no one, or perhaps to the voices themselves. "No, I’m the one who fixes. They don’t see it yet, but they will."
The rat’s remains faded from your thoughts as you moved further into your sanctuary. Your pace was unhurried, each step deliberate, almost meditative. You weren’t in a rush; after all, what did time matter in a place like this? The world above could spiral into chaos without you—it often did.
Your fingers continued to roll the vial, the powder inside swirling with mesmerizing precision. A faint hum escaped your throat, a melody born from the fragments of lullabies you could barely remember. They were cracked and distorted now, much like everything else in your life.
The echo of your footsteps faltered as you reached a small alcove in the tunnel. It was cluttered with vials, notes, and crude diagrams scrawled on scraps of paper. Your sanctuary within a sanctuary. You set the Amber vial on a makeshift table, its glow casting warm light over the chaotic array.
Reaching for another vial, this one filled with a deep crimson powder, you held it up to the light. "Crimson," you whispered, your voice reverent. It was your masterpiece, your magnum opus. It held the power to unravel minds, to strip away the veneer of civility and reveal the raw, untamed emotions beneath.
And yet, even with all your creations, something was missing.
"Viktor," you said softly, his name like a prayer on your lips. The voices in your head quieted, as if they, too, were listening. "Why can’t you see? Everything I’ve done is for you. For us."
Your hand trembled as you set the Crimson vial down beside the Amber. The thought of him rejecting you, of seeing you as nothing more than a monster, was unbearable. But you couldn’t stop. You wouldn’t stop. He would understand—eventually.
A sudden, sharp noise echoed through the tunnel, pulling you from your thoughts. You froze, your head snapping toward the source. For a moment, you thought it might be him, but the sound faded into silence.
The voices returned, louder, more insistent.
"You’re wasting time. He’s not coming. He doesn’t care about you."
"Shut up," you hissed, your nails digging into your palms. "He does. He just... doesn’t realize it yet and besides he doesn't know where I am. Its impossible for him to find me." A slight chuckle escapes your lips.
You turned back to your table, your gaze falling on a small photograph tucked beneath a pile of notes. It was one of Viktor, taken without his knowledge. He looked so serious, so focused, his sharp eyes scanning a blueprint with unparalleled intensity.
You reached for the photo, your fingers brushing its edges. "Soon," you murmured. "Soon, you’ll see what we can achieve together."
The glow of the powders reflected in your eyes as your mind began to race. Plans, contingencies, possibilities—they all whirled together in a chaotic dance. Tonight, you would rest.
You stepped back, taking in the space you called your sanctuary. The alcove, carved from the forgotten underbelly of Zaun, was more than just a room—it was an extension of your mind.
The walls were jagged and rough, slick with dampness in some places, but alive with faint trails of glowing moss. Hanging from the low, uneven ceiling were a myriad of objects that you’d painstakingly arranged. Wires and strings stretched across the space, suspending glass shards, fractured vials, and metallic trinkets. They danced gently in the draft, casting fragmented light across the walls as the bioluminescent moss and glowing powders reflected off them. Among them dangled tiny gears, rusted keys, and shards of broken mirrors. Each piece was deliberately placed, forming a chaotic constellation above you, constantly shifting as if alive.
Lining the walls above the ground were uneven shelves you’d hammered together from scraps of wood and metal. They jutted out haphazardly, supported by bolts and brackets scavenged from the depths of Zaun. Each shelf held its own collection of treasures and tools.
One shelf was dedicated entirely to vials of powders. Amber, Crimson, Viridian, and others whose effects you hadn’t fully tested yet were arranged like trophies. Their soft, pulsating glow added an otherworldly ambiance to the room. Another shelf displayed your creations—small, twisted machines and inventions that didn’t always work but fascinated you nonetheless. Gears that spun for no reason, mechanical spiders with limbs too fragile to move, and a clock face with no hands all found their place there.
A third shelf, your favorite, held the items that meant the most to you. The rusted music box sat at the center, flanked by a collection of oddities: a brass monocle cracked down the middle, a scrap of velvet fabric embroidered with a strange symbol, and a pristine cog so finely crafted it could have belonged to Piltover itself. The top shelf housed books and loose papers, their spines frayed from overuse. The pages were filled with notes, sketches, and formulas, some coherent and some spiraling into madness.
Below the shelves, along the ground, were crates and boxes overflowing with tools, broken machinery, and scraps of metal. They spilled out onto the floor, creating a chaotic yet functional workspace. A large, cracked mirror leaned against one wall, catching the scattered light from above and reflecting your creations in warped, surreal angles.
Your mattress was nestled in the corner, layered with scavenged blankets and fabric scraps in a riot of mismatched colors. Above it, more strings hung, this time suspending tiny glass orbs and pieces of colored fabric that fluttered like banners in the faint drafts. When the vials glowed, the orbs and fabrics caught the light, painting your bed in shifting hues of red, green, and gold.
The ceiling dripped occasionally, each drop echoing softly in the otherwise quiet space. The hum of Zaun’s machinery provided a distant, mechanical lullaby. Everything here, from the suspended objects to the crowded shelves, told a story—a story only you understood.
You sat on the mattress, your eyes wandering over your room with a faint smile. The chaos of it mirrored your mind, a perfect symphony of disorder. This was your haven, where the outside world couldn’t reach. Here, among the dangling fragments and glowing powders, you felt at peace.
